Can’t sleep.

As the rain pounds through what’s left of the night, Connor shifts in a tangle of sheets thinking about those yellow eyes, his face fixed in a scowl as he replays each inflection in Spike’s voice from the teasing, high pitched chuckle to the deep, intimidating killer roar.

In the few hours since the vampire took off, Connor has thought of nothing else. His mind is in meltdown as he tries to examine the unfamiliar, yet curiously stimulating, powerlessness caused by the demon pressing against his thighs. Connor, who has made an art out of building barriers and hiding his needs and feelings from friends and family, is horrified to find that now he’s unable to take control - almost unwilling and he’s irritated as well as confused by – –was it ‘attraction’ to the vampire? He tries in vain to get comfortable as he’s swept by an unfamiliar tide.

‘Dad. Dad?’ What did Spike mean? Why did it mean something? It feels like everything is about to change.

Dry-mouthed, Connor explores the ceiling where rain drops reflect through the window to make patterns that remind him of the fine veins on the vampire’s hands. He’s never fought a creature so strong, never met his match, and he’s confused at the way the experience has left him hung over yet craving more.

Connor stands on the bed and reaches for the ceiling, the shapes now dancing on his bare skin.

Moving to the window, he scans the deserted street. No, not on a night like this - he wouldn’t be watching now. Connor drags cool air into his lungs and slides tender knuckles across the pane. When he blows on them, he revels in the slight chill. The blinds at half – mast heave erratically, and he allows them to drop after one last survey of the street.

Who was ‘Spike’? Beneath the vampire’s clownish, brusque exterior, the human was disconcerted when he’d sensed the presence of a calm, deadly creature – the demon which seemingly refused to surface. Where did this restraint come from? Why had Spike pulled back? And…something else continues to play at the peripheries of Connor’s mind…memories. It’s like trying to hold on to a shoal of tiny fish, flashes of colour, shapes but little else as he tries to grapple and examine elusive details and feelings which leave the alluring, familiar smell of old death and ancient, powerful blood.

The one element that stayed, concrete and real was fear. And, although he wouldn’t name it – desire.

On his belly, hands still cold from the glass, Connor splays his arms across the bed and looks down the length of bicep at his fingers. Turns on his side and shifts to hug himself, his face rolling across his hands, lips snagging as he closes his eyes and imagines those temporarily cold fingers are Spike’s lips whispering across his eyelids, fluttering across his cheeks and smothering his mouth with unbreathing kisses.

Connor thinks about the one or two girls he’d been attracted to - nothing serious. Nothing more than a kiss and a hand job in the car. The attraction had always seemed to vanish once he’d said goodnight. And guys? Some days – everything gave him a hard on, even that gay porno movie Stevo hired one time as a joke – fooling around with beer and chips. Both of them talked all the way through, and he remembered Stevo giggling,

“Can you bend yours, Man?”

The remote had almost connected with Stevo’s face – good thing the jock had hair trigger reflexes because Connor had forgotten to hold back. Would’ve been some bruise. And he was glad his Mom bought him those shapeless T’s so he could hide his cock – harder than a metal girder. But it wasn’t because he ‘liked’ guys. No way – an automatic response, sure, it made sense - to the groaning and fucking. Not the guys. Jeez, the spin cycle gave him a hard on – and he wasn’t planning on quality time in the basement.

Shit, he hadn’t thought about that in a while…pressing against his thighs… but… this was really bad, a vampire. If only Spike was just a guy! The smile that almost surfaced evaporated as a shudder of heat and want filled Connor.

How could he allow himself to even think about this? But what if he didn’t, what would he lose?

***

Can’t sleep.

It’s stopped raining at last, and Spike’s uncharacteristically still, lying fully clothed on his rented bed listening to the squawk of early rush hour traffic. He’ll have to move soon, he thinks, as he squints past his nose at the long taper of ash balanced at the end of his cigarette.

The blinds are shut tight, and he’s pinned a thick blanket over them for good measure. While in the darkness the vampire can see well enough, he can find nothing to distract him from the events of the night and nothing to delete his scent-memory which revisits the rush of Connor’s acidic adrenaline. Pre-soul, this would have filled him with the expected lust and joy. Now Spike is startled at how it arouses him.

He hasn’t turned on the TV in the week he’s been there. Hasn’t got time anymore, and an endless unlife suddenly seems too short – there aren’t the years to find answers, a purpose, a connection.

Spike draws on the cigarette then tsks when the column flutters to his chest. He’s not bothered that his clothes are still damp. None of it matters. Doesn’t feel cold, does he?

