Inside a. dean

"Stains of Time"
Status Update

Still workin on it, guys. Still don't know if it is fit for public consumption. I'm working on a damned confounding part right now that makes me want to bang my head against a wall. The muse seems to have abandoned me lately. I'll keep ya updated. I want this one DONE, dammit. Want to move on but I have to see it through. Stay tuned.

The Movies of 2003 (thus far)
The Good, The Bad and the eeeewww

Time for another rant, I guess. Partly because I’m bored and partly because I want to talk about movies. Being unemployed for the better part of 2003 allowed me to see quite a few; more than I should have in some cases. I saw just about every major Hollywood Summer Event movie and most of them were passable at best, downright ludicrous and awful at worst. “League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” was definitely proof positive that a cool concept and stunning preview can lure you in like a sucker if you don�t pay any attention. “Terminator 3” was just passable and I thought “X-Men 2” was very good for a sequel, better than the original actually.

The worst, most vile and putrid piece of filth I saw this summer was unequivocally the racist, irresponsible, ridiculously bad, I�m running out of adjectives here “Bad Boys 2” without a second of question. Proof again (as if “Pearl Harbor” weren’t enough!!) that Michael Bay is INDEED the anti-Christ and must be destroyed immediately. If it weren’t for the disgusting necrophilia jokes, the callous, gratuitous close-ups of corpses crunching under tires on hot pavement, then I give you the most perfect American action scene, so pure it reeks, of a Hummer smashing through a village in Cuba, flattening the entire thing, and this is justified because Martin Lawrence’s sister and Will Smith’s girlfriend were kidnapped. They even skid to a halt just across the border in Guantanamo Bay and say “God BLESS America”. This atop the racist, disgusting portrayal of Cuba as a vicious drug-running country out to destroy everything American. This movie was so bad it was almost a bizarre work of art. I haven’t even talked about the endlessly swooshing camerawork, and lurid sepia-toned, over-blown set pieces.

From the worst to the best, anti-Christ to cartoons. “Finding Nemo” was the best film I saw this summer. Yeah that sounds corny and it sounds like I just took a big old smacking bite of Disney Corporate Propaganda Pie, but I seriously loved every frame of this film. I was transported and isn’t that what film is about beyond art and stuff? Escapism? Ellen Degeneres carried the film, but those damned seagulls still crack me up when I think about them.

“28 Days Later” was a damned suspenseful and inventive movie, which brings me to another little chapter here. Horror movies. I saw some absolutely terrible ones recently, and it really makes me wonder if this genre is heaving its last gasp. Maybe I’m just all-scared-out. “Wrong Turn” was awful, and “Freddy vs. Jason” was an absolute joke. Not to say that I had high hopes for it, but come ON! Also, I regret to say, the remake of “Texas Chainsaw” was pretty damned bad too. Far too over-edited. Nice sets and pretty decent acting. There were definitely some very gruesome moments, but overall it was a letdown. [sigh] Something needs to come along and revitalize this genre, SOON before it is bastardized and handed over to ravenous teenagers for consumption.

Best film of the year, so far, goes without a second of hesitation to “Kill Bill Volume 1”. Now, I will have you know that I was in the Tarantino-must-fail camp, which may mean that I lowered my expectations, but this movie is the wildest ride I have been on since--well... “Pulp Fiction”. It was refreshing to see a film that was so microscopically cared for, down to the last frame and detail. Tarantino is truly an artist in a world brimming with lousy hacks. Three words: See it now!! You are not a true scholar of film or a true lover of film if you don’t see this film. You won’t regret it. It also must be seen on a big screen and [gulp!] with an audience to get the full effect.

What am I looking forward to for the rest of the year? Very little. Still want to see “Mystic River” and of course “Lord of the Rings” is coming to an end that I am peeing my pants to see. Other than that... YUCK! Unless there’s something I am missing, there’s nothing but cheesy family films, lame-brained comedies, romantic pukedies, and some big, boring Alamo, Tom Cruise and Russel Crowe epics coming. Count me the hell out.

New Story Soon!!
Working title: "Stains of Time"

Oh boy. This one's a doozy, guys. Very dark and disturbing. I think I may have taken the whole dominant vampire thing a bit too far in this one. Probably so disturbing because it is from Angelus' point of view. May have to think long and hard (so to speak) about whether or not I am ready to unleash this one on innocent people.

It's a sequel to "As it is now and ever shall be..." much to my surprise. Always thought that would be a stand-alone. Anyway, it's 10 months after what is referred to as The Chicago Incident, and it takes place in Minneapolis, though Angelus and Xander live in a mansion now. Basically, there ain't much left of Xander after ten months of expert domination and torment from Angelus, he's a bit off-kilter mentally, which was the vampire's design. It's about the events leading up to Xander being turned into a vampire himself, and the dark prophecy that comes to light that may or may not involve our heroes.

Consider this the first of many warnings. This one ain't for the faint-of-heart, kiddies. Stay tuned...

TV and the State of Super Dating Reality
A rant by a. dean

Taking a cue from my good friend Sarah, I have decided to post a few of my own thoughts about the state of television these days. Most people think that reality TV has raped and pillaged the scripted show, and I agree to a point. If there was one genre of movies I could absolutely and completely get rid of with the wave of a hand it would be a tie between Romantic Comedy and Action. If there were one genre of television show I would do away with there would be no question: Super Dating Reality.

Now, let’s not get this confused with the raunchy half-hour antics of guilty pleasures like Blind Date, Shipmates and Fifth Wheel. These are smut from the gates and they don’t pretend to be anything bigger sleazing in very non-offensive, I-should-be-in-bed-already time slots. I am talking about the ones that try to be SOO big budget and glamorous with Michael Bay-like swooping, swooshing, sweeping camera work. Let’s face it. There are eliminations on ALL of these shows and the hook to most of them is: Who will leave broken-hearted tonight? Let’s back up. When exactly did public rejection and humiliation move out of the realm of Jerry Springer and into the realm of mainstream television?

And how many ways exactly can they twist this theme into ratings gems? The worst, in my opinion, is The Bachelor(ette). I mean, it’s one thing to whore yourself to the media for a shot at a million bucks like on “Survivor” or “Amazing Race” where physical and mental strategy come into play. It’s another thing to whore yourself (literally) to some millionaire on some stupid TV show and face the possibility of a humiliating public TV rejection. And let’s be clear folks, there’s a difference between being DUMPED on a reality show and being voted off on a reality show. Are people these days so desperate for their fifteen minutes that they will go to any lengths to achieve it?

I’ve thought of being on “Survivor”, “Amazing Race”, “Big Brother” and “Real World” but not for a moment have I even briefly considered being on a dating show. And where exactly does this endless plethora of personal trainers and bartenders come from? Are they going to run out soon and have to recycle them? I’ve already spotted Reality TV Regulars on Blind Date. More than a few Survivor cast members get humiliated on that show before getting humiliated on a desert island.

The most stirring question in all of this is what kind of sick fucks are we to be watching this stuff? I always felt dirty and abused after watching “For Love or Money” or “Cupid” last summer. When the final reels of the vapid and heartless “Cupid” ran, I told myself NEVER AGAIN. “Cupid” is a prime example of the nasty, heartless route this already nasty and heartless genre is going. “Cupid” was about a beautiful girl going on a bunch of dates and “America” would call a toll-free number to pick their favorite guy; the one that you think she should continue dating. Turns out this isn’t probably such a great idea because America is apparently full of assholes. 2 guys that Lisa Shannon really liked and had a connection with were scrapped instantly while a guy she obviously despised (Robert) and had absolutely no chemistry with made it all the way to the end. After the completely anti-climactic season (or was it series?) finale I took a shower and vowed to never watch one of these damned shows again. With last night’s incredibly lackluster ratings for FOX’s “Joe Millionaire” maybe others have decided on the same penance. Then again, they may have been wolfing Cheetos, swigging Miller High Life and howling at Monday Night Football. I soldier steadfastly on, however. Not too surprising a few weeks later when I saw annoying “Cupid” guy Robert pop up on a rerun of Blind Date. Oh the humanity...

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer”
A rant

Okay, I touched on this earlier in my blog, but prepare for my rant. Hold onto your asses. I now own 3 seasons of this amazing show and in total, have only seen the 4 seasons that are on DVD. A year from this coming December the entire seven season series will be available. I initially rented “Buffy” through Netflix because I just wanted to see what the big deal was and there wasn’t really anything else I could put on there.

What I was amazed to discover was this is the most powerful, hilarious, scary and poignant show on television. The first season is a little wobbly, as first seasons usually are, but once the show kicks in the door with the more than powerful Season 2, you know it is damned well a force to be reckoned with. These are real characters with real problems and real emotions who just happen to live somewhere that evil things tend to happen. The entire Buffy/Angel storyline is straight out of classic tragedies and almost feels like a Greek play. The actors (Sarah Michelle Gellar and David Boreanaz) turn in such moving, passionate performances, you believe every frame of it. One of the stand-out hold-onto-your-ass episodes is “Passion”. Season 2 also has the single-most moving and heartbreaking season finale (“Becoming” Parts 1 & 2) you will ever see on TV, replete with one of Sarah Maclachlan’s saddest songs “Full of Grace” to make damned sure your heart is torn out and stomped into the ground. The fact that these are real people who suffer real consequences is never so tragically displayed on television as it is on “Buffy”.

Season 3 dawns with these folks taking a long time to get over what happened at the end of Season 2. There are no easy answers; no easy redemptions. They have to suffer the consequences of their actions like everyone else. 3 also introduces the incomparable Eliza Dushku as rogue slayer Faith. Twists galore on this show, too. CRAZY twists that keep you guessing. Every once in awhile Joss Steps back in to write and direct an Angel/Buffy episode that tears your heart out all over again. “Amends” is one of the most powerful Christmas episodes I have ever seen, particularly the ending that had me absolutely floored.

The main complaint I have with “Buffy” is what I refer to as The Scheming Scenes. Scheming Scenes involve baddies plotting together in some usually underground lair, showing just how ruthless they are by killing one of their own and babbling about the impending death of the slayer/ taking over of the world yada yada yada. It usually sucks, there’s usually no great revelation, and it slows the action down in my opinion. I guess its necessary, though. One of the worst and most plodding is The Master from Season 1. So, when you watch, take all of that with a grain of salt. The emotional, humorous payoff on “Buffy” is always worth it. Plus, it’s fun to watch Buffy and friends kicking so much ass. By the way, Gellar and Boreanaz are both trained in Martial Arts and do most of their own stunts, particularly as the seasons progress.

Also, umm, one thing I noticed about Season 3 is that David Boreanaz must have been really working out in his time off, cause umm, YUMM. They also find as many reasons as possible to show him shirtless or in a tank top, a fact that doesn’t escape the amazing writers who throw in inside jokes like that a lot.

A word on the writing: Truly the dream team. This show absolutely crackles with inventive, hilarious dialogue throughout. The characters bicker and joke and their personalities blend so well it is a joy to behold. Also, the more intense and heartbreaking moments between Angel and Buffy never seem over-the-top.

