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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.

Chapter List
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Thralls, chapter 32

Gunn froze in the kitchen doorway for a second, unable to believe his eyes. Doyle was on the floor holding his abdomen, fingers spread wide, and there was blood literally everywhere around the small man. The grey and white linoleum was spattered with scarlet drops and darkening puddles. Doyle was weeping, frantically pawing at himself, smearing the blood that dripped from his center.

"Doyle!" Gunn half shouted, Doyle looked up, confusion written all across his stark white features. Gunn felt a frisson of pure, undiluted terror shoot through him at that lost expression. As if Doyle thought this was it, the end. For an instant he couldn't move couldn't do anything but stare.

"Help!" Gunn shouted into the air. Where was everyone? How had this happened in Angel's house, the hotel, without anyone else knowing? Was there no one left to help? Had they all been attacked?

Gunn ran across the floor, dropping to his knees grabbing Doyle's hands and holding them away from his body, feeling the cooling blood soak into his jeans. His axe and knife, both of which he hadn't let out of his sight since the influx of visitors to the hotel, clattered to the ground as he frantically searched the bleeding body, pushing Doyle back onto the linoleum, flat so he could look and see. Doyle resisted, trying to sit up. Over and over.

"Relax, buddy, let me see. It's alright. I'll take care of it." Gunn tried to quiet the other man, tried to keep him still, not make anything worse, nor aggravate any injury.

Trying to see the wound, if it was deep, or if the weapon that had caused it was still lodged in there. He saw nothing, no cuts nor slashes nor entrance wounds, nothing but terribly abraded skin, ragged edged, and blood, so much blood.

Clutched in one of the demon's hands was a bloodied mass of...something, clotted. Gunn could not tell what. He pushed it away, it fell, with a thick, meaty sound. Doyle let out a moan, pain filled, broken, and crumpled like an empty bag to the floor. Unconscious. Gunn felt fear rip through his body.

Gunn caught Doyle up, sliding long arms under his shoulders and knees, lifted him, aware that he had to get the other to a hospital. Ghod, he was light, he couldn't weigh more than 120 tops, a good 70 pounds lighter than Gunn himself. When had he gotten so thin? Then Gunn wondered frantically, which hospital can I take him to? Did any of them know how to treat a demon? A half demon? Would it be the wrong thing to do? Thoughts and fears swirled crazily in the space of an instant.

He swung Doyle all the way into his arms and headed for the main entrance to the hotel, rushing forward, running. He was reaching out, fumbling for the bar to open the doors, slick fingers slipping, his grip refusing to hold, when a sound alerted him that he was not alone in the foyer. He whirled, sure that it would be the person or the demon who had attacked and injured Doyle. He braced himself ready to defend them both, cursing himself for not having his weapons at hand. The axe and knife lay, useless, on the floor of the kitchen.

It was not a stranger, it was Alistair, coming towards him, them, rapidly, uncharacteristic strain on his normally tranquil face. Gunn felt every hair on his body stand on end. The gaze was gold, the face was gameface. The fine nostrils were flared, everything screamed threat, screamed danger, urged him to run far and fast. But there was no way for him to get out, far enough away to out distance a vampire, without dropping Doyle in the process. And Gunn was not going to drop Doyle for anything on Earth. The smaller man moaned, as if on cue.

Alistair hardly wasted a look at Gunn, his whole attention focused on Doyle. His eyes homed in on the blood, his hand reaching out and trying to touch the blood. His tongue, a soft pink, stealing out to lick his lips. Gunn felt his skin tighten, as terror for himself, for Doyle tore through him.

Gunn pulled back turning to one side, trying to shield Doyle with his body, ready to attack the vampire if he tried to take Doyle away, or tried to bite either of them. Adrenaline and rage roared through him.

"Why didn't you help him? You couldn't smell this before it got so bad? You are a vampire aren't you? How did someone get in here and do this?" Gunn shouted at the blond vampire standing mere inches in front of him, still concentrating on Doyle rather than on Gunn, even as Gunn shouted at him. Alistair floated nearer, eyes sparkling, inhuman.

Alistair looked up at him, then came forward the last little bit, his fingers slipping across the pooling blood that lay on Doyle's belly. He stepped closer, crowding Gunn up against the door frame, trying to grapple the injured man from the warrior. Gunn elbowed him in the face as hard as he could, having to let Doyle's body swing awkwardly down as he did.