He steps off the bed elegantly and slides out of his jeans and long sleeved sweater, leaving them where they fall. He sidles to the window, stands back, wraps the edge of the blanket round his hand and peeks into the street. The vampire knows Connor’s routine only too well by now. A few early arrivals mill about, some of them stopping for coffee before class, enough for him to possibly lose sight of Junior, and he wouldn’t be able to scent him, would he? Too risky standing here - what the fuck’s the matter with him? He’s got a job to do, do it – leave!

Spike tucks the cloth around the window frame and briefly inspects the pins he’s used. Rushes everything because he doesn’t care anymore. Cloth could fall down, but he’s found that concentrating too much on anything always leads to trouble: stupid plans, even dumber infatuations and now this! He looks down at his semi-hard cock. Bugger! This was all he needed.

***

Connor’s hands aren’t listening to his mind’s protestations and won’t stop the soft passage down his neck. He tenses as they grip his throat for a moment and release a moan from him. Rolling on to his back, he pulls his feet towards his ass. Determined hands are free to snake down his belly and to his cock. Fuck! This was all he needed.

***

Yep, now he’s irritated.

The kid’s young – not too young. Same age as Dru, but the human’s not old enough for…all this ‘history’.

But, this is just a wank. Nothing wrong with a wank.

Time was a kid that age, with that attitude, he’d have hunted him down, made him beg for his cock and then come all over his pleading face before bleeding him dry. Now there was an image! Spike finds he’s vamped out, and he draws a sharp breath in response to his soul’s admonishments. Retreating to the bed, adopting a pose of mock relaxation, the vampire ignores his erection and extends lukewarm limbs, spreading pale legs wide and tucking his moist palms safely behind his head.

He wonders whether he should return to his sire. Git wouldn’t know if he made up some bull-shit.

“Yeah, yeah…doin’ fine. Needs a haircut but, you know, ‘chip off the old block’. Sends his love.”

A smirk when Spike imagines the look of despair and then panic as Angel realises Spike’s blown the whole thing. Sometimes he’s glad he doesn’t have a bloody reflection.

The vampire sighs as his hands find his cock again.

He pointedly focuses on his grandsire, casts his mind back to a week ago in the dark office as he mentally retreats from this current mess which somehow, knowing his bloody luck – was just going to get messier.

***

“You know, Spike, I miss the way you used to disappear without warning.”

“You wanted something? I was about to hit town with Lorne. Don’t s’pose it’s worth asking you to…” The moonlight caught Spike’s finger nails. They absorbed the light like rice paper as he took the glass of whiskey from his sire and draped his legs over the arms of the worn leather chair,” Yeah, thought as much.”

He didn’t press Angel. The brooding seemed to be on a different level lately, and not just as a result of the displaced path of Mr Guilt. Spike found that even he was affected by the older vampire’s mood. He waited, uncharacteristically sipping at his drink, afraid that a sudden word or movement would break the fragile sense of intimacy.

Finally,

“I’ve been thinking about Connor…”

So that was it.

“I let him go, Spike.”

There was no point in saying ‘you did what you had to do’. Spike knew Angel operated on ‘shoulds’ and ‘had to’s. His sire wasn’t the type of creature that needed reassurance - a quality that Angel shared with the far more fun Angelus. Spike still took pleasure in pointlessness and irritating those around him so,

“You did what you had to do.”

“What if…? Sometimes I…” Spike tried not to roll his eyes as he waited, “I miss him, Spike, and…”

“You need to talk?”

Angel stood, folded his arms across his chest and swung round the immense desk to Spike, who fought the impulse to drop to the floor at Angel’s feet. The mere presence and charisma of his grandsire still amazed him. Even de-fanged and in this unlikely setting, Spike never forgot his place in the pack – although he’d die before admitting to it without the promise of a good seeing-to from this diabolical beauty. And that hadn’t happened for decades.

“Surely you’ve got people on it. You must know he’s alright?”

“I know facts, like he’s at art school, hangs out, but…”

“Don’t see what it’s got to do with me, mate.”

Spike did see. He knew that humans with their spider web existences and transient family arrangements knew nothing. He understood. This wasn’t about college grades and friendship groups, it was about,

“Blood.” he said flatly.

“He’s not like other humans, Spike. He’s strong, demon strong and he probably doesn’t know what he can do… What if he hurts someone? What if he abuses that power?” Angel’s voice rose an octave, “Sometimes he used to make me so mad – arguing, sulking, questioning my every move. He never really trusted me!”

