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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
- 35
- 36
"Sit down. All of you." Angel said still looking out of the room after Cordy and the Grimm's dramatic exit. Spike shifted on his feet, but didn't sit. Angel sighed, rubbing at his forehead, wishing his Childe would just do what he was told to for once. But this was Spike, after all. "What is it, William?"

"Uhm, I'd like to get back to my thralls. Had to come out here in a hurry. Left things sort of up in the air." Spike said, his face was blanker than usual, and Angel puzzled over it. Spike wasn't telling him everything.

"I'd like to get it cleared up." Spike continued, he resolutely forbade himself to feel guilty because he was desperate to get back and kiss Oz, hold him and Nic, make sure both of them were safe. Make sure no nutters had come and tried to grab them. Abduct them, as they had the young woman who'd just left carried over the Grimm's heads. This place, despite being Angel's, was like grand central. No limit on comings and goings. No security. And that had to change. There were thralls here now, and thralls must be protected. His thralls and Angel's as well.

The last thing Spike was going to have happen was letting one of the too frequent visitors make off with one of *his* men. He wasn't about to tolerate that, or to take a chance on it. It was some bizarre quirk of fate that had allowed him to have thralls, and they would only be pried from his cold, dead, *truly dead*, hands. If someone, demon or human, or anything in between tried to run off with Oz...or Nic(Spike growled under his breath), he would track them down and make them pay. In spades.

Something in Spike's expression finally communicated itself to Angel. Ah. Spike was fretting over his boys. Not a foolish concern considering. Angel was going to correct a few problems around here. That was going to take some effort. But it was going to be done. He addressed Spike.

"Get them if you wish. But, we have things that must be talked over. Dealt with. Don't keep me waiting long. The rest of you, go, lock the hotel down, bolts, spells and wards, then get back here and get comfortable. We will wait for Spike and his thralls. Wesley, can you bring tea? Balthazar, please escort my thralls from my suite." Angel said, pacing while he thought out what to say. "Make sure they are all clothed." He added, remembering Xander had been in partial were-form, and that the dark haired young man preferred to go naked at that time. He, Angel, did not need the distraction that would cause. Nor did the others.
The room's occupants headed out on their various tasks. Gunn went close behind the shaky Alistair, watching him, ready to support him with a hand on his arm if need be. But he didn't offer it before it was necessary. Alistair seemed to collect himself as they left the room, growing stronger, quieter, calmer with each step. Gunn felt a spark of admiration ignite in his breast. Wordlessly, he handed the blond vampire the hair clasp that had fallen out of the hip length hair. Alistair gave him a nod of thanks, winding up the thick locks with an effcient, practiced twist of his wrists, and fastening it.

Only Lorne stayed behind with Angel and Doyle. He held the half demon on his lap, gently murmuring comforting words. Angel wondered just how much it would take to get Doyle back into some semblance of normalcy, up and functioning. He walked over, went to one knee, reached out and touched the slender shoulder. Let himself run careful fingers over Doyle's silken, dark hair.

His consort. Angel had never, in his two and a half centuries, been married, nor even betrothed. Well that record had come to a screeching fall this day. It was the only practical decision he could make under the circumstances. The Hanth'h had been prepared to take huge insult over the marking incident. Angel, king or no king, he groaned at the ridiculous appelation of *that* title in referrence to himself, could hardly afford to have the keepers turned against him. War with the Hanth'h, or taking a reluctant consort. Not a hard choice.

So, he had married his friend. Who was in love with another. That was certainly a surprise. Angel had never smelled the slightest whiff of sex on either of them. Never guessed. Doyle had not said specifically that they were sexually involved. Angel wondered just how odd the relationship had been. Did Cordelia allow him sex? Or just permit him to worship from a distance?

Trust the demon world to be less prejudiced when it came to marriage and the genders than the short lived humans. Now he had a husband. He'd never expected to be able to say that. Nor honestly to say that he had a wife. Marrying, it wasn't him. Thanks to the bitch doctor from the Initiative his whole world now rested upside down, teetering, just waiting for another, maybe larger shift and fall.

Angel growled unhappily under his breath. He continued to pet Doyle as he thought. He really wished he could extract his revenge on that woman before she did something even worse. He had no doubt she was capable of it. Though, making Dru a master, giving her a thrall...that took the cake. There was simply no way it would work out well. Perhaps Walsh already had managed to do the worst with that one, supremely foolish act.

"Doyle?" Angel called. "Doyle? Can you open your eyes?" Lorne and he shared a look as Doyle merely burrowed his face deeper into the larger demon's body, making a sleepy, protesting sound. Angel shrugged. He felt no resistance to his touch. He was not being rejected he surmised. Doyle was only seeking to keep the comfort of Lorne's size and bulk, as well as enjoy Angel's caress. He wanted both. Not to talk. Angel decided he should let Doyle have that much.