By the time the frenetic Season 4 comes around, with the most incredible episode I have seen called “Hush” which actually won an Emmy in 2000. Angel and Cordelia are in LA now, on “Angel: The Series” and a few new characters are introduced. A very bizarre, mind-bending season finale too in the fabulous “Restless”.

In a few words: Just fucking watch it. You won’t be sorry. Some of you have Netflix, so you have no excuse. Also, I’m willing to loan out mine with a contract written and signed in your blood for its safe return.

My Vampires

Okay, I’ve recently written about other people’s take on vampires, obviously, to moderate success. However, my version of them has never meshed exactly with the version I have read anywhere. Since I have decided after the next and final visit to the Joss Whedon Buffy/Angel universe I am going to come up with characters of my own, I thought I would give you a preview of how I feel about this particular bit of folklore and how I really see it.

No gamefaces, in my take. That’s one of the main things. Also, absolutely no demons possessing the body, thus all vampires are evil, soulless creatures stuff. I also don’t go with the whole broody, guilt-ridden woe-is-me-for-I-am-damned (Anne Rice) version of things.

Some of my vampires are wanton murderers, and some aren’t. They are more akin to highly-evolved predators than anything, and most of them enjoy what they are doing. Being highly-evolved predators, they have evolved a dark sexuality that members of both sexes find irresistible if their attentions are focused on them. (This causes tons of soul-searching for male and female mortals alike whether they are gay or straight.) They also have a scent that attracts mortals to them; a subconscious pheromone. Their bodies are cool unless they are aroused by the prospect of feeding or sex. At that time, their bodies give off an intense heat that is very soothing to their victims. These beings have also evolved way beyond simple sexual orientation. They use sex to feed, so either will do, basically. They aren’t choosy. A meal is a meal to them. They don’t generally take their victims by too much force. Their victims are generally lulled into their embrace by their hypnotic presence and intense sexuality.

There is also a very advanced hierarchy of power. The older you are, the more powerful, basically. The more powerful you are, the more possessive you are of your victims. They mark the victims they allow to live with a very distinctive scar. Vampires also have a highly-evolved sense of smell and can smell another vampire has been around a mortal and which vampire it is. There is an animal part to them, which they rarely lose tight control of. They growl, purr, hiss and snarl accordingly.

Vampires are concentrated in cities and generally one clan rules each city. I’m pretty sure my upcoming original story will focus on Minneapolis and the clan there, particularly the 400-year-old ruler of the clan and a few of his disciples.

Joss Whedon’s vampires are generally trying to suck humanity into hell or cause the apocalypse and have a hatred for humanity because they are generally evil. Mine enjoy blending, but do generally feel superior. They have the physical strength of about five human beings, hypnotic eyes, and they are all very attractive, even if they weren’t before they were turned. They frequent night-clubs and dark alleys searching for prey. They can be killed by stakes, fire, sunlight and beheadings. They laugh at crucifixes, garlic, holy water and don’t sleep in coffins. The crucifix thing has never made any sense to me. I mean, some of these guys were around well before Christianity, weren’t Christians when they were alive, so why would this be a general rule for all of them? These creatures have evolved beyond organized religion, sexuality, and all other trappings of society. They generally make their own rules.

A human that has been bitten by a vampire and lives, becomes the vampire’s Thrall. They can generally refuse the vampire nothing from that point on and the vampire can communicate with them across great distances telepathically. It causes them great physical pain to disobey the vampire.

They can make a human a vampire by draining a victim to the thresh-hold of death, then reviving them with their own blood. Once the victim experiences true death shortly thereafter (which is very painful) they wake up as a vampire. They are bound to the vampire that made them, though they do have free will. It causes them great pain and suffering to betray the bloodline and they are fiercely, viciously protective of the one that made them. After around 50 years, the bond fades enough for them to be more self-sufficient, but initially they have a subconscious need to be with the one that made them. In fact, when a vampire makes a new one, they basically gain a roommate or house guest. It’s not something that is taken lightly. It’s a serious commitment. One thing that seriously violates vampire code is to make a human a vampire and then abandon it. This act generally drives the new vampire insane. Only the cruelest and most sadistic vampires would do this, but they do exist.

That’s about it. Any questions, suggestion or arguments, send them to shakycam3@msn.com

Just a few notes on the psychological subtext of "Elements of Destruction". You don't have to be a genius to figure them out, but here goes:

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU MAY WANT TO READ THE STORY BEFORE YOU READ MY ARMCHAIR PSYCHOANALYSIS OF IT.

"Elements of Destruction"

The three elements of Xander's destruction are silence, darkness and flames, but the main thing destroying him and everyone around him is the not-so-healthy forced relationship with the vampire. I mean, Angelus, through his expert use of threats and their ambiguous Bond makes him literally destroy everyone and everything around him. It's done in a carefully manipulated way so that he is left with ALL of the guilt for his actions. This expert mind-fucking by the vampire, honed to precision with over 240 years of use prior to this, makes him believe in the end that it is all his fault which leads to his ultimate breakdown, making him the willing prey of the vampire. Angelus could probably have forced him to do the things he does, we assume, but it is much more delicious to make him feel he has the right to make the ultimate decision himself.

Now a few words on what is referred to as The Bond here. I purposely left it kinda shady in the story and though there are supernatural overtones to it, couldn't it really just be the force of suggestion? I mean there are hints that he is supernaturally compelled to do these things and that Angelus' decision to play puppet master sometimes and abandon him to his own devices at other times is also expert mind-fucking. The second time he blows the vampire, The Bond doesn't explode throughout his body the same way. This may suggest that this isn't the strongest of Bonds and that he may be obeying the vampire because he feels he has to. Any mildy expert mind-fuck artist knows how to steer people to make decisions on their own that they don't realize were not their will to begin with.

What does "Elements" say about me as a writer and a person:

1. Umm... I don't trust people in relationships. I've felt that supernatural vampiric tug to be with someone despite everything that is important to me and everything common sense is telling me. Don't forget that it is Xander's relationship that literally destroys the people dearest to him and he more-or-less goes insane because of it.

2. I have issues with my parents and the meaning of family. Though he goes to great lengths to save his parents' lives in the story, there is definitely regret on his part when faced with the grisly loyalty test that comes at the expense of his friends, who are his real family.

3. I want to be dominated in a relationship. Okay, this is getting a bit personal, but, the submissive thing comes naturally to me. Don't forget that Xander surrenders to Angelus completely because of some hypnotic qualities, but what domineering lover DOESN'T have some hypnotic qualities in the heat of the moment? The main focal point of the first sex scene are Angelus' eyes. He sees desire for him burning there and being entranced with the fact that someone could want him like that is his undoing. He even tells himself lies about the vmpire's true intentions. Now again, this could very well be a supernatural power of the vampires, but the subtext is there. Take away the vampire thing and isn't he just a really good-looking charismatic cult leader type? I've known a few in my day and Angelus is a mix of all of them. And what is submission but a surrender of will, responsibility and guilt. I was powerless, therefore my true desire wasn't involved.

4. The gay thing. Okay, this one couldn't be more obvious. Have sex with me and come to the dark side. You will never be the same again. You will be a different person when it is all over, you will have a new set of rules and it's so damned dangerous but feels. so. good. Puh-leeze!! The vampire myth is LOADED with gay subtext. In fact, Anne Rice's vampires in "The Vampire Chronicles" have been called nothing but an allegory to homosexuality and that the "Dark Gift" and "Initiation" are nothing but these people's first taste of guy-on-guy or girl-on-girl action.

That's all for now. Hands. Cramping. Any thoughts on this? Disagree with me? Feel free to send feedback to shakycam3@msn.com

Okay my new story is up. Leaps and bounds beyond my last one, in my opinion. Same pairing, I know. Much darker and more demented and INFINITELY more violent. Weak stomach? Move on. Quite a goodly amount of humor mixed in with all the sadism, though. Really, it's worth a read. See the Sunnydale Cliff Notes below for the Buffy-Impaired, sad, sad, souls that you are. I swear, and this is a promise: I am going to strap each and every one of you down "Clockwork Orange" style and make you watch several episodes until you love it as much as me. Beware... Mwahahahah...

So what's next? Not sure. One POV left in this series if you've been paying attention. Kinda want to explore the Sire/Childe thing. It's the only thing I haven't described yet. Who knows. If I feel the bite, I will definitely let you know.

Just an interesting note: The entire inspiration for the story below came from one night when a blast of cold air woke me out of a sound sleep. Almost wish there had been a chuckling, sadistic vampire in bed with me. There wasn't. Xander's a lucky bastard... Kinda.

“As it is now and ever shall be...”
by a. dean

Running and hiding. Changing my name and my look. Leaving the past where it lay, forcing myself not to remember everyone back there. My family, my friends, everyone. Everyone I know that he has destroyed, in one way or another. And it was all my fault.

I have a new past now. Jack Kingsley never lived in Sunnydale. Jack Kingsley is from Chicago, the product of a middle class family whose parents died in a plane crash five years ago. Jack Kingsley has blond hair and a job in a call center to fund his burgeoning education in finance. Jack Kingsley never graduated High School and so he got his GED at the local learning center. Jack Kingsley is very happy living in Minneapolis and he certainly never dealt with unspeakable evil of many kinds in Sunnydale, California. Jack Kingsley was never too late to save everyone and he certainly never watched from behind a tree as his friends were brutally murdered and cast into a bonfire by the most evil creature to walk the earth. Jack Kingsley never fled from the scene and the city moments later, abandoning everyone else to the same fate and he never saw the promising smirk on the creature’s blood-smeared face that said, “I will find you, boy”.

A filthy, rotten coward. I know I am. I should be ashamed of myself, but there’s a moment when your own selfish self-preservation instincts cannot be denied, no matter what the consequences, and there’s that voice in the back of your head whispering if you just run far enough he will never find you. Just keep going. Until you look in the face of pure evil, you can’t know how you will react. Trust me. It’s all snap decisions. I can’t sit here and say every one of my moves was calculated, that there weren’t some that were made in the fever pitch of terrific terror and adrenaline.

A year and six-and-a-half months. I guess I always knew it was inevitable. I certainly couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares it would happen the way it did.

++++++++++

The winters in Minneapolis are fantastically brutal, especially since I am used to the warm climes of Southern California. They also serve as a welcome reminder that I am far from the west coast and everything that happened there. Nobody back there even owns the kind of astronaut-like gear I have to put on when I walk to work downtown, braving the ferocity of sub-zero gales.

That being said, the cold doesn’t normally startle me out of a sound sleep like it does on this night. Groggy in the Queen Sized bed for a moment, beneath the heavy comforter. Something woke me up besides the cold, right? Wasn’t my alarm clock. It’s there on the nightstand, glaring redly telling me it’s 2:17AM and that I have exactly 3 hours and 43 minutes before it will be buzzing in my ear. It wasn’t Simon, my roommate Adam’s cat. Simon hates me and generally avoids me at all costs though he isn�t above dashing across my chest when I�m sound asleep, just to be an asshole. In this case, he’s at the vet getting his nuts cut.

I’m on my side, and roll to my back, in irritation. It is then that I know exactly what woke me and I feel every ounce of terror and adrenaline rush through me just as an incredibly strong, chilly hand descends on my mouth, silencing the scream that rushes out anyway in a hiss. Angelus is lying in bed with me, head propped on his elbow, smiling down at me like some incredibly benevolent angel of death, emanating an unnatural chilliness that startled me out of sleep.