Alistair avoided the main force of the blow, it grazed along his cheek, doing no damage, not even diverting him from his objective, he still had his hands on Doyle. Gunn followed up with a strike to the throat when the vampire tried to pull Doyle away again. Alistair avoided it, letting it brush past him, twitching to the side so fast Gunn was startled. Horrified, realizing he was next to helpless against this one, in this situation, no weapons at hand, Doyle in his arms.

Gunn backed up two rapid steps, and kicked out at Alistair, hitting him square in the chest, which made the slender vampire grunt, but nothing much more, his pale green eyes flashing golden. And this blow, the vampire returned. Hard and fast and just short of doing lethal damage. It slammed into Gunn's chest, punishingly, breath robbingly hard.

Gunn flew back. Smashing into the wall and falling to one knee, Doyle spilling limply to the floor, blood smearing over the tiles. Alistair knelt, gathered Doyle up in his arms. Gunn sat up, hand on his breastbone, splinting the explosion of paralyzing pain. Then seeing Doyle about to be carried out of the room, he forced himself up, staggering. Fighting to get back his wind. "No. Stop. Ghod damn it...What the hell are you doing...." He was gasping, sweating, his words wheezed out, desperate.

Alistair stopped in mid step. Waiting for Gunn to stop swaying, to regain his breath. "I am taking him to Angel." The soft tenor of the vampire's voice robbed Gunn of most of his fear for Doyle's safety. "The master will heal his own."

Gunn frowned even as the relief washed over him. Alistair was not going to take Doyle somewhere and finish the job. Alistair was not the assailant he had feared him to be. Gunn knew it then. The relief made his knees weak. But he fixed on the vampire's words even so. Needing an answer, because he didn't like what he had heard. Not at all.

"What do you mean, 'his own'?" Gunn demanded. Alistair ignored him, heading up the stairs, Gunn running, stumbling to catch him.

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

Angel went down on his knees. Leaning over Xander while his thrall caught his breath. He brushed a hand over the sweaty, mussed locks of dark brown hair. He bent lower, turning to position his mouth where he wanted it. Lightly, he touched his lips to the full ones, just at the corner, feeling the rush of inhalation, exhaltion pass his cheek. Flicking out his tongue to catch the flavor of his thrall's mouth, his sweet taste.

Xander lay quietly under his ministrations, eyes bright, alert and...pleased. As if the fight had been what he needed, as if it settled him, comforted him. Angel bet that it had. The hyena spirit wanting confirmation of the heirachy, it's position in the pack. And Angel had given the hyena what it wanted. That and a good fight, what more could Xander ask for? He radiated his satisfaction.

Angel licked him. Bathing his face with small laps of his tongue. Little nips with vampire sharp fangs. All the way, slow and leisurely to the crook of the long neck, stretched out, bared for him, waiting, waiting....He sank his fangs in, letting out his own sigh of pleasure, of acceptance. Feeling Xander submit, so beautifully, growling his approval, his long, powerful legs wrapping around Angel's hips. Holding him. Offering more, but not yet demanding it as the vampire fed.

Angel let his hands wander, down between Xander's legs, legs which parted for him. Reluctant with the still new unfamiliarity of this act, but parting none the less. Angel felt the warmth of the crevice he sought, the hot, crinkled flesh that met his searching finger. He pressed in, just the tip of his finger into that heat, snarled at the voluptuous feel as the opening unfurled for him.

Xander gasped, trembled, Angel pushing in, slow, inevietable, his long, thick finger gripped, surrounded, his hand up hard, tight to the lycanthrope's body, thumb pressing into Xander's scrotum, rolling his balls. Xander's flesh a heated glove, welcoming the intrusion, the promising threat of the caress.

Angel smiled as he drank. Riding the edge of force, of non-consent, of taking what was his to take, of demanding submission. Thoughts of fucking, hard and fast and brutal, if he wanted. Of fighting and demanding, hearing the moans underneath him. He swallowed the coppery-hot blood, finger buried, teasing himself with the visions of the rutting he planned.

So, good, the spice of lycanthrope blood, of thrall blood, of the blood of the youth that he had lusted after when Angelus had been foremost. While Buffy had had Angel's devotion, Xander had had every ounce of Angelus' unrequited lust....most definitely. Angelus, who bucked the rules, sneered at the traditions more blatantly than Angel ever had. Angelus who defied human laws, and mores. Who took what and who he wanted, damn the consequences.

There was shouting. Angel raised his head from Xander's neck, the were-hyena whining in mild complaint. Arching up, to try and tempt the vampire back to the feeding. Arching high enough to rub his tiny, brown nipples over Angel's smooth, muscled chest, his body tightening down on the vampire's finger. Angel thrust in a second finger, deep, even as he looked to the door.