Spike watched Angel pacing about and dipped across to the drink’s cabinet as his sire passed him.

“He’s a hellava, stubborn…hey! “ Angel stopped pacing.

“What? Still counting the pennies?” Spike took a moment to smirk then gulped the JD, pouting in appreciation, “Kind of like the sound of the kid. Yep, I think I like him.” He poured another glassful and sank back into the arms of the chair.

“William…” Angel growled,

“Ooo, I always know you’re cross when you call me ‘William’.” Finally the JD was kicking in.

“You know something? It’s like having two goddamned teenagers. You can’t live with them…”

“…can’t live with them.” Spike finished pleased to see the broad forehead smooth as he was gifted a rare smile.

“And can’t help loving your children, whatever they do, however they choose to lead their lives.”

Spike peered into his drink, and the amber liquid swilled as he turned the glass, embarrassed by Angel’s rare admission, afraid to acknowledge it in case he’d misheard, but Angel was looming over him with his hand wavering above his childe’s blonde head.

“You know you really make me mad…” the hand resting gently on the stiff hair.

“I’m counting on it.” Spike bowed his head and leant against his grand sire’s thighs.

“Blood.” Angel whispered. He shook himself and pulled away, leaving Spike cold, embarrassed. “I wasn’t a good dad – I gave up too soon, too easily. He’s all alone.”

Spike shrugged.

“He’s got a new family. He doesn’t know about what you ‘had’ to do.”

“You don’t understand, Spike. This isn’t some guilt thing - I can deal with however much of that’s going around! This is about what he might do. There’s so much evil out there. What’s to say he won’t get in with the wrong crowd…” Angel slumped behind his desk again, his face dark, filled with contained despair. “And then sometimes I think, what if he hasn’t really forgotten anything…”

“Could be having bad dreams.”

Angel’s eyes were on their way to yellow.

“Not really helping, am I?” Spike said. His face softened.

“I don’t want you to talk to him, Spike. I want to know if he’s happy, if he’s got friends…”

“Friends?” The younger vampire didn’t bother trying to hide the scorn, “What’s the bloody good of friends?”

“Sometimes I wonder…”

Spike looked at him curiously. Angel’s hands, big and white against his black clothes seemed to be looking for a comfortable position.

“Family…now you’re talking!” Spike slapped his thighs and stood up with a forced sigh. “I want a car, old man.”

“Uh, that’ll be a ‘no’!”

“Well that’s bloody typical. I can be trusted – you need to keep an eye on your kid? I’m bored rigid. ‘sides, I’m kinda interested – want to see the boy for myself, want to see if there’s any family resemblance.”

“God, I hope not…” Spike heard Angel mutter as he swept out of the office, past Harmony.

“Call down stairs, will you love, I’m going on a trip!”

Part 5 - Reverie

reptilian eyes loom from gaunt features as the demon surges and tries to break through alabaster skin…

Connor really thinks about emptying his mind, aware he must be coming off as drunk or stoned each time he takes a deep breath, yet nothing seems to drive last night's smothering fantasy away for long. Closing his eyes doesn't help, nor does working tanned fingers into raw eye sockets, pulling the fast healing but still smarting skin roughly.

The bar's half-empty. It's still early, and thankfully there aren't many people to see the flush blossom around his neck when he's asked for ID. He's far enough from the university – no one he knows here to see what a jerk he is and no one else can possibly see the erotic images haunting him, sending flames of desire barreling through him. As long as he sits in this position, he'll be able to maintain some dignity.

"Cheers mate."

Is that a lurch of joy or fear that makes him sit upright? Connor blinks, tries to look unobtrusive and something like normal, squirming internally as icy eyes bore into him. He refuses to acknowledge the vamp – at least until his forming erection goes away. And shit – feels like it might be a long wait. In his peripheral vision, Spike collects change, slips it into his front pocket and lifts himself easily onto the stool. Does every movement this bastard makes originate in that undead groin? His face burns as he remembers again.

Connor's groin humps the air as he surrenders again, but this time through choice. Stronger than him, stronger…his fist pumps angrily, searching for answers, bruised knuckles tight around virgin steel, abrasive rather than soothing…

"What are you doing here? Everywhere I go, somehow we hook up. " Connor's lips clag together. Vampires can't read minds, can they?