I am suddenly trembling in absolute terror. He found me, he found me...

He shows no sign of removing his hand from my mouth anytime soon, and my frantic mind wonders about that until he speaks, that silky, seductive voice that has been the focus of so many nightmares over the past year and a half.

“Hello, Xander,” he says, almost cheerfully.

I try to scream.

“You know, I could really just move my thumb and forefinger like this and that would be the end of old Alexander Harris, wouldn’t it?” He is pinching my nose shut with his hand still on my mouth. He is suffocating me. I feel frantic with terror and completely helpless to stop it. My hands are laying uselessly at my sides, beneath the covers, my eyes watering.

“But if you promise to be a good boy and not scream I’ll take my hand away. Besides, we wouldn’t want to wake Adam anyway, would we? This is between you” (takes his thumb and forefinger away) “and me, isn’t it?”

I try to nod, despite the strength that is holding me immobile. It’s enough. He takes the hand away from my mouth allowing me to draw in a deep lungful of air at last, and then he begins to play with the hair that is no longer brown.

“Such a sweet boy, that Adam. Invited the handsome stranger in last night wholeheartedly to use the phone. Gotta love those Minnesota Nice gay guys.“ He chuckles, gives me a mild, appraising look “Really not a good look for you, Xan. Much preferred the brown. And you�re a Jack like I�m an Angel.”

Laughs at that. I know I should be struggling, but I remember very vividly being clamped in his vise-like embrace that time in the hallway and know there is no use. (“Things are about to get very interesting...”) Besides, the more I defy him, the more he will get worked up. He seems almost serene at the moment.

“Kne-Knew you’d fuh-find me,” I say, and it’s true. I am trembling so fiercely the bed is practically vibrating. Mind rushing frantically, looking for a way out of this.

He smiles. “You seem resigned, Xan. You’re not fighting or struggling. Why is that, I wonder?” fingers gently toying with my hair sending chills down my spine, imagining all the excruciatingly painful ways those hands could end my life.

“You could break me in two in a split second. Why bother?”

“It’s more than being in awe of my strength, Xan, and you know it. You wanted me to find you. Wanted me to punish you as you so richly deserve for abandoning your friends and family. You want to be my little whipping boy because it�s exactly what you deserve. I’m your sweet salvation, and at least dead you won’t hear their screams anymore...”

“Stop, please...” I’m crying now, something inside me ripped wide open at his words. At the mention of those I know are dead, and at the mention of what I know is so true. I do feel like I have no right to be alive and should suffer the same fate as the loved ones I couldn�t save. “Just do what you came to do and get it over with.”

“You are not in a position to be requesting anything, boy. Who’s to say that I am here to grant your little heart’s deepest desire, anyway? Maybe it would be a worse punishment to leave you here in this fraud of a life you’ve built for yourself. Maybe that’s what you deserve.”

A sickening thrill of panic at this. He senses it with a smug smile and I honestly think for a moment that he is going to stand up and leave with a wink and a sardonic comment.

I stiffen as he stands, pulls back the covers and climbs under the blankets with me, fully clothed, in a series of liquid-smooth movements. I feel his heavy form cover my own, chilling me as thoroughly as pinning me, the leather duster settling around my sides, funneling his chill into my flesh even more, the boots pinning my bare feet, roughly. His face is inches from mine, and he takes my head between both hands, forcing me to lock gazes with him. I am paralyzed, drowning in the intense heat of his black eyes.

“Why do you think this is about what you want, boy?” a voice deep and heavy with arousal, lips so near, scant millimeters from a kiss, dark eyes taking on a palpable, fiery sensuality. “What about my needs? Can�t help but point out I have the upper hand here.”

The full lips move to my cheek and I cringe at their coolness, their soft, smooth slickness. He is kissing my cheek and licking me with a cool tongue like a melting ice cube, leaving chilly trails as he moves down to my neck, slowly. I feel firm hands, turn my head to the side, exposing my throat more fully to his mouth. I brace myself for the pain of his bite and I hear a soft chuckle, tasting my panic, but he is kissing me there, too, sucking on the flesh insistently and new shudders rush through me; not of revulsion, far from it.

Mouth near my left ear, he bites it gently, causing me to whimper, and that sensual voice commands, “Arms around me, boy. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

My hands slide up his sides and move to his back, beneath the duster, tentatively. My palms are sweaty and the cool flesh beneath his shirt seems to soothe them. I feel the immense strength in the solid body, the muscles tight like a coiled spring. I feel his leather-clad knees force themselves between mine and I can feel his hardness through his pants, pressing against my own as my thighs part.

I bite back a moan as he begins a slight rolling motion with his hips. I know I’m not gay, for cripe’s sake, but resisting the sensations rushing through my body is like fighting the inevitable tide that comes crashing down. This seems above labels and social stigma. The worst part is, my feelings seem to focus on his maleness and they are almost disregarding that an evil demon from hell is causing more pleasure to course through my body than I have ever felt in my young life.

Then, the pleasure rockets off the charts because those cool, full lips cover mine and the most incredible kiss I have ever experienced begins. You’d think that the feel of that cool, slick tongue would be revolting, but it isn’t. It seems to be cooling my overheated mouth, exploring with a firmness and thoroughness that makes my limbs weak and my hands start to slip off the vampire’s back. The first low, disapproving growl comes then, and I nearly melt. The sound seems to rake over every pleasure ending in my entire body and I am kissing him back, with ferocity, evil demons be damned.

I am a little disappointed when he backs up a bit, chuckles and looks into my eyes with a wry smile, “Getting into this, are you boy? Answer me.”

“Yuh-yessssss...” rushes out of me followed by a helpless moan because his hips increase their tempo, then, pressing more insistently.

“You know that I tortured and murdered your friends, of course?”

I am horrified that the level of ecstasy remains exactly the same after those cold words. “Yes, Angelus.”

“I pulled your father’s still-beating heart out of his chest and took a bite out of it in front of your mother.”

“Shut up,” I hiss.

“What was that?”

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU!!”

I’m sure the outburst means my imminent and incredibly painful doom, but he smiles, unaffected. “Just want you to have all the facts before I fuck you senseless, boy. So you don’t want me to stop?”

“No, damn you! NO!”

“Just checking.”

Silences anything else I might say with another mind-bending kiss, somehow more intense than the first.

Through the steady thrum of ecstasy , I hear something that sends a rush of terror through me. A tentative tap at my closed door and, “Jack? I heard you screaming. Are you alright?”

Oh, fuck!! Adam. A wicked smile erupts on Angelus’ face. “Let’s let him in on the fun,” he whispers. “He was raping me with his eyes last night and he has such a sweet little ass.”

“No, Angelus,” frantic whisper. “Please. You said this was between me and you. Don�t...”

“Jack?”

“I’m fine, Adam, just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

There’s a wave of relief flooding me because Angelus remains still and quiet as I hear him go back in his room and shut the door.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Shut the fuck up. Was that because you don’t want him to realize that Jackie-Boy is a little light in the loafers, too, or because you don’t want me to hurt him?”

“Neither,” I say with a sarcastic smirk. “I’m selfish. I want you all to myself.”

He shakes his head, a deadly gleam in his eye and his hand is squeezing my throat, tightly enough to choke off my breath and be a real threat.

“You know what sarcasm makes me want to do, boy? It gives me the uncontrollable urge to rip out people’s throats and fuck their innocent roommates to death with a butcher knife.” He squeezes a bit tighter and his face is deadly close, full demon visage now, golden eyes blazing, glittering fangs inches away. “A sincere apology would work wonders here, boy.”

“I’m suh-sorry, Angelus,” I wheeze, panic raging through me beyond anything I have felt before.

“I’ll let that be your one transgression, boy. Don’t. Fuck. With me. Again.”

“Nuh-no, Angelus. Never again. I promise.”

The mask is back in a flash. “Good boy. “

He moves the covers back and is out of the bed in those same frighteningly fast liquid movements. I am sure for an odd second that he is going to leave, but I notice he is removing his duster, clothes and boots and throwing them over the chair near the window. When he pins me again, beneath the covers, it is with his cool flesh pressed entirely against mine and I shudder uncontrollably. The kiss is back at my neck and I stiffen again, in anticipation of pearly daggers rending my artery. His immense hardness is pressed against my own, and his hips are still moving. I put my arms around him again, not waiting for an order to do so this time.

All reason, all sanity is gone from me. Nothing matters but his mouth and his flesh and what he wants. I wonder somewhere in the back of my mind if this is what I think I deserve. There is a part of me that is relieved to be caught, that the chase is finally over and I can stop running at last. I am being forced to accept my fate and if my fate is to be fucked to death by the monster that killed my family and friends, so be it. It’s an utter surrender of will.

His hands reach between us and there’s a flare of pain, a ripping noise and my boxers are gone. His insistent mouth is at my neck again, licking and biting with human teeth.

“Would have taken them off. I-- oh shit...." The fangs sink in with a rumbling hiss just as I feel his slick hardness slip inside me. Panicked thoughts rage through me as he begins to fuck me, his hips bucking. His tongue is involved in the sucking at my throat, and I feel paralyzed, as though by a snake bite.

I’m positive that I am going to die at this point. This is all there is now and ever shall be. The two sensations battle for supremacy until they merge and become one in an undulating wave of pain and pleasure. I hear him swallowing, drinking, taking my life force, feel the full lips moving against my throat. I feel his body heat begin to rise just as mine seems to be decreasing. I don’t even know if am breathing anymore, or how close to death I actually am, when his mouth moves and I feel the fangs slice in again. His hips have taken on an incredible rolling motion and though I am certain my body is completely numb, I feel him touching off fireworks of intense ecstasy with every movement, hitting a spot inside me wired directly to my pleasure center; brushing every nerve ending in my body. His mouth moves again, and again I feel the slice of pearly canines.

Dead, dead, dead... Amazingly, I don’t feel my strength or consciousness draining. I expect to see a rolling black tunnel called death rushing at me with heaven or probably hell at the end, but things seem to have reached a plateau, where dying is concerned. After three vicious bites, I am still alive, still trapped beneath that body, still speared and violated on two levels, still completely helpless. I feel a shuddering moan escape me, and a chuckle rumbles his chest. His mouth moves close to my ear, and he licks my ear lobe and bites it gently with sharp teeth which drags a whimper from me.

His voice is throaty and deep, slurred by awkward, sharp teeth. The low pitch rakes across my nerves again, causing me to writhe slightly beneath the steady, relentless motion of his hips. “Do you wanna die, Xander? I could give you such an exquisite death right now, I promise you.”

Asking me? Asking me a question, now? I don’t even know if I know how to talk at this point. I feel like the bites have severed vocal chords, rendered me mute and all I want to do is scream in ecstasy, not fucking talk, thank you. Asking me? It’s absolutely absurd. Much to my surprise, I form words and seem in no control of them until they are out. “Your show, Angelus. Ohh, god... Definitely. Your decision. Surprise me--- OHH!” a sharper more insistent thrust of hips at that, and I lose all ability to speak as I feel myself melting again, his eyes pinning me down, draining whatever coherent thought I have left with their unfathomable fiery blackness and depth, the lust, devastatingly handsome human mask again, as he goes back to my neck.

