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Thralls	By : neichan Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Xander > Angel(us)/Xander Views: 10422 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS or BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Thralls, Chapter 31

^^^^^^^^

Doyle drank. Slowly at first, trying to control the hunger and the need. Trying to ride the razor's edge that would allow him to take what he needed without losing any more control. That effort quickly changed, was abandoned, when the sweet, salty tang of the blood rolled over his tongue. He lost the little control he had held on to with the last of his will, and he drank. Gulping at the blood. At Angel's blood. Driven to feed his ravening need for the rich fluid.

Angel gradually moved around him, arms enfolding him, circling, until he was behind Doyle, their bodies pressed together, Doyle fully in his protective embrace. Angel's arms holding him, even as the half demon fed hungrily at the wound in Angel's palm. Licked and bit at it, feeding. Angel did not try to stop him or slow the feeding. He brushed their faces together, bending down because of the great difference in their heights. He let their faces rest side by side, felt the muscle and bone of Doyle mouth working.

Doyle felt it. The tingle of bonding, of joining, sing through him and into Angel. He nearly panicked at the sensation. But, if he gave in to the fear, he would have to run, and to run he would have to let go, step away from, this....He didn't want that. Nor did Angel. A hand spread over Doyle's belly, large enough to almost cover all of the skin. The hand didn't wander, it just stayed, touching, soothing, cradling him, as if he were well cared for, a thing of value, worth the most gentle care.

The blood stopped flowing, at the perfect moment, the instant he was full, satiated. Doyle raised his head, letting it fall back onto Angel's shoulder, near to swooning as he felt the blood he'd taken start to enter his body, seep into his veins.

He wanted to be closer he moved, turning his face in, towards the vampire's neck, as if to hide his face there. Angel let him, let him while he stroked his fine dark brown hair, held him. Doyle stood in the easy hold, his panic fading. This was not so bad.

Angel surrounded him like a shield, a wall of security and safety. He was not possessed, nor invaded. He had not lost himself, or his will as he feared he might. With the blood sitting warm in his belly, Doyle could think. Reason. He was not caught and imprisoned by the blood that had called to him. He was safe. He let out a great breath of air, relieved.

Angel smiled, and Doyle felt the smile against his own forehead. He sighed, a sound of relief.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Angel returned to his thralls, deep in thought.

Doyle was by no means an exception. There would be other demons, not vampires, who would feel the draw. Angel however did not feel much inclined to donate his blood to those strangers. The rationing of his blood would prove an incentive to those who were his allies.

Only the fact that Doyle was his friend allowed him to feel a level of comfort letting Doyle take blood from him, without asking him to swear an oath, actually offering it to him. Now that he had followers and his thralls....Angel was even less inclined to share his blood with others, and he had never been free with it in the first place.

He slipped into his rooms, seeing three bodies curled up on the wide bed. His thralls. One, the dark head lifted, Xander. The other two were deeply asleep. Xander raised his nose, sniffed, his eyes going yellow, his still human lips peeling back from still human teeth. Angel fixed the were-human with his own gold stare. He had known he couldn't hide the feeding from his were-thrall.

"You will say nothing." The master said too quietly to wake the other two. Xander snarled, unhappily. Angel threw off his robe and headed for the shower. Best to wash the other's scent off of him before he spent time around his thralls. He turned the water on hot, stepping in under the spray. He lathered the fragrant soap over his chest and body.

The door to the shower opened and Xander appeared. Angel blinked. The young man seized the soap and began scrubbing the vampire. Once was not sufficient. Angel had to allow Xander to lather and scrub and rinse him three times before Xander was satisfied with the result.

He stood and let Xander scrub his feet, his legs, his hands his face, his chest his belly and his back. Xander was especially diligent with the one hand that Doyle had licked and sucked the blood from.

Angel endured the attention patiently, knowing it was what his thrall needed from him. Waiting for Xander to be satisfied with his efforts so that they could leave the shower. Finally, Xander pulled him out, turning off the water and toweled all of the vampire dry, rubbing his own scent across the freshly washed skin. He was intent on replacing the now obliterated scent of Doyle with his own. Angel waited for him to be done. Then they left the bathroom together.

The robe Angel had been wearing, a favorite of his, was on the floor where he had dropped it. But now it was shredded to ribbons of gold and black, clawed into a pile of rags. Angel stopped. Stood over it, grasped Xander by his upper arms and turned his thrall to face him.

"You will not lay a hand, a claw, you will do nothing to harm Doyle. He is now mine. Do you understand me, My Own?" Angel pointed with one hand down at the destroyed robe. The were-human wouldn't meet his eyes. Angel let out a growl, low and menacing. The other two thralls sat up on the bed, blinking the sleep out of their eyes. They fixed on Angel and Xander. "I will not be disobeyed." Angel added, warningly.