"It's a small town." Spike looks directly at Connor causing a jolt of electricity to rekindle the almost dwindling erection. Connor scowls back "- maybe not," Spike continued, – "Truth is I just happened to be in the neighborhood. It's always nice to see a friendly face." He beckons towards the barman, "What you having? The way you dress, looks like you're not exactly rollin' in it these days…"

Maybe another drink will help. "Sure, just beer, sure…" Connor rolls the near empty bottle between his palms - the glass is cold, hard… fuck.

Transfixed, he watches Spike scan the room, sees him smile to himself at something he's noticed, someone he'd like to eat maybe.

"You're a great conversationalist, I'll give you that." Spike observes.

The vamp's mouth hovers at the neck of the bottle, and then he throws his head back to drain its contents as Connor's eyes fix on the vampire's Adam's apple. He didn't know vamps drank, other than blood that is. He'd seen the hot chocolate the vampire seemed so fond of despite the Southern California heat, but hadn't given it much thought before, hadn't been interested. Now everything Spike did hypnotized him, fascinated him.

More beautiful in profile than face on –Connor's furtive eyes hurriedly gulp the curve of shadow cast by Spike's dark eyebrow, then sweep the trough beneath the cheekbone ending in a petulant jaw like a question mark drawn in ash and tears.

"And when the hell you gonna shut up?"

Jesus, he was wrong - surely the vampire is more beautiful from this perspective with deadly, pale eyes luring you, winning you over. It takes a supreme effort to look directly into them, to see past eyelids that serve to seduce and reveal feeling. When Spike lowers those thick lashes, Connor fancies it's like a woman exposing her thigh for a hitchhiker. Stood to reason vamps needed to attract their kill, but this guy, he didn't really look hungry.

"We need to talk." Spike said, "You know, `big picture' and all that?"

"Can't see what we got to talk about." Connor leans forward all faux petulant when all he wants is to kiss that deadly mouth. "I don't have anything to say to a vamp."

"Even if I'm not like the other girls?"

Another giggle which Connor can't help thinking doesn't fit Spike's cool image. The vampire seems oblivious to his disapproving glare and pulls a cigarette from a crushed packet.

"You aren't supposed to smoke in here."

"You want to talk about my health then, `bout the lack of personal freedom in this state? Reminds me of sodding prohibition, it does. Well, you know what…?"

Somehow, Connor knows he is going to hear this anyway,

"What?"

Fuck. Spike leans a little towards him and his scent saturates him, stirring the human's cock. He shifts, wondering if the vampire can sense his arousal. If he does, he's choosing to ignore it or maybe he's confused, can smell the pheromones but can't pinpoint the origin - there are a lot of couples around them, a lot of flirting – early Friday night – everyone's got the horn. And he's missed what Spike was saying, something about rules. Some vampire hunter he is, one moment's lapse like this out there, and that'd be it.

"You want to show a bit of respect for your elders, mate. Weren't listening to a bloody word I was saying, were you."

"Elders?"

***

Missed that long coat – would have proved handy at this moment. Even thinking about Gandsod hadn't got rid of the hard-on the night before. Thinking about Angelus couldn't distract him now either. Family – the pull, the hatred, the desire…how Spike envied humans their calming breaths, their chemistry. Still, if he could breathe, he'd have a heart beat too, and it would be pounding so fucking hard he wouldn't be able to hear himself think.

Junior's a real hunter, brave, looking right at him. Yeah, he had blue eyes like his bitch of a mother, but that mouth, sneering at him…it showed he thought a lot of himself just like…a flood of resentment fills Spike at the thought of the two of them, how Darla and Angelus looked down on him. They thought he'd never cut it – sitting on the edge of the bed, another cigarette in his mouth, Spike strokes an aching hard on while his other hand lingers by his knee. He imagines Connor's hair swaying as he sucks…Umm, this helps. He's the master vampire these days. Nice fantasy this one – Angelus' son on his knees before him.

Greedy eyes hone in on Connor's hands. Spike registers a torn cuticle and a few smudges of paint; if Spike could have been bothered to concentrate he could have named the pigment but the kid keeps interrupting his train of thought.

"You aren't much older than me." Connor sips the beer, full lips pulling at the neck for a moment making Spike wince.

"Oh, I'm a lot older. I put it down to careful living and a good diet."

"You start grocery shopping in here, I'll kill you. Just so we're clear."

"And I'm supposed to be, what? Scared?" Spike beckons for more drinks. "Better steel myself, bit of Dutch courage." His hand waves across the bar, "JD, mate, two glasses and leave the bottle." He waits for the kid to produce some money but Connor doesn't move – hmm, the similarities keep on coming. "So how come you haven't dusted me yet?"