Who ever thought death could feel this good? It’s an irony that doesn’t escape my fevered mind that the most incredible sex of my young life will lead to my death. Good thing, too, because plain old vanilla sex will never match this. Fuck me to death, Angelus, please... I can’t face myself in the mirror after this. I am alarmed to feel a giggle clawing at my throat, demanding to be released. The most amazingly-elongated “little death” followed by the big one. Hee hee.

But he’s not biting me anymore, his tongue is laving the wounds, individually, and with a delicate precision, causing an icy hot tingling sensation and I swear he is helping them heal. That wasn’t about feeding, it was about the sensation of biting. Still it is all too much, really. I try to tell him wordlessly, beg him to stop the exquisite torture of his rotating hips, try to signal somehow with my hands, but he pins them down with a possessive growl and redoubles his efforts. I whimper and try to squirm away, but he’s far too heavy.

No mere mortal should be asked to feel this much sensation at one time and I wonder if his evil plan is to turn me from my sardonic, sarcastic self into a gibbering lunatic, fit only to be bound in a straight jacket and locked away at a funny farm. Hee hee. Laugh at that one, laugh at it all, because I am exploding in the most intense orgasm and I feel myself tipping haphazardly into the Hee-Hee Realm of the not-entirely-sane because it’s too much, really. I don’t know or care if I am screaming now or not, don’t care if Adam, the residents of the entire 6-Story Brownstone we live in and a “60 Minutes” camera crew come crashing in and see me being fucked to insanity by an incredibly handsome vampire who is just making it feel too good. Because really, they’d feel the same way. They’d be on their knees begging for more like I will be. Please Mr. Sexy Vampire, fuck me insane again. hee hee. Please bite me and kiss me and lick me and fuck me and crush me and pin me and hurt me until I can’t stand it again. And again. And again and again. Take off your Bad Guy Black vampire clothes and fill every fucking opening I have with fire and ice. I’m all yours.

Synapses rapidly and randomly firing until it all dies down, becomes a thrumming wave of blackness which settles over me. I think in a fevered pitch that this must be Mr. Death in all his splendid glory, but it’s really nothing but sleep because I am passing out from blood loss and god knows what else...

++++++++++

My alarm clock wakes me some time later and I am beyond confused. No chance for a second it was all a dream, because I am still naked and still pinned beneath Angelus’ heavy form who has been snoozing as well. He smiles at me sleepily amid the buzzing, stays on me long enough for me to know without a doubt that he will only allow me to move when he feels I should, then finally rolls over to the other side of the bed allowing me to turn the alarm clock off. I am sore and stiff and sticky and even the slightest movement makes me wince.

“Time to get up, Xander,” the vampire chuckles.

I shake away the haze and let the incredulity of everything settle over me. Shoot me, stuff me, mount me... Did this really just fucking happen? I’m still alive. There’s a chuckling monster in bed with me who bit me several times, fucked my sanity straight out of my body, offered me exquisite death and decided it was a far worse punishment to let me face my new life as a practicing homosexual. I’m still alive!?? When exactly did that become part of the deal? What happened to his talk of a promised exquisite death? Now he’s acting like I was a one night stand.

“Umm...I’m still alive?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“You’re not gonna kill me?”

“Nope. This is far too much fun. You better get up and go to work.”

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh at that. “I think I might call in sick, for fuck’s sake!”

“Nope, go in. I’ll just sleep here all day.”

“Are you insane!? I can’t go to work like this! I don’t even think I own a turtleneck and you must have bitten me no less than 75 times last night. My neck must look like abused meat loaf. People will notice if I wear a damned scarf all day.”

He laughs. “75 times? You flatter me. Hardly. It was three times when you were conscious and twice when you were passed out. Don’t worry, no one’ll notice.”

I reach up and am shocked to feel a few flakes of dried blood and a few light scars, but not the gaping, hideous puncture wounds I expect. What the fuck else did he do while I was passed out?

“I need a while to process this. First and foremost, I’m shocked that I’m still alive, that I’m still sane and now you want me to go to work like I didn’t just get fucked through the bed by a vampire stud from hell? You’re nuts!”

He laughs at that, good-naturedly, runs his hand through his touseled black hair and yawns. “Just go, Xander. I’m no fun during the day. I�ll be here when you get home. I promise.”

“Here? You mean, you’re gonna sleep here during the day? I’m not dim enough to still think you folks need coffins, but is it dark enough?”

“Mmmhmm... Your shades are just fine. No direct sunlight on this side of the building.” He smiles. “Your concern is touching, Xander.”

“Right. What about Adam? You’re not gonna touch him, are you? I think he has the day off.”

“Better be home by sundown, Xan. I’m always a bit peckish when I wake up. May not be able to control myself.”

“This is a Minnesota winter, Angelus. It gets dark early. 4:30. I get off at four.”

“Better hurry home, then. Might have to eat your roommate if you take too long.”

Amazingly he chuckles again, yawns, pulls the covers up, rolls over and goes to sleep. I shake my head in astonishment. Just what the fuck is going on here? With a sigh of disgust, I limp out of the room, naked and abused, slamming the door behind me.

++++++++++

The day at work is surreal to say the least. Everyone seems to notice that I am acting oddly, but I snap at anyone that asks me what’s wrong, even some of my closest friends and the hottie, Bridget, I have a mad crush on. They don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. It’s all just too unbelievable. Maybe I did go insane last night. Maybe I’m still a couple giggles from the snake pit. Not to mention I am sore everywhere from the brutal thrashing Angelus inflicted on me and I limp, wincing, everywhere I go. Another romp like that and I WILL be dead.

I decide it might be in everyone’s best interest if I hurry home and get there before sundown. I leave work early without saying a word to anyone. I decide my abused body can’t handle the walk and take mass transit the 9 blocks home. I feel so other on the bus that night. More so than usual. A cute girl is checking me out and I scowl at her rudely. Leave me the fuck alone. She turns away with a huff of pouty lips. She’s beautiful, but Angelus would serve her up as an appetizer in five seconds. Best to stay the hell away from everyone. I’ll be dead soon anyway. No sense making ties now.

At least if I’m alive tomorrow the bastard can’t force me to go through another bizarre workday. I have Saturdays off.

+++++++++++

My jaw hits the floor when I walk into the apartment. Angelus is kicked back on the sofa, smiling, booted feet on the coffee table watching “The Real World“. An incredibly pleasant aroma hangs in the air that smells vaguely of Italian food. The biggest shock comes from Adam, who is sitting in the chair across from Angelus, laughing his ass off like the demented, bloodthirsty “Scourge of Europe” just told the keenest of keen jokes.

“What the--” bursts from my mouth before I can stop it.

Adam turns around, smiling.

“Hey, Jack. Your boyfriend here scared the shit out of me coming out of your room, then offered to make dinner for me to make up for it. Seems like he really knows what he’s doin’ in the kitchen. He�s a keeper.”

If I had walked in and found Angelus in a compromising sexual position with the entire recently-reunited smarmy cast of “Full House”, including those wretched twins, I would have been less shocked. If he had been doing naked yoga while singing “Papa Don’t Preach” at the top of his lungs I would have smiled bemusedly compared to the absolute rooting-to-the-spot this situation causes me to experience.

Boyfriend? Did he just say BOYFRIEND!!??

This is the true story, of two mortals and one vampire, put in a compromising position; to find out what happens when vampires stop being polite and start getting real. The Real World: Hellish Nightmare!

I feel a bristle from Angelus’ look that tells me very clearly if I value my innocent roommate’s life I had better go along with this. I scowl at him when Adam turns away, mouth “Fuck you!“ between clenched teeth, then breeze in, saying, “Yeah, he is isn’t he?”

I drop my keys on the table by the door, shrug out of my 50-pound winter jacket and walk directly over to Angelus. I plop down on the couch next to him and lay my head kittenishly against his chest. He puts an arm around me and smiles. He then pats my knee, smooches me wetly on the mouth, says he has to check the lasagna, and leaves us.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Adam pounces.

“So, you filthy little liar,” Adam says. “You WERE doing what I thought you were last night, but he looks more like a dreamboat than a nightmare to me.”

I chuckle. “You have no idea.”

Adam smiles and shakes his head. “Damn, Jack!! You know you could have told me. I, of all people, would be the FIRST to accept you and you know that.”

“It’s just not something that really came up. I figured you’d see us together and I could tell you then.”

“But what about Bridget? You told me how much you liked her and how you don’t normally date co-workers, but you’d make an exception for her.”

A pothole I avoid, smoothly. “Bisexual, Adam. I never said I was gay. When Angelus here came along, nothing else really mattered.”

“That’s such an odd name, but it’s so damned sexy. It fits him. What nationality is that, anyway?“

“Umm... Irish, I think.”

“You know I could have beat you to him? He stopped by and used the phone two nights ago; said he had car trouble. I know there is a pay phone downstairs but couldn’t say no cause he was so nice and cute. If I had only said something THEN. He told me how you two met.”

“Oh, really... Umm, what’s his version?”

“He said you ran into him in the hallway when he was leaving from here and that you asked him to go for coffee. You sure make quick work, Jack.”

Angelus yells from the kitchen: “Hey, Jackie-boy! Can you give me a hand in here, please?”

“Duty calls,” I say grinning lasciviously, pat Adam on the shoulder and dash into the kitchen. The smell of the lasagna bubbling in the oven is even more heavenly and more surreal. I let the kitchen door swing shut behind me. Angelus is leaning against the sink, smiling, arms folded. Wearing that damn duster even in the steaming hot kitchen.

I rush up to him and whisper, “What the fuck is that all about, boyfriend? I could have fucked up bad in there just now. What exactly are you playing at, here?”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t want me to hurt him, right?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Okay, then, take one for the team.” His arms, flash out, lock me in an embrace. He swirls the duster around us to hide us, and sinks his fangs into my neck.

“OW, dammit!“ The shock of pain and crushing make me gasp, so does the rushing sensation, and I cling to his shoulders beneath the duster as he drinks, wondering briefly, as I will every time he does this, if I�ll live through this one. It’s very brief this time, a few deep draughts, just enough to take the edge off, I’m sure, and enough to knock my socks off, leave me almost giddy with the intensity.

He notices my hard-on as he removes his fangs licks the wound to help it heal and the game face is gone. He smiles at me, bemused. “Why Jackie-Boy... Is that a stake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

I try to shove him away in disgust, but I am caught. He chuckles and sits me at the table, pats my head, goes back to the stove. My head is spinning with dizziness and I finger my neck, scowling. He fills a glass with tap water, sets it in front of me, pats me on the head again like the most obedient puppy, and then I watch him take out the pan of lasagna. It looks as incredible as it smells.

I gulp down the water, figuring he knows a thing or two about handling mortal blood loss. “Where did you learn to cook, anyway?”

“I didn’t. I don’t eat. That sap Angel learned. Thought Buffy would be impressed I guess.”