"This will not happen to him." Angel shook Xander sharply. "I have claimed him. He is mine to have, to hold as I wish." Graham spilled off of the bed as Xander's only response was a deep rumbling growl, dragging Riley with him, under the bed.

Angel threw the thrall from him. Following in a blur of movement, reaching Xander as he fell onto the mattress and pinning him there, one hand hard up under his chin.

Xander rolled, planting his feet in Angel's midsection and launching him over his head to crash into the wall. On the other side of the wall, Spike jumped a foot into the air. He half expected to see someone come through the wall. He backed away, placing himself between his own thralls and the wall. A second crash made him drop into a crouch. But nothing made it through the plaster and wood barrier.
Oz came up beside him. And Spike used an arm to push him back.

"They are fighting." Oz said, concern coloring his tone.

"Not a surprise." Spike said. "Vampires fight a lot. My dear Da has knocked me around some, believe me."

"So we should go over there and stop them?" Oz ventured.

Spike hooted. "Uh, no. Not that. That is the last thing ya should want to do. Can be fatal that, getting in between a vampire and his squeeze when they are fighting, think of it sort of like...discussing things... in a purely physical way."

Oz looked at him oddly. Spike turned, ignoring the continued sounds of struggle from the other room. He put an hand on the werewolf's shoulder.

"What?" He asked not comfortable with the look in his thrall's eye.

"So, I should expect that you and I....?" Oz gestured at the wall when it shuddered under another impact.

"Oh. No. I mean..." For some reason Spike couldn't envision the two of them fighting. It was not possible, he couldn't picture it. He'd rather chew off his own hand first. "We're different you and I, precious."

"And Nicholas?"Oz asked. "What of you and him? He is your thrall as well isn't he? You won't hit him will you?"

Spike winced. Now, him fighting Nicholas, that was surprisingly easy to think of. He darted a look up into Oz's guile-less eyes. He shrugged helplessly, grimacing. "Sorry, love. I think Nicky and I...well that is..the way you and I are, it is special. Nicky...I think he'll give me a tumble for my money. He has a temper on him." Spike tried being honest.

"I don't like the idea of you and he fighting." Oz said. His eyes meeting Spike's with an openness that made the vampire's heart pound.

"Oh, love..." Spike said, softly, trying to find an answer to the unanswerable...and saved from it by the loud crash of something large breaking in the room next door. They both refocused their attention on the wall, straining with inhumanly acute hearing to eavesdrop on what was going on next door.

Angel stood, battered and bruised, over his panting were-thrall. Xander lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for air. A need that had probably won the fight for the vampire, who had no such requirement for oxygen. Angel stood waiting. Watching, as Xander struggled onto his belly.

Xander lifted his head, crawling the short distance between himself and the vampire. He lapped at Angel's feet. Laying his cheek against the cool skin.

"What the hell was that about?" Riley asked plaintively from under the bed. Graham was next to him, both waiting to hear the answer, Angel looked down at them, but said nothing. They stayed where they were, under the sheltering hang of the heavy bedframe.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

His stomach had a bit of an itch. Doyle rubbed at it. It only seemed to get worse, so he set aside the scrolls he was reading for Wesley, and lifted the edge of his shirt to inspect the area that had started to pull and itch.

A perfect imprint of Angel's bloody hand was there, livid, deep red, on the half demon's white skin. His belly button visible between the imprint of thumb and first finger. The imprint of the littlest finger, a relative term Doyle thought visually comparing his small hand against the one on his stomach, dipping below the waist band of his low slung pants, grazing into his dark pubic hair, just next to where the shaft of his penis began.

Doyle rubbed at the mark. It wasn't blood, not on top of his skin in any case. He scratched at it. It didn't flake off. He tried to remember if Angel had touched him there....Yes. When he had held him, comforted him, Doyle recalled the large hand pressing to his belly under his shirt. Warm, reassuring. Now....this. Not so reassuring.

Doyle went directly to the sink in the empty kitchen. He turned on the water, ran a sponge under the stream, squeezed out some soap and scrubbed at the mark. He built up an impressive amount of foam, cascading down the front of his pants, as he fought down the panic, holding his shirt out of the way as he washed, the hem in his teeth. He rinsed, getting the entire front of his pants wet down to the knees.

He peered at the pinkened skin of his stomach. The mark, the large imprint of Angel's hand was still there, undiluted, unsmeared. Doyle threw the sponge into the sink, crouching down to the linoleum, whimpering, hands widespread on the floor. Oh, fuck! What had he done? What had *they* done? Cordelia would not fail to see this, and it would be the final straw. She would leave him. He would lose her, because he couldn't control himself. How could he explain away the handprint on him, especially there? It wasn't like it was on his back, or on his shoulder...

He regained his feet and grabbed the scouring pad. Running it under the water. He applied the steel wool to his skin.

ne'ichan
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Thralls