Connor shifts awkwardly, "Beats me…"

Spike places the unlit cigarette behind his ear. "I miss Mexico – you don't smoke there - it's a crime."

"How long you been a vamp? From the way you dress, the eighties, seventies? Jeez, man, before I was born!"

Small talk – the kid was being friendly – yeah awkward friendly, attitude.

"That's not so old for a vamp." Spike doesn't quite succeed in quelling his smirk. Yeah, sharp as a knife this one.

"Guess I've never had cause to talk to a vamp before. Hard to tell how old they are. What with them being so fuck ugly."

Spike's lips pull wide in amusement – wasn't finding yours truly ugly, was he?

"Kid, the clothes don't say anything. You get a really old vamp, he moves with the times."

"But not you."

"No. Not me."

"You don't think this is all kinda strange? Sitting here, talking to me - a human? Cos I gotta tell ya, I'm not comfortable with it. "

Hmm, that explained the wriggling.

"So go. Finish your drink and go."

***

"I'm not moving. I'm waiting for someone."

Connor is finding the strain in his pants too much. The more uncomfortable he feels, the more he wants to hit this vamp, and the more he wants to hit him, the more turned on he is. He leans to pick up his backpack, pulls it to his lap and pretends to search for something – needs to cover up. How can he leave? How could he walk even?

"I know your dirty little secret, mate. Know what you're hiding."

What?

Connor's hand slides guilty against the magazine he bought that morning. His voice hitches as he pulls out his cell phone.

"Vamp psychic – great."

Damn – he's forgotten to switch it on again –– what if his contact had tried to call? The guy wasn't exactly emotionally intelligent and had made it clear he didn't like making deals with "ass-wipe college kids".

The backpack keels over as Connor is momentarily distracted; it's caught by the vampire who doesn't appear to have moved from his seat. Their hands bump together for a heavy moment as Connor tries to snatch it from him.

"Let's see what you've got in here…a-ha..."

Fuck.

Connor hisses in relief when Spike doesn't pull the tiny package out. It must have slipped to the bottom of the bag.

"Spot of reading matter, eh?" They both hold fast. Spike searches with his free hand, "Hmm, Twinkies, poncey Russian book and…"

Connor examines Spike's translucent knuckles gripping the bag, so dry, still against his own clammy, shaking fingers. He softens a moment as he remembers he's in the presence of a demon and lifts his face; a little awed, he catches Spike's eyes. Another shudder runs down his thighs at the flash of tongue as if the vampire is tasting the pheromones between them, openly reveling in the human's discomfort. Connor's eyebrows knit as he tugs to release Spike's hold. The vampire has seen him – exposed, aroused.

Spike lets go and raises his hands in mock surrender.

***

Stupid twat – what's he getting into this crap for? Junior thinks he's seen the mag and not the package. That explains the hard-on - like he cares what floats the kid's boat. The drugs, well he'd have to deal with that another time.

Connor's eyes are blazing – good look – Spike likes it, likes this attitude, and his mind wanders again when he recalls a different expression he'd invented for Connor in his mind's eye the night before.

the vampire turns his attention to the space on the rug where Angelus' son `kneels'. As he rubs his cock furiously Spike imagines Connor craning to check with worried eyes, the human needs to be reassured that he's pleasing Spike yes…and the vampire would make the kid work hard, that was it, wait till he was really close before he gave Connor anything – make him appreciate who the fuck he's dealing with.

"Listen to me, you filthy demon. You come off like you're my long lost uncle or something – I don't want to talk to you, only thing I want is to..."

Hmm, seems we have what the Californians call `issues' – Spike decides this isn't the time to talk. Truth is he'd promised Angel there wouldn't be any talking at all, but the drugs—that was something that would need settling, and Grandpa wouldn't want precious hanging out with lowlifes. Spike also hadn't expected the boy would know about vampires – humans were so blind, only saw what they wanted. He scanned the bar again, raised his eyebrows at a group at a table nearby. He was used to the looks, came with the hair, sometimes he wondered if it wasn't cos he was such a babe – he smirks at the Americanism, maybe they can sense he's different – dangerous different. Bugger, the kid won't stop talking will he? "It's taken me a few months to get this but I know who I am. I kill your kind. I oughta waste you – think you're clever trying to tell me what to do".