+++++++++++

The lasagna is incredible and I eat almost more than should be humanly possible. We eat in front of the TV and it is more-than-bizarre watching Angelus laughing at sitcoms, not eating because he�s “on a diet“; even more bizarre being his “boyfriend“, resting my head in his lap on the couch while he strokes my hair. Adam remains absolutely smitten.

After dinner, Adam mentions that he needs cigarettes, and Angelus volunteers he and I to go and get them, which shocks me, but any reprieve from having to be his boyfriend for a while is fine with me.

+++++++++++

We’re out on the chilly streets, breath fogging. The closest store is six blocks away, a quick walk, but Angelus is busy scanning the streets, forcing me to walk with him at a much slower pace. He has the sharp eyes of a predator, and I can’t decide if he is trying to protect me from any harm or scanning the streets for a victim. Both would make sense, really. He wants to be the one to do whatever harm comes to me, and for such a big guy, the mosquitoes-worth of blood he took from me earlier couldn’t possibly be enough to satisfy him.

He makes us take the long way, down as many dark alleys as possible, but the only living things we encounter are a few stray cats and raccoons. “Aren’t there any criminals in this fucking city?” Angelus mutters in frustration.

“This is Minneapolis, Angelus, not South Central Los Angeles. It�s too damn cold for that shit here.”

He’s practically pouting the entire time at the store and glares at the middle-aged cashier who flirts with him, openly. I can’t help but smirk as I watch him try to figure out how exactly to yank her from behind the counter and sink his fangs in her throat with the surveillance cameras rolling and five customers in line behind us. He follows me out in a huff.

On the return trip, things are different. The Marlboro Lights safely in my pocket, I reluctantly follow as he steers us down an alley again. Around a corner, we realize it is a dead end, just as two shapes dash out from a doorway. Amazingly, it’s two guys with guns. He grins like a mischievous child in a candy store.

“Give me your fuckin’ money, Mr. Businessman!” the dirty blond says, shoving the pistol into Angelus’ ribs. The brown-haired one backs up a bit and trains his gun on me with a steady hand, though his eyes betray nervousness. They are so young. I roll my eyes, a smug smile on my face. This monster wants to kill me himself, he won’t let this happen and I feel quite confident that I am safe and that they are not.

The steady smile on the vampire’s face is the calm before a torrential and terrifying storm of rage that even shocks me with its� intensity. With a blur of movement, I’m shoved against the wall near him with an “Oof!“ of surprise, the two guns are clattering to the ground, the brown haired-guy is dangling from Angelus’ fist and the blonde is stretched beneath his fangs, pressed tightly against him, held immobile.

Goddam!! I’ve seen Angel in action before and the guy was always quick and amazing, but nothing compared to the brutal speed and precision of Angelus’ attack. A soul must make vampires less-than-coordinated.

“Maybe you’ll take something else I have to give you in lieu of any cash,” Angelus hisses, making sure the guy knows what’s coming, sees the hideous game face and sparkling fangs.

It goes much faster than I ever imagined it would. I’m watching with a clinical detachment as the guy struggles, his eyes fill with pain and terror as the canines slice in and the realization hits him. The vampire bites him only once, but the entire process lasts around ten seconds and I see the light go out of his eyes, as though Angelus found his dimmer switch and turned it down very slowly.

He drops Dead Guy on the ground with a sickening crack of skull against pavement, then lets Choking Brown-Haired Guy�s feet meet earth again, whose legs crumple beneath him. He is on his knees, hugging the vampire’s legs, sobbing and crying, gibbering in panic, begging and pleading. Angelus lets this go on long enough to amuse him, then cuts him off with a cold laugh. He plucks him up with an almost casual grace, and the guy is bent beneath his fangs in a blur of motion.

“Ready to feed the maggots, you nasty little bitch? They�re hungrier than me and they�re waiting just around the bend,” hisses out between reddened fangs, golden eyes blazing, before he descends which wrenches a gasp of pain and terror from the guy and Angelus hits that guy’s dimmer switch, too.

I watch his body fall with a sickening crunch. The morbid fascination disturbs me but not as much as the unexpected hard-on this display of vampiric prowess has caused. Maybe its the memory of being bitten; the helpless euphoria of it.

He smiles, color more ruddy now, and puts a warm arm around my shoulders as he leads me away.

“See the difference, Xan? If I were killing you, I wouldn�t fuck around. It takes seconds to end a mortal�s life. It�s only slow sometimes because it�s more fun that way.” He stops me and turns me to him, forcefully. “Look at me, Harris, and know this well. You are less than ten seconds from death every second you are around me. Got it?”

“Yes, Angelus.”

++++++++

After another night of Blue Ribbon, marathon sex, I collapse next to the vampire, feeling more than a little conflicted. No biting or passing out this time and I am vaguely disappointed. Guess he got his fill with the two hoodlums in the alley.

“Angelus, can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?”

“What is this? What are you doing here? And just where the hell is all of this leading? I didn’t expect to be alive more than thirty seconds after I woke up last night, and here it is the next night. I’m sorry if this stokes some Demon Rage Monster in you, but I need to know. The suspense is killing me.”

I expect shouts and screams, choking maybe, biting. Anything but the tender hand that wipes away a tear I don’t even realize is sliding down my face.

“You know how Angel felt about Buffy? That sick, desperate yearning he had that made you and everyone else but them nauseous?”

“Yeah.”

“Buffy was Angel’s obsession . . . but you were always mine. I was there behind Soulboy’s eyes the whole time. It was all about you, Xander. What I did to your family and friends; I stripped you of everyone but me. You made it all the more delicious by running halfway across the country to escape me because I love the chase. But even when you ran, you knew it would end up like this. Hoped it would.”

My mind seems clunky. Doesn’t grasp the scope of his words. What exactly is he saying?

“You’re mine, Xander. You always were, you just didn’t know it. Not on any conscious level, but your subconscious was calling me to you like sonar. That�s how I found you.”

“Yours? Yours!?” an incredulous gasp. “What do you mean? Are you gonna turn me?”

“Nope. Not yet. I like fucking something warm. Maybe later on down the line. Can’t have you growing old and dying on me, now can I?”

A sob wants to wrench itself from me, from the ripped open wound of guilt buried inside me. It was always about me? Those people died because this monster had a sick fascination with me? Dear god! Brood-Boy didn’t even have to deal with as much guilt as this that washes over me.

“I’m all you have, Xander. All you will ever have. It’s no use getting close to anyone if you value their life, because I don’t. If you run, I’ll find you and make you mine again. There is no escape, no safe place. Your subconscious is a shining beacon that will draw me to you until the end of time.”

Each word a cold fist in my stomach, a chilly splash of ice water dribbling down my spine. I feel myself instinctively drawing away from him, under the covers, and he is on me in a flash with a possessive snarl that makes me whimper helplessly, crushed beneath him again.

“And-- I suppose I get no say in all of this?”

He chuckles and pins my mouth beneath his in a slow, knee-weakening kiss in answer. I feel tears coursing down my cheeks. All dead because of me all dead because of me all dead because of me... Nowhere to go or hide. Owned forever. His mouth is almost warm at my ear, having robbed some heat from our union.

“You want it Xander. You made your decision the first time you laid eyes on me, way back in Sunnydale. Even then you knew a hidden part of Soulboy was your destiny.”

I shake my head furiously. “No, no, no... Not true! Not true! Hated you! Hated you!!”

“Such bitter contempt, boy,” crooning in my ear, “as if I couldn’t smell the burning need below the rage, that sickly-sweet smell of lust even though your eyes burned with fury. Emotions don’t lie, Xander. Words and actions do, but emotions don’t. You were made for me. Just waiting for me to find you. Even then you knew I was your soul mate.”

No no no no no no no no... Not true. Not true. Something inside me is ripping apart, tearing at the seams, begging to be released. I feel the urge to scream, cry, claw at him, smash his face to pieces, stake the fucking bastard and throw him in the fucking sun. Laugh as he becomes a billowing cloud of dust. Laugh!!!

I don’t even realize I am punching him until he pins my hands on the pillows. I’m growling between clenched teeth, trying to spit and claw him to pieces. Hissing and screaming. Trying to claw his dark eyes out, smack that smile off of his face, because it is caring, benevolent and all-seeing, all-knowing and so deadly patient. Patient enough to wait for me to break as long as it takes, the body strong enough to hold me down until I break and because he is immortal he literally has all the time in the world to wait for me to break. So damned patient and that is the worst part. He won’t let me hide from him in another city or pinned here beneath him. Won’t let me hide behind a phony name in a city I hate with every fiber of my being, a job I hate. Won’t let me hide behind bleach-blond hair or my gay roommate or the semblance of a life I have tried to drag from the ruins of my past. Won’t let me, because he knows the truth. Sees it there, smells it there, can probably fucking taste it. And he will never give up. Not using brute strength or chilling threats to force it out of me, because he knows I have to admit it myself for it to be real.

“NO!! Damn you! DAMN YOU!! Go to HELL and FUCKING STAY THERE you monster!! I will NEVER fucking admit something that sick and twisted. Soul mate!!?? I LAUGH at you!! You DISGUST me, you filthy fucking MURDERER!! I will stake you the first chance I get and LAUGH at your goddam ashes, you son of a filthy fucking WHORE!! Throw you in the brightest rays of dawn you fucking BITCH!!”

Hurling insults like bullets that glide smoothly off of him, one hand pinning mine with ease, the other stroking my brow. Benevolent and patient. My voice is hoarse. He knows I will run out of hurtful words and I suddenly wish I knew a different language to curse at him in. No reaction, no reaction, NOTHING!! Just an ever-patient smile, almost smug in its clairvoyance. I will break. It will just take time. He will own me as completely as he boasts if he just waits. It’s as inevitable as the change of seasons in this part of the country; the coming of winter.

I feel it welling inside me. A dam is about to break. I feel the foundation crumbling and an animal scream of rage and helpless defeat rushes out of me and I throw all my strength into breaking his firm grip on me. Either I possess super-human strength for a moment, equal to his, or he lets me go because I break his grip on my arms, and squirm from underneath the crushing prison of his body. I am frantic and try to dash toward the bedroom door. Amazingly, I reach for the doorknob and find I can’t touch it. Can’t turn it. Can’t escape this hell. Something inside me is holding me back. Rustle of bed clothes the only warning before cool, soft and gentle arms encircle me from behind, stopping me at last with firm, gentle insistence.

“No, damn you!! NO!!” but the fight is going out of me with every passing second. So tired. So. Hard. To. Fight this. So goddam hard. An inscrutable emotion inside me makes me want to scream, sob and laugh at the same time. The arms are firm and gentle and that’s the part that finally does me in.

He is cooing nonsense words in my ear, in a language only I understand, soothing me, and holding me close to him and it’s enough. It suddenly seems to make up for everything. Everything that has ever been wrong in my life. The father who abused me, the emotionally distant mother trapped in a loveless marriage consumed with self-loathing at her own cowardice, the gruesome deaths of everyone I loved, the constant terror, jumping at every shadow for the past year and a half. It’s all finally over. The loneliness, the constant, nagging uncertainty about my place in life, my true calling, and the buzzing doubts, the endless Can I do this by myself? my life has become.