Feet pounding up the stairs, loud, Gunn, and a quieter step, light and quick, no less urgent for the softness, Alistair. Angel was on his feet and to the door, yanking it open, even as Gunn's fist was raised to pound on the unyielding wood. The warrior blinked. Angel looked past him, to the gold/white vampire who carried....Doyle.

Angel reached past Gunn, caught Alistair's collar, and pulled him into the room, Doyle and all.

"On the bed." Angel ordered, and Alistair lay Doyle, barely moving, moaning, crying, and bleeding on top of the spread. Graham was there, in an instant. Riley up and running for the bathroom and returning with an armful of towels. Graham holding Doyle's hands, which were seeking out his middle, clawing at the raw pain. Angel bent down to look, to see.

"What have you done?" He murmured, in an undertone Gunn had to strain to hear. Gunn frowned harder. Angel thought....Doyle had done this. To himself. What!?

"Hold on." Gunn barked. "Why do you think that Doyle did this? Why don't you think someone else is responsible?"

"I didn't say...." Angel murmured, warningly. Bending down. Xander was suddenly there, sniffing, trying to worm his way through the crowd. His long tongue licked at his lips. Riley pushed him back.

"You didn't have to. Just, please...answer the question. Why do you think he did it?" Gunn hissed. He grabbed Angel's arm. The look he got made him drop his hand, step back, reach for his absent axe.

"Today I gave him blood." Angel said.

"And that is enough to drive him to suicide?" Gunn scoffed. "I don't think so."

"I haven't shared blood since attaining my thralls, except to bind my vampires to me. The sharing with Doyle...was stronger than I had expected it to be. I meant only to feed him, to ease his craving, but I marked him. I was not aware of it before, or I would not have let him go so soon, without warning him. But, now, I can feel it." Angel sniffed at the air. "And I can smell the mark."

"Angel. This is really not good. How can any of us trust you? Doyle didn't want to be bound to you. I know he didn't."

"None want to be bound to me. Not one of those standing here came willingly to me. All were forced. Is that what you want me to say, Gunn? Then I will say it. My thralls were forced to bind to me or die. My vampires feel the need to bind to me burning through their gut. They had no choice but to take my claim into themselves as they drank my blood. Doyle never wanted this. He felt my call, and if given a choice he would have refused it. I do admit it all. But. I never had the choice to become what I am becoming. This is not my doing. I did not want this, either."

Xander had finally managed to get around Graham and Riley who had been trying to block him.

"Angel!" Graham called out. Xander bent down began enthusiastically lapping up the blood drenching Doyle. Angel let his hand fall onto the back of Xander's neck. But he did not stop him. Xander purred his satisfaction.

"Angel?" Gunn asked, horror filling his face. "What is he doing? Why are you letting him...?"

"He is mine. They are mine. Do not interfere." The vampire said. Tone calm, even. Gunn shuddered. He opened his mouth to protest, fists balled, fuck this knuckling under and submitting crap...*he* didn't belong to Angel, or anyone in this ghod damned room. He never got the words out.

Balthazar appeared in the open doorway. His attention drawn to the scene on the bed, to Xander's bloodied face, to the lycanthrope's tongue working it's way over the torn flesh. The dark vampire swallowed, fighting to speak as Angel looked up at him, face less than friendly.

"Demons. Seven of them. Downstairs. Waiting to speak with you." Balthazar licked his dry lips, Xander darting him a glance of malice as he licked his own, reddened mouth.

A voice like rocks breaking, grinding as they fell, rang out, roared up to the room from far below. Gunn closed his eyes, not understanding the demon-speech, but understanding what it meant. Grimm, the Hanth'h demon was here. And Grimm, anywhere, was not good.

Wesley, voice weak, shaking, whispered the translation, moving closer to the dark vampire he stood next to. Balthazar turning, stepping in front of the man. Between him and the door.

"Angelus, dark angel, living son of the eternal line of Aurelius, I bear you warning. I stand here in your House, coming to treat with you and yours, and smell the scent of demon blood. Who's blood has spilled in this place? Do you sacrifice demons in the name of your cause now?"

Wesely's voice was filled with his horror, wide eyes fixed on Xander, licking, licking, at Doyle's torn flesh. His gaze flew up to Angel's, just as Angel changed to game face, fury filling his hot, golden eyes.

ne'ichan
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Thralls