Ah, the kid's pissed off now with nice rush of adrenaline that acts on Spike like an aphrodisiac. To his horror the buried memory of Xander Harris surfaces, how that particular human had gone through this same routine: insult, blows, bravado, more insult – till he gave it up – shit they both did. Get a fucking grip – this was business…Spike notices Connor looking over his shoulder. Someone he's expecting by the look on his face, better retreat, keep an eye on Junior from a distance. Spike stands, leans close so he can make out the slight discoloration on Connor's face where he received a blow the night before.

"I've been thinking – not so much your uncle – way I worked it out, and believe me it's complicated, more your `cousin'."

The bag slips to the floor.

Part 6 –Likeness

Less than half an hour after Spike leaves, a tipsy Connor parks his car crookedly behind the nightclub where he's arranged to meet Stevo. It's still early but the music spills through the walls at full volume. His friend stands against the fire exit nodding to the rhythm and leaps towards Connor when he spots him.

"Did you get it??"

Connor sighs at the loud question. He fights an overriding compulsion to shake Stevo and knock that centre stage confidence out of him. Instead he nods once, steps out of the Land Rover then pulls the back door open. In the semi-privacy of the back seat, Stevo grabs his friend's backpack.

"Hey! Calm the fuck down!" Connor wonders why his belongings seem to have become toys for everyone, although there's no resistance from Stevo when he reclaims his bag. He can't help comparing this to the thrill he felt when Spike taunted him by holding his ground earlier and he looks away from his friend as his cock automatically stirs.

"What? What you being so secretive about?" Stevo whispers sarcastically.

Connor roots around and tosses the baggie into Stevo's lap. He finds he's scanning the alley, tells himself he's on the look out for vampires. After all, it's been a few hours, and he really needs to kill something. He wonders whether he could use Stevo for bait when he glances at his friend, sees him rolling a pill between forefinger and thumb,

"I fucking love you, dude." Stevo's leg bounces up and down with excitement.

"Put that away, someone will see us." This was said more from a desire for privacy than any need to remain this side of the law; fear and respect for authority, demons even, had disappeared over the last few months.

A snort. "It's dark. Who's gonna see? You should try this stuff…" Stevo waggles his tongue, apparently thrilled that the pill is stuck to the tip," might make you see life ain't so bad – least for a few hours." He holds the damp pill again. "Gimme something to wash this down with."

Connor wonders if having known Stevo since kindergarten was actually a good enough reason to not break his back. He pulls himself up on the head rest and leans into the front seat to grab a bottle of water from the foot well.

He freezes as Stevo's hand snakes up his inner thigh.

"What are you doing?" Connor doesn't dare move until he's made a conscious effort to control the rage pumping him full of adrenaline. Don't overreact, friends right? He reaches round and punches Stevo's arm. The jock exclaims and watches amused when Connor settles as close to the door and as far away from him as he can.

Vampires, those Connor can handle, but this guy with his mixed messages…

"Hey, I'm just messin' around."

So, that's ok – just being a jerk. Shame the contact made Connor so hard.

"What else you got in that bag? Lemme see." Stevo lunges for the back pack again.

"You piss me off royally, you know that?" Connor peers up and down the alley again and decides he doesn't care if his friend looks through his stuff—until he hears the sound of Stevo leafing through the mag. "Will you look at that!" Stevo slides low into the seat and giggles. "Put the light on man so I can get a better look."

"Jerk." Connor's tone is flat, resigned. He folds his arms across his chest and gazes out of the window - wonders if Spike might come back – bastard cleared off the second the guy turned up with the goods.

"You offering? Cos I gotta tell you, I'm fucking hard right now. Hey, Conn…" Stevo's nodding a little as the pill starts to take effect, "I'm hard…come on…" The large hand reaches for Connor.

"You're forgettin' something." Connor's voice is low, controlled, "We're guys."

"So? I'll close my eyes, and I know you don't give a fuck. I mean, this ain't no cheerleader." Stevo presses the magazine to Connor's face, "Cheerleaders I like, but I'll make do. Come on, dude, before I split my jeans already." Connor doesn't shrug off the tightening grip around his arm and allows himself to be pulled a little closer. "We've jerked off before – what's the diff?"

The difference was that before he'd held his own cock – they were like two kids in a sandbox playing, ok jerking off, alongside each other. In the darkness, if Connor half closes his eyes, if he squints at Stevo's albeit natural blond hair – well it could be him. Him. A wave of lust forces Connor to fumble at Stevo's groin as the magazine slides to their feet. Stevo moans, parts his legs and relaxes as Connor furtively pulls at the fly zip.