He feels the fight give in and I hear a soft, pleasant chuckle as I finally go limp in his arms and allow myself to be carried back to the bed, sobbing like a baby. Crying so hard I feel I am choking on every bit of sadness I have ever experienced. No crushing prison this time. He tucks me into bed and pulls the covers over me like the most overprotective father. He bends down and kisses me, ever-so-gently on my tear-stained face and I hear a soft whisper of, “My Xander...” before I lose consciousness and succumb to the black embrace of sleep.

++++++++++

Rough ground beneath my feet. Thick, acrid smell of smoke on the air. Crickets whirring around me like the summoners of death. I’m in the woods; back in Sunnydale. I am rooted to the spot, transfixed by the horror before me. A huge bonfire casting flickering lunging shadows everywhere. No minions around for this; just Angelus in all demonic glory. Buffy, Giles, Willow and Cordy chained to separate trees, unconscious.

I watch as he wakes them with hard slaps, brings them all around, going to Buffy last. Buffy lands a flying kick to his face and the chains snap around her; she was pretending to be unconscious. They all come to with screams and shouts, encouraging Buffy on in her quest.

I know what’s coming. Have memorized every detail but I can’t look away; can’t pry my eyes from the carnage. Angelus wrenches a branch from the nearby try Buffy has sent him sprawling into. Spins around with ferocity and lands it on her head, knocking her to the ground. He dashes to an old oak chest nearby and withdraws an ornate gleaming, wicked sword with a bejeweled handle. Buffy’s love for Angel is her undoing. One split-second of hesitation does her in. Her doubt that anything that resembles Angel, her true love, could actually kill her. Forgetting the cardinal rule of the Slayer. Demons have no remorse. They are pure evil and live to kill, destroy, torture and slaughter. The sword whistles down, severing her head with a dull thud.

A scream of delight from the strutting demon and answering screams of rage from the rest of them, futile struggles against their bonds. Angelus dispatches each of them slowly, savoring the horror on each of their faces. First Cordy, then Giles and finally Wills. The sword rending flesh, bites from the demon, slow excruciating bites. Screams, blood. He rips Giles open with the sword after tearing his throat out, spraying blood nearly to my feet. I am sinking to my knees, moaning in terror. I have just reached a point of clawing, wrenching insanity that I hope I don’t ever have to come back from as he throws the bodies on the fire. Their flesh burns, they turn into black husks with the flames licking them. At one point, the blood-stained demon catches my eye and smiles, in that promising way. “I will find you, boy,” rings through my head amid the burning pork smell of roasted human flesh and I am running.

FLASH!! BANG!! I am in my parents living room and THIS I never saw. This new horror. My dad struggling, Angelus’ fist locked on his throat, crushing the windpipe slowly. My mother screaming on the floor in front of the couch, big purple bruise blossoming on her cheek and bloody nose dripping onto her white shirt. My feet rooted again, trembling.

“Come on,” Angelus coaxes. “Have a heart.” Know what’s coming but can’t turn away. He reaches out with his right hand, in such a casual way it chills me, and plunges his hand through my father’s chest with a sickening, wet crack.

“Gahhh...” comes out of my father’s mouth followed by a fountain of blood as he falls to the floor, the heart still pulsing in Angelus’ fist as he kneels down in my mother’s pale, slack face and takes a bite. A hot jet sprays my face and my mother has absolutely no reaction and I know her mind is probably gone at this point, and I feel some relief at that amid the waves of revulsion that cause me to fall to my knees and vomit violently after watching Angelus chew and swallow. When I look back up, Angelus smiles at my mother, pats her head, casts the heart aside and tears out her throat with a flick of his wrist.

“Blood, blood everywhere, and not a drop to drink,” Angelus sings as he bends to my mother’s throat and sips the last cooling drops. He chuckles slightly and sings, in a deep baritone, heading toward the door, strutting, “I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places...”

His voice fades as waves of revulsion wrack my body and I vomit again. When that’s over, I am screaming, screaming, screaming...

+++++++++++

I am out of the bed, when I wake up. Cowering in the corner of my room, somehow and its daytime behind the shades. Naked and cold in the corner, panting in terror as the dream loses its grip on me. Then another compulsion grabs me and I run to the bathroom, just making it before the dinner from the night before comes up. Ants in the bathroom, I think, shaking, watch them scurry about their ant-business on the floor behind the toilet, completely oblivious to the Terro traps Adam has set out for the past 3 months.

Flushing the toilet with a pale, shaking hand, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It doesn’t look like me. It’s not me. More than the blonde hair. Something is dead in my eyes. Someone replaced my eyes with a cadaver’s. I look closer and when I see a sadistic smile I don’t recognize or feel connected to any particular emotion break out, I bite back the urge to scream and tear at my face with my fingernails. What the fuck happened to me? Who the fuck am I?

Then, there is a feeling of otherness in the room; an abrupt feeling clawing at me, nearly psychic in its veracity. I’m not alone in the bathroom. My eyes jump to the closed shower curtain. Someone is standing there, behind the curtain. Knowing what I will see before I see it, my trembling hands draw back the seashell pattern to reveal naked Adam, propped in the corner of the shower, face pale, mouth gaping, ants scurrying on his eyeballs. The smallest of puncture wounds his doom, coagulated blood on his skinny chest, and a look of pure, unadulterated adoration (Angelus was tender with him and he loved it) that sends a surge of animal jealousy through me that revolts me much more than the flesh-rending carnage in the dream ever could have and I vomit again. Can’t live like this! Can’t be this person!

I am calm as I walk back in the room. I stand watching the still, sleeping form; the hulking nakedness beneath stained sheets. Black lashes resting on strong cheekbones, slight smile on the face and the tiniest drop of dried blood on the chin. Truly devastatingly handsome. I know without knowing how I know that the slightest whiff of murderous intent in me will wake the creature with a questioning growl and all bets will be off, so I calmly, quietly choose Plan B instead.

++++++++++

Chicago is all I can afford, and the agonizing 8 hour Greyhound ride that brings me ever closer to my destination is unnerving. Folks try to strike up conversation with me on two occasions and I literally snarl at them, and something in my eyes makes them recoil in terror. Maybe they see the deadness, too. A rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. I am drumming my fingers on every available surface, twitching at every movement on the bus and murmuring quietly to myself.

Why hello, Insanity, ya old bastard. Nice to make your acquaintance cause you’re the only thing that can make me forget. Took you fucking long enough to get here.

Chicago’s far enough, and the brash, self-absorbed anonymity of it all is refreshing after the in-your-face kindness and concern of Minneapolis. Won’t be here long anyway. Which is good because the fucking cold is even worse in the Windy City. I stop at four drugstores to avoid suspicion at the quantity of drugs I am purchasing. I get whatever looks lethal. Aspirin, every sleep remedy on the market, strong allergy medicine. I stop at a liquor store on the way back to my shitty motel room. I don’t get ID’d for the expensive bottle of red wine I buy, and then stalk through what I consider very bad neighborhoods, but encounter absolutely no violence. My confidence throws them off; nothing very victimy in my posture, though I try my hardest. Maybe they can smell my burgeoning insanity and it scares them. Where’s a good old-fashioned LA damned drive-by when you need one!!??

Back in the motel room, I dump the purchases on the bed, and fill a 44oz plastic 7-Eleven drink cup with them. Most of the pills I bought are in caplet form so I am able to break them open and dump their white powder into the red wine. I watch the deadly tendrils undulate in the crimson liquid, making it more and more cloudy. It’s tiresome work and I give up halfway through, realizing that the concoction I have created thus far would probably kill about 20 elephants.

I brush the rest of the pills on the floor, violently. I laugh, looking at the liquid. I deserve this. I deserve Hell and whatever fresh torments await me there. I deserve it all. The murdering demon fucked me and I enjoyed it. I begged him for more. I deserve this...

I lift the glass after taking a few long gulps out of the bottle of wine and dropping the rest on the floor with a crash.

Blearily, but with firm resolve I say, “Here’s to you, Angelus. Soul mate. Messenger of fucking hell, but the best fuck of my entire life. Here’s to you and that whole fucking-people-insane deal you got going on...”

The door explodes. No other way to describe it. Angelus is there, as if on cue, shoulders heaving in rage, eyes wild. I mean to go through with it, gulp the shit down before the bastard can stop me, but a swift flying kick sends the cup upended against the wall. I run up to him, wild with fury and he catches my fist in his big hand before it can land a crushing blow on his face. His arms whip around me then, and he’s cradling me against his chest, petting my hair as I cry again, trying to say something accusatory about brutally slaughtered friends, family, and roommates, but it’s all nonsense. Nothing left to say or do but melt into his embrace.

He feels my form give against him, feels the fight go completely out of me, feels me break much easier this time and chuckles. He knows he has won. Knows this will be the last time I try to escape. Arm around my shoulders, he leads me out of the shitty motel room, down to the purring black Lincoln Town Car and spirits me away without a trace. Like a thief in the night.

The End

EXCITING a. dean NEWS
An All-New Story Coming soon...

"As it is now and ever shall be..." by a. dean
Another exciting and much nastier and darker take on the whole Xander/Angelus thing. Probably the last one unless that pesky Angelus Muse doesn't stop biting me. He is soo hard to say "No" to. Hee hee Stay tuned.

Okay a few words about what comes below. To the untrained eye, you will find nothing but my first attempt at "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" Slash fan fiction featuring my favorite pairing Angelus/Xander. Look a little bit closer and you will see what ultimately became my salvation. This seemingly harmless piece of fiction was the first coherent story I had written in over 8 years of complete and utter writer's block. Writing about characters I already knew and didn't have to create was a way to kick-start my Lazy-Ass Muse, it seems. Whatever. The trilogy below saved me from depression, unemployment, despair, TV addiction, utter hopelessness and a general Eeyore attitude that was driving everyone crazy.

A quick shout-out to my girl Danielle, the Corn Goddess, for showing me the way. It may have been your sick, twisted and entirely premeditated plan to drag me into your dark, perverted world of slash and smut, but out of darkness into light, right? Thanks kiddo. I owe you one!!

Here are some Cliff Notes for the Buffy-impaired. Everything you need to understand the trilogy below is here.

Cliff Notes

Characters that have major speaking parts:

Alexander Lavelle Harris (Xander): High school senior at this point. Sardonic member of the Scooby Gang. Always has a wise-crack. Encountered Angelus once before and has ALWAYS distrusted and despised Angel. The reasons for his hatred have ALWAYS been unclear to the audience. Product of an abusive father and distant, uncaring mother.

Angelus: Angel un-souled. “The Scourge of Europe” A very evil and very old vampire. Legendary for tormenting his lovers to the brink of insanity for his own sick amusement. Angel’s true love for Buffy becomes sick, twisted desire to harm her in Angelus. (Common belief among fans is that Angelus has a thing for Xander.) Delights in tormenting and overpowering humans. His interest in Xander would ultimately be to use him to destroy Buffy and to drive him insane as an added bonus. There are always hints at his rampant sexuality as well, which of course is exploited here.

Willow Rosenberg: Xander’s best friend since birth. Has always had a crush on Xander. Not quite to her true witchy potential at this point in the series, but getting there.

Other things you need to know:

Scooby Gang: Refers to Buffy’s team of friends who do battle with the Hellmouth. The core three being Willow, Xander and Giles.

Hellmouth: The ancient evil that lives below Sunnydale and causes all the freaky, supernatural stuff to happen there.

Deadboy: Xander’s not-so-affectionate nickname for Angel.

Soulboy: Angelus’ not-so-affectionate nickname for Angel.

Vampires: Okay here we go. A vampire of Angelus� caliber, in this telling, is incredibly strong, they have cool skin, no heartbeats, they can smell emotions, they have some mind control and they literally have a growling, insatiable DEMON within them. Their normal human face is called “the mask”. When they “Vamp out” they show their real face or “game face”.

I think that’s all you’ll need. Let me know if you need more.

Elements of Destruction: A Trilogy
by a. dean

PART ONE:
Silence

The wind hurls a plastic bag against the living room window and Xander jumps. It�s really picking up out there. The chilly autumn breeze is a bit un-seasonal for Sunnydale, but not unheard of. For all he knows, this could be the calling card of the Scooby Gang’s next great and horrible foe, Mr. Freeze, a slimy octopus creature from the depths of hell, bent on freezing them all to death.

It’s one of those rare nights when the Harris household is quiet. Mom and dad are out of town for the weekend and he has the place to himself. He basks in the quiet, but it gets to him once in awhile. Usually so much activity around him, the quiet is sometimes unnerving. The Hellmouth seems to have taken a nap recently and the last thing Xander feels is relieved by that. It’s winding up for a whopper.

As if in answer to his dread, there is a sharp knock at the front door. Xander glances at the clock on the VCR and is shocked to see that it’s nearly 2AM. Such a great party with his Chemistry homework, he forgot to stop. Maybe the silence was gradually driving him insane. On the way to the door, he grabs the stake out of his backpack. Buffy calls hers Mr. Pointy, but Xander’s is Mr. Save-My-Lifey. He peeks out the window on the side of the door.

“Who’s there?”

No answer. Maybe the wind chucked something at his front door. He opens it, slowly, stake at the ready. The wind gives it a shove and it bangs open, nearly causing Xander to go into cardiac arrest. Angel is standing there, famous leather duster blowing in the wind. Not exactly his favorite person, but at least it wasn’t the prologue for the next horrid thing to happen in Sunnyhell.

“Deadboy? Sure know how to make a dramatic entrance, don’t you?”

Angel doesn’t smile. There is something steely-cold in his gaze that Xander isn’t too fond of; a gleam that he hasn’t seen before.

“Xander.”

Silence again, and just that creepy gaze, flickering quickly over Xander’s form and then back to his face. Something kinda familiar about that gaze, come to think of it. Too much uncomfortable silence. He is clutching the doorknob with his left hand and he first notices that his hands are sweaty about the time the silence becomes unbearable.

“Okay. As much as I like dead guys visiting my house at 2AM and just staring at me on my doorstep, would you mind telling me what the hell you are doing here besides creeping me the hell out?”

A smile then. The smile is far worse than the creepy flat gaze because there is suddenly a stab of recognition like a knife tearing through his flesh. This isn’t Angel. The smile is far too sadistic. This is . . .

His trusty rulebook on surviving vampire attacks flips open in his mind, going directly to “Chapter 3: Hunting and Escaping“. Doors. Vampires cannot come inside unless they are invited. Even if this is the infamous “Scourge of Europe” on his front stoop, he is okay as long as he stays on his side of the threshold. Angelus has never been invited inside, neither has Angel.

“I just wanted to know if you could come out and play, Xander.”

Xander laughs, and does a little safe-on-his-side-of-the-threshold dance.

“Not falling for THAT one, ANGELUS. You can’t come in cause you’ve never been invited.” He laughs insanely and dances some more. Then he sighs and leans casually against the wall. “What brought you back, anyway? Buffy didn’t give it up AGAIN, did she? Will she NEVER learn?”

Angelus isn’t amused. Especially not when Xander leans forward and blows a huge, messy raspberry right in his face. And then Xander isn’t amused when there is a flicker of movement, a chilly fist is clenched on his shirt, the stake clatters to the porch floor, and he’s dragged right into the game face of his worst enemy, yellow eyes blazing.

“The hem of your t-shirt is all I needed, Xander. Just be glad it wasn’t the cuff of your jeans. You’d be upside down right now.”

A choked noise squeaks out of Xander. “Angel, I--”

WHAM!! That’s definitely a fist to the side of his head, but it feels like a two-by-four. “Call me Soulboy’s name again and your family dies slowly in front of you. You know my name, Xander. You disappoint me.”

The tone is mocking, and full of power. Xander cringes, head throbbing, and realizes his feet aren’t touching the porch floor. I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead...

“Now... though I’d love to give your neighbors a good show, let’s take this inside, shall we?” He pauses and that intense gaze is human again, or what passes for human in Angelus. “Now, we can do this two ways, Xander. The easy way involves you inviting me in, properly. The hard way involves a lot of brain matter on your nice, clean porch and frankly, I don’t want to mess my shirt up. What’s it gonna be?”

Though Angelus isn’t choking him, Xander is finding it hard to form words anyway. He clears his throat, licks his lips and says, trembling: “You’reinvitedinsideAngelus...” It sounds much odder than Xander had intended, but it suits Angelus, who sets him gently back on his feet, pats his head and brushes past him into the house, leaving Xander on the porch, stunned. He glances longingly at the street

“Xanderrrrrrr...” Angelus croons. He is leaning against the sofa, beckoning with one be-ringed finger at him.

Doesn�t hurt to try. Xander is off the porch like a shot but takes only a few steps into the yard before it feels like he collides with a cold brick wall, knocking the wind out of him. Angelus’ hand is on his throat, restraining him.

“I’m impressed, Xander. You’ve got balls. It seems, though, like this is something we just need to get past so we can move on. Though I could pop your head off with all the effort it takes a small child to pop the head off a dandelion, I won’t yet. I want to give you one last chance.” He takes the chilly hand off Xander’s throat and places it on his shoulder, pats his head with the other. “You need to know how strong I am before we can move on. No biggie. It’s happened before.” Angelus removes his hand from Xander’s head, leaves the one on his shoulder. “Go ahead,” he says with a fake exaggerated yawn, turning away. “Escape.”

Xander is shaking now. All humorous pretense has left him at this point. It went yipping down the street like a wounded puppy at the moment he found himself dangling from Angelus’ fist on the porch; the other fist smacking his head with a dull thud. Now he�s asking him to fight him. Not exactly a great idea. “Please, Angelus, I...”

“Try to escape, Xander. Fight me. Don’t make me tell you to again.”

The threat is very clear, so Xander complies. He tries to turn and run but he is being held completely immobile by Angelus’ hand on his shoulder. Amazingly, it doesn’t seem to be pinching or bruising, it’s just there, big and heavy as stone. He shoves at Angelus’ shoulders, shoves at his chest, tries to knee him in the groin (a discernible movement dodges that one), tries to punch his face. He may as well be fighting a mannequin. Angelus seems downright bored deflecting the blows without even looking at him and Xander is damn near worn out with the efforts. All that’s left for Xander to do is bite his ankles, and that’s certainly a slippery slope he doesn’t intend to start sliding down.

“Okay, Angelus. You’ve made your point. You’re the Vampire of Steel and I’m just a puny mortal. I get it.”

“Great! Let’s continue, then.”

The casual way that the vampire leaves him and heads back through the open door of the house makes Xander want to fall down and die. Where the hell is Buffy and the cavalry? He’s making me willingly follow him to my doom!
--------

Angelus is sprawled casually on the couch when Xander comes in, shutting the door behind him, but not locking it. The monster already got in, why bother locking anything out? Hands behind his head, an amused smile on his face, he points to the chair across from him and Xander quickly crosses the room and sits in it.

Angelus seems to want to take this at a slow and languid pace, but Xander can’t handle it and it suddenly gives him courage.

“If you’re going to kill me, can we please get it over with? I mean, I know you’re all about high drama, but we both know where this is going to end. I’d rather die than sit here like---”

The vampire is on his feet in front of him and Xander chokes on the rest of the words with the shock of his speed. All amusement has fled from his gaze. “This isn’t about what you want, and don’t you ever speak to me again unless you are spoken to, boy.” He paces in front of the chair, making Xander feel more and more like a bunny caught in a lion�s cage. “You seem to think killing you is the worst thing I can do to you, and that’s where I can tell you lack any imagination. I could always torture you to the point where you BEG me to kill you, but physical violence isn’t very fun. With all the screaming and crying and it just ends up leaving such a mess.”

Xander is relieved at that. He hadn’t even considered that he might dangle from manacles all night, being whipped with a leather strop.

“Actually, it’d be more like slowly bleeding to death from thousands of tiny cuts, but you get the general idea.” Apparently, his mind was just read and Xander’s discomfort level instantly ratchets up a few notches. My mind isn’t even my own.

“No. I have a lot more planned for you than that.” The pacing stops directly in front of him. The toes of the vampire’s boots are almost touching the toes of Xander’s sneakers. The boots become Xander’s focus point as a silence lengthens. He can feel a fiery gaze focused on him from above. Xander shivers, then realizes the vampire is emanating a chilliness; an eerie, unnatural chilliness that seems to suck the breath slowly out of his lungs. “Look at me,” rasps from above, in a new, silky voice that causes Xander’s breath to catch in his throat.

He does as he is told and when their eyes meet, there is not a shred of doubt about where this is heading. There is such dark, smoldering sexuality in the dark eyes, he feels his face grow hot and feels as though his clothes have evaporated around him like mist. Much to his surprise, he feels his cock stir in his pants. He is so transfixed with the fiery gaze, he can’t worry about the social implications of that. He feels almost paralyzed.

“Stand up.” Same silky, inviting voice, but with their eyes locked, the voice is tactile, like soft fingers gently caressing him. Though his limbs seem to have suddenly become lead, Xander obeys. Because of the close, immobile vampire he can’t stand up from the chair without slowly brushing the length of his body against the vampire’s. Angelus is taller than him; his head stops just below the vampire’s jaw. He can’t take his eyes away, and his head starts to swim. When the vampire slowly smiles, Xander realizes that his cock is about to burst through his pants. A man should not be this beautiful. It should be illegal. At this point he could go on studying the vampire’s face and eyes for the rest of his life, and he wouldn’t care.

The vampire’s gaze slowly shifts to his neck and the spell recedes enough for Xander’s panicked mind to scream Wake up, dumbass! He’s going to kill you! The vampire is transfixed with his neck and when he feels chilly arms encircle him, slowly, a sound escapes Xander’s throat that doesn’t exactly make him proud. Call it a whimper. The arms feel perfect around him, though. Cooling him. He had been so hot before... He feels like Angelus just broke a fever he had for his entire life and never noticed. He can’t be bothered by the fact that this is definitely a MAN and definitely a DEAD man with more than a few pointy and deadly edges at his disposal when he wants them.

A low laugh rumbles the great chest, and the amused gaze drifts from his neck to his face again. Reading my mind again. DAMN! Trembling, Xander tries to make his mouth work, and he manages: “Angelus, please . . .”

“Please what?”

“Don’t...”