"Hey, take it easy…" Stevo gasps as unnaturally strong fingers grip him. Spike wouldn't want him to be gentle – he wouldn't need to hold back like this with him. Connor's eyelids fall shut, and he imagines the vampire's eyes, causing him to moan despite himself and shift so he can get a better angle. Stevo bucks against the sudden increase in momentum, "Fuck, fuck, that's… keep going…fuck, fuck…" Connor shuts out the voice, inhales deep and brings back the scent of the vampire so unlike the trace of sweat and locker room squirming against him. Adrift in the memory, Connor finds his lips parting - so close to kissing, breathing in the undead stillness. Would it be like this? Would he know what to do? Would Spike breathe this heavily? Connor is startled when he feels Stevo still for a moment, "I ain't kissing you, man, no fucking way." Suddenly the heat from the other man's all too human cock seems to burn Connor's hand, and it's all he can do to keep the rhythm.

"You going to come or what?" Connor grumbles.

"Not if you keep talking." Stevo pushes into Connor's fist, frustrated by the friction in the wrong place, wrong tempo, "You haven't done this before? But you've thought about doing this to… fuck yeah… me, right?"

"No and no." Connor says truthfully. Wearily, he pulls one last time, and Stevo hisses as he comes, lifting his ass off the seat, covering Connor's hand and sleeve with a flood of semen.

"Man that's gross!" Stevo chuckles, pushing Connor away unceremoniously, in a rush to zip himself. "But, thank you…I guess."

"Sensitive lover." Connor's disappointed cock throbs still as he uses his left hand to pull out a Kleenex before he tosses the evidence through the window.

"Hey!" A dark figure leans against the car, "Yours I believe." Black varnished nails hold the soggy tissue aloft. Connor swears his heart is pounding so hard now that Stevo must be able to hear it. He has no doubt that the vampire can.

"Pervy Punk Guy." Stevo says behind him, "Take a hike, creep!"

"Shut the fuck up, Stevo. This guy's a friend of mine."

"Hey, creep! That true, you two widdle fwends?" Stevo's giggling, nodding in self appreciation.

Spike glances at Stevo, who is well and truly stoned, and raises an eyebrow. The vampire straightens, and Connor can hear the faint click of the Zippo "You should know - my friend has a hell of a temper…" Connor tells an unconcerned Stevo.

"What? That little guy?"

Connor smirks, half hoping that Spike's hungry – this would satisfy two cravings – to get rid of his friend and then his need to kill. But when he turns to look, Spike's vanished, the sweet smell the tobacco dissipating in his wake. Had he been he waiting for him? He winds down the window some more and cranes to search for the vampire.

"Where's your car? And you owe me cash, man…"

Stevo waves wearily, "Somewhere…"

Connor gets out and walks round the back of the car. He pulls Stevo's door open. "You need to go – I got stuff to do." Not caring that Stevo's probably not fit to drive. "Come on, get the fuck out of here!"

***

A few yards away, Spike grinds his cigarette into a wall and slams his fist hard into the brick. Fucking kid! What was he playing at hanging out with that tosser? And the drugs – was he taking them too or was this just a little work to help through college? Fuck what would Angel say?

He searches in his back pocket for the vibrating cell phone. Great.

"What?"

"Spike?"

"Who else is it going to be, you wanker?"

"I haven't heard from you…"

"Well, I got nothing to say." Spike pouts.

"You've seen Connor? How is he? Did you talk to him?"

"I recall something about not talking to him…"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Spike…"

Spike always felt warm inside when the Irish brogue resurfaced – meant he was rankling Granpa.

"Spike- answer me!"

"Wasn't aware there was a question, mate."

Spike hears Stevo's car pulling away. Guy looked stoned – hope he ends up in ER. Oo, phantom-chip moment. Spike touches his temple automatically and grins when he remembers. No harm in wishing ill on a twat like that – why should humans get all the fun? He's zoned out, and Angel's voice filters back to him.

"Spike if everything's ok, come back. You're needed here."

Spike frowns. "Sire, I need to stay a few more days."

A long pause while Angel considers the change of tone, the reference to family. Spike takes this time to consider his hand. For now Angel knew nothing and no damage had been done. Spike knew very little about the circumstances that led to the memory-wipe, and he hadn't bothered to ask – he'd never been able to get close to the souled version of his grandsire. but his need to protect his own was reason enough to wait. If the spell was unravelling, if Connor had even a hint of his past, he would have to prevent…

"Tell me, Spike…"

"There's not much to tell. See there's this hot chambermaid at the place I'm staying. I fancy my chances, and I could do with a bit of fun. God knows there isn't any to be had at Wolfram and Tart." Yes, continue with the snark, deflect the older vampire.