A thin, chilly finger touches his lips gently and then he is trapped in the smoldering eyes again. Then the finger is gone and it is tracing a line from his lips to his throat, making him shiver in delight, despite abject terror.

Those eyes. Those damned eyes! So warm, so deep. GOD so deep and fathomless. He feels like there is something wrong here, but he suddenly can’t remember quite what it is because Angelus is so handsome and so caring and so loving and his arms feel so right around him and he could die right now and be happy with that, thank you very much, because being this close to someone is so nice and especially because it is Angelus who cares so much about him and would never dream of hurting him and

HE’S A MONSTER WHO IS GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!! blares out as Angelus deliberately breaks the gaze and Xander jerks as his mind is suddenly free to blare at him like a klaxon. Xander feels as though he has been rudely and violently awakened from a dream. What the HELL was that? It’s all muddy now, but there was something about eyes and having a fever and oh yeah, Angelus has me locked in an embrace.

Raw terror surges through him and he begins to struggle, but he may as well be fighting the embrace of a statue, and amazingly Angelus is running his hand up and down the small of his back while he struggles, seeming to wait patiently for him to stop. He feels hot tears rolling down his cheek which seem to grab the vampire’s attention for a moment. Finally, he grabs Xander a little tighter, which pushes most of the air out of his lungs in a wheezing gasp.

“Xander, Xander, Xander...” the vampire purrs, and yes it’s that silky voice that his cock seems to be in love with, again. “Your fear smells far too bitter right now. I’m really not in the mood. Your desire smells so much sweeter. Don’t be afraid, you’re ruining the moment.”

“Umm . . . not exactly my idea of fun, Angelus. Sorry.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Lilting tone, a slight shift of position and the vampires’ strong, cool hand is running down his chest to his cock, slow enough to send tremors through him. “Your dick seems to think it is.”

The fiery eyes are back, and they grab Xander’s in a death grip. “You can’t hide anything from me, Xander. Even Soulboy knew; always made him uncomfortable when people had a thing for him. Your intense dislike was your way of trying to deny it. Good thing for you that I LOVE when people have a thing for me. Makes them so much easier to drag to that delicious state of insanity that comes so easily with affection.” All of this is said with the tenderness of a lover purring sweet nothings and Xander would be chilled to the bone if his mind weren’t elsewhere.

“Tell me the truth, now...” Gentle and cajoling, but with that rampant air of authority.

“It’s true...” Xander says, feeling another tear slip down his cheek. “Angelus, please... Don’t make me say it... I can’t...”

“Still holding on to that lingering thread of what you humans call heterosexuality, eh? Isn’t that just for show, Xander? For your parents, for Buffy and Red and even Giles. All of them couldn’t handle it, could they? They’d see you differently. Well Red wouldn’t, she’s got secrets of her own, but the rest would... Now say it, like a good boy. I want to hear it.” The grip tightens threateningly.

“I am attracted to you, Angelus...” And it’s true, isn’t it? Hasn’t it always been true? He thinks so, but things seem kinda confused at the moment. Thinking back, WAS that why he always bristled in Angel’s presence? Well, beyond the whole VAMPIRE thing. Was THAT what it was? Seems so right now. But also, cooperation seems key to survival at the moment and Xander is all about self-preservation, thank you very much...

“Good! See! That wasn’t so difficult was it? Now, let’s move on.”

“Move on to whuh--?” His question is cut off because the vampire’s lips are on his and a cool tongue is thrusting down his throat and DAMN he sure never expected that. The kiss is awkward at first, but Xander soon gets into it much against his will, really, because the vampire is undeniably an incredible kisser; firm and rough but somehow gentle at the same time. All confusion and shock and dread seem to melt away in that kiss and he is kissing him back and he doesn’t have ANY idea what the hell is going on now, but he finds his clumsy fingers scrabbling at the buttons on the black shirt trying to reveal the hard chest beneath. One of the arms around him loosens and he feels those calm, cool fingers cover his, gently remove them from the task and take it over.

When the smooth chest is bared, the kiss moves abruptly from his lips to his cheek to his chin and down to his neck. Xander stiffens with realization, feels the hard planes of the vampire’s forehead shift somewhat, there is a low hiss and teeth are in his neck. He feels the arms tighten around him, feels his own fly up and clutch the big shoulders, feels a stray thought blast through his brain, Never expected it to feel like this...

Pain akin to burning and freezing, not stabbing. The sucking involves the cool, rough tongue and silky, firm lips; and the rushing, delicious pleasure of it, the sheer intimacy of it makes him moan helplessly. He wonders dimly if it will end like this; bent beneath the vampire’s mouth in his living room, staring at the rust spots on the ceiling. Wouldn’t be the worst way to die... He’s kinda tired, actually, come to think of it, and the vampire is just helping him sleep; yeah, he definitely needs to take a nice long rest and bless Angelus for helping him do that. How kind, really... So tired he can’t even hold onto the shoulders and the slight shift of his hands dropping back to his sides elicits a weird throaty growl from the vampire. Nap time...

But then it’s all drawing away and he’s looking at the human mask again; pretty much the same just with a drop of blood on his lower lip. Then, movement, and he feels himself lowered onto the couch, the vampire pinning him beneath his weight. Most of the blood in his body seems to be uselessly rushing to his cock at this. The vampire is kissing him again and the mouth is warm now, the body almost feverish, radiating an intensity of heat into Xander that seems to be further lulling him into a dreamy, languid sleep. Now it’s reversed. The vampire is a heavy, warm blanket on his shivering, cold body. Just what he needed.

“...dying...” slips from Xander’s lips when the kiss moves back toward his bleeding neck.

A slight chuckle as the vampire catches stray drops with his warm tongue. “Not unless I say so.” Xander dimly feels his clothes being removed; all of them. With his eyes closed, he can’t tell but it seems like the vampire is removing his own as well with a telltale rustle of leather and zipper, then yes he is completely naked on top of him now. “Open up, Xander.” He opens his eyes to see the vampire holding his bleeding wrist above him and he opens his mouth. Doesn’t even consider the monumental significance of this; just so much easier to cooperate so he can sleep. Just one drop hits his tongue and he watches the wound rapidly heal and the vampire lick it clean. He swallows and a bolt of fiery electricity rushes through him and all at once he’s not quite so weak and drowsy anymore.

His mind wriggles free of the vampire’s spell for a moment, too. “Oh shit...”

“Nope. Not a vamp, Xander. It would give me immense pleasure to turn one of the Slayer’s own and break her little heart, and I might later, but you need much more than that. That was just a little pick-me-up because I’m not quite done with you yet.”

“When will you be?”

“Can’t tell you. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Another overwhelming kiss begins then and with the vampire’s blood raging through him , his limbs don’t seem to be quite so numb anymore and he is suddenly very aware that his cock is pressed against the vampire’s and that the vampire is grinding his hips against him, their connection slick with pre-come. Wonder how long that’s been going on. His hands move back to those big shoulders he is so fond of and he is less-than alarmed to hear a moan escape him before he can stop it.

A few moments of dreamy sensation later and “I want you to do something, Xander...” Mouth so close to his own, sucking his bottom lip, nipping slightly with white, human teeth. Would feel the breath on him if there was any.

“Hmmm...?”

“I want you to beg me to suck my cock.” A slightly harder nip at his bottom lip at that. “I want you to make me believe it.”

“Whu--?” Cold stab of realization. This was Angelus, not some mythical dream boyfriend. This was all leading somewhere.

“You heard me. Now do it.”

Movement and he is suddenly sitting upright next to the very naked vampire, not so light-headed anymore but shot through with humiliation and dread. The vampire’s spell seems to have been yanked back and despite that single red drop of giddy, drunken insanity, he is mostly himself again. Things look and feel so much different now. And the horrid realization hits Xander: Angelus did this on purpose. He made him feel those things and think those things. He’s the puppet master that has been pulling the strings up to this compromising situation; now the strings are cut and he’s on his own.

The vampire is hard and huge against a flat, tight belly. The chest is well-defined, the nipples taught, cocky smile on the handsome face. “I’m waiting.”

Oh god oh god oh god. Can he do this? Can he even form the words? Does he have a choice? Will he be able to forgive himself later... if there is a later. Self-preservation in compliance, self-preservation in compliance . . . Long pause. Please, god... Merciful comedian that you are, please help me . . .

Then, the words are there, and he’s saying them. “PleaseletmesuckyourcockAngelus...” Flat, unemotional, but it came out.

Dismissive shake of the head. “Not convinced. Again.”

He sighs, shakes his head, grits his teeth for a moment, swallows with an audible click, then: “Please let me suck your big, beautiful cock Angelus. I will do anything for you. Please.” Probably numnero uno on his List of Things I will Never Say in My Lifetime, but the vampire’s eyes widen slightly in surprise.

Soft chuckle. Then: “Okay, I’m convinced. Go for it.” Almost a dare, but still an order.

Shitshitshitshit!!! Now I have to DO it!! His cock seems to like the idea, because it throbs as he leans down into the vampire’s lap, closing his eyes. Then, it is in his throat and he is sucking with all his might. A sigh and a groan from the vampire suddenly urges him on. He is sucking almost frantically now, running his tongue over the bulbous head and tasting the slick, salty pre-come. Not so bad. Actually, he realizes that he kinda likes what he is doing. He loves the groans the big guy is making, rumbling deep in his mighty chest and he feels like he has the power for once, sort of. As much power as he can have while he is kneeling on the floor between the vampire’s legs, rough carpet beneath him. The big cock is going all the way down his throat, and he wonders where his gag reflex has gone.

The vampire’s cries begin to reach a peak and he knows what is about to happen. Hands on his head guiding him now, and all power is gone. The cock swells in his mouth and a flood of warmish, salty fluid fills his mouth and he swallows it, reflexively. The vampire makes sure he swallows every drop before releasing his head and Xander feels his own climax as the strange fluid pours down his throat.

“Good boy. Now get up and sit down.”

Something is happening. When he sits down, his body feels hyper-sensitive. He feels like he can feel every single thread in the couch, every fiber on the carpet below his feet, and a warm, tingling is spreading slowly from his stomach and radiating rapidly through all parts of his body. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but it’s definitely frightening with its intensity. When it reaches his head, he feels it working some magic on his brain, making him feel light and dopey. Then, there is a flare of pain worse than a thousand migraines and he is passing out. Going to a place where it is dark and safe and silent...

-----------

“Xander...”

Silky voice. He knows and loves that voice. He could listen to that voice for all of eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

They are open before Xander even means them to be. He is still on the couch, still naked, and the vampire is still beside him. It may have been thirty seconds or thirty hours. Who knows? He looks to his left, and the vampire is looking at him intensely. He feels an intense rush of pleasure go through his body and he nearly slides off the couch. The vampire grips his upper arm to prevent that, and His touch makes the feeling more intense. He is panting, and nearly hyperventilating. Then, it tips into the realm of panic attacks, which Xander is familiar with; that slippery slope of breathing and passing out.

“Stop.”

One word, and it is gone. His breathing is normal but the fear and confusion are still there. He feels almost... possessed.

“What’s wrong with me, Angelus? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

The vampire grins. “You swallowed.”

To be continued . . .