"Spike, I can't deal with him remembering. Whatever it is you have to do, do it and come home. I need you here."

"He doesn't remember a thing."

"What? Have you talked with him, I expressly said…"

"I know what you said, Angelus. I haven't talked to him. He's a regular kid, and he doesn't know anything about his family, who he is." Maybe the snark was ill-advised, after all. Spike grits his teeth. But the kid knows about vampires, feels he has a mission to kill them – where does that come from? How long before one of them tells him something about Angelus? How long before he meets an old one who recognises the Master Vampire's scent?

"And that's good. It's what I wanted…"

"It is. The kid's happy, nothing like his Dad, nothing like his Mum. I mean, if he had anything of you in him, he'd be able to sniff out a vampire if he got close and I've been close, I stood right by him at a coffee house and he didn't so much as look over. I want to keep an eye on this kid he hangs out with; you know the type, big fucking shoulders, thinks the world revolves around his dick. I got a feeling he might be getting Junior into the wrong crowd is all, want to satisfy myself."

"But he's ok, not getting into trouble?" Angel's voice is thick with emotion. Spike realises he needs to appease his sire before he decides to find out for himself.

"Trust me, you don't have a thing to worry about. He's a normal kid, Angelus." Bugger it, he couldn't resist, "He bought a magazine today, you know the kind I mean…?" Spike giggles helplessly and switches his phone off; the delightful sound of his Sire's swearing music to his ears.

***

Spike appears from the shadows of the alley behind the bar as Connor expects.

"You alright, kid? Row with your boyfriend?"

Was he being nice? No he wasn't being nice, head thrown back, tongue nestling for a split second near his deadly incisors.

Connor watches the vampire saunter towards him each step along an invisible tightrope between their groins. Then he's close – really close so he can smell blood on him. He's fed recently. Connor starts back and reaches for the stake wedged in the side pocket of his khakis. He hesitates – something odd – the blood doesn't smell right.

"You gonna do it now, Junior? Do I need to have a last smoke?"

"You've fed."

Spike frowns. "Connor…" his voice a warning.

"How do you know my name? Why are you stalking me? What the fuck is this?" Connor's hand scissors around Spike's throat, and he holds him against a wall. Spike doesn't struggle. Instead he places his hands slowly, deliberately on the human's shoulders. Connor frowns, inspects the diaphanous skin and turns towards the teal eyes. "Do I know you?"

Spike's fingers loosen their grip as Connor relaxes his hold on the vampire's cool throat. He watches Spike's lips part, and Connor fancies the vampire's eyes flicker to amber for a moment as he waits. Connor's fingers take on a life of their own as they move slowly towards the dip at the vampire's throat. Any moment now the vampire will stop him – he seems to consider it for a moment, but now his groin is pressing into Connor's thigh making the human's back arch.

Lips so close now. "I can smell the blood. " Hard when he thinks of it, furious too. He wants to kill this bastard. Gentle finger tips find the neck of Spike's t-shirt. The vampire looks like he's sunk into a warm bath, shocked yet soothed he raises his mouth, parts his lips, daring Connor to move. Unafraid, Connor tugs at the cloth and brings his lips close to Spike's, so close to the mouth of a killer…

***

Spike forces his eyes to stay open, quashes the fear reflex that wells up in his throat as he locks eyes with Angelus' son. He flinches as Connor's hand releases its grip on his throat and guides him closer. Maybe not such a good idea, maybe he should stop now before…and as his eyes close, he feels the warm lips, tentatively touch his own. So long since he's been with family, so long since Drusilla, and the irresistible scent, the sense of who he is and where he belongs forces his hips to meet Connor's, to come home, as the human's warm tongue breaks through the last vestige of common sense and connects with his own, and like Narcissus, the glimpse of his own distorted reflection, the pull of family, lures the vampire into the depths. Spike finds his hands have slid under Connor's sweater, and he marvels at the fine muscles under the surface. Aware this boy could snap his head off with one movement if he only knew he could, Spike draws the eager tongue further inside him. His eyes start open when it brushes against his incisors for a second, as sensitive as the tip of his cock. He gasps in surprise. Forgotten this – forgotten the feel of a man. So long, so good, this heat, this strength. Connor's arm is crushed between them still at the neck of his T, and Spike pushes him away for a second then guides Connor's fingers towards his belly.