"We will talk later, Doyle. We have to face it together, do you understand? It will be fine." Angel stayed where he was, crouched down in front of Lorne, stroking Doyle's hair. Of course recent, similar reassurances hadn't turned out quite as he'd anticipated.

^^^^^^^^^^

Spike didn't waste any time hurrying to his own suite and entering. The anxiety he'd felt since witnessing the departure of the Hanth'h demanded haste. He came in quickly and found himself facing Nicholas armed with the bar from the bathroom towel rack, crudely sharpened into a point, scowling forbiddingly and fiercely. Spike startled at the expression of angry determination facing him down.

The thrall lowered his manufactured weapon warily as he saw it was only Spike who came in. Spike had to admire his Asian thrall's drive to find a semi-suitable weapon. Not that it would have done much good against many demons, but, it would have bought time, and time increased the likelihood of a rescue. Spike vowed to find Nic better armament at his first opportunity.

Oz was sitting patiently on the bed, fully dressed. Hands folded in his lap, with Nicholas in front of him, staunchly prepared to defend them both. Spike raised a brow at the small lycanthrope. Keeping an alert eye on Nicholas, even though the thrall was not threatening him with his tool.

"I am smaller than he is. He insisted he should protect me." Oz answered the raised brow. Smiling at the vampire, welcoming him with his eyes. Spike felt the connection, strong and unbreakable, surge between them. It was nearly enough to drive him to his knees. He wanted to go to Oz lay his head in the man's lap and croon out his love. But Angel would not be patient if he took the time he wanted.

"He's dressed." Spike commented, meaning Nicholas, who he had thought had no unsoiled clothes. Now Nic wore jeans, dark blue, rather new, and a well washed flannel shirt, gone wonderfully soft with many washings. The material molded itself lovingly to a very nice chest, somehow more obvious while he was dressed than it had been while he was naked.

"I borrowed some of Xander's clothes. He is bigger than you are." Oz told him as Spike turned to look Nicholas over in surprise. Nichols didn't look bigger. But Xander's jeans and shirt fit him perfectly. Which meant that his second thrall was indeed larger than he was, despite looking smaller.

"He was worried about what exactly?" Spike asked. Referring to the homemade pike.

"Demons. Like the one that just left. The seven men who are one demon." Oz said. "Nic said he'd seen one of them before. A Hanth'h. Bad news."

"Hostile 74." Nicholas said when Spike pursed his lips. "A demon composed of anywhere from 2 to 10 physically separate entities, with one consciousness."

"Does he know you..." Spike asked after digesting that information. It was a reasonably accurate if very shallow description of a Hanth'h. No mention of the keeper status. He'd decide later if Nic should know that extra bit of info. He was very curious whether or not Nic knew Oz was a werewolf. Considering he had set himself to protect the smaller man, as if not knowing Oz was probably at least three times as strong as he was. And certainly harder to hurt, as well as faster to heal.

"No, I don't think so." Oz replied, tearing his attention away from Spike to look at Nicholas with a gentle affection that pinged at Spike's heart. Nicholas, who was trying to follow their conversation, a slight frown marring his face. Knowing he was not getting the full picture.

"You think he will let you...." Spike ventured, tilting his head towards the door.

"Yes I think so." Oz said standing up. He came up to the vampire, and Spike folded an arm around him, hugging. Oz wrapped his arms around the platinum haired man and squeezed. Spike grinned, burying his nose in the crook of his thrall's neck, inhaling with zeal. Oh. Yes. Good. Beyond good. Wonderful. Oz-ness.

"Good because..." Spike said after a few deep indrawn breaths, nuzzling Oz's wild, spiky, red hair.

"We'd better not keep him waiting, then." Oz interrupted, as Spike held out his free arm to Nicholas. The soldier eyed it, and the vampire warily, but he stepped closer, unable to fight the compulsion to touch the vampire. Spike. Hostile 17. Spike sniffed at him. At his throat having to lift his nose to do it. By damn, the man was bigger than he! He could see it up close and upright. He'd been so sure.....

"What are you two talking about?" Nic asked irritably, bending to allow Spike greater access to his throat. "Can't you at least speak in full sentences when I am around? So I have some prayer of understanding what the hell you are saying?"

Spike looked at the bewildered and annoyed thrall. "Thank you for protecting him, appreciate it, mate. Can't tell you how much. Angel wants to talk to all of us. Explain things a bit, I think. Oh, and Oz is a werewolf." Spike pulled Nicholas over and led him out of the door. "I think you better put that down." He pointed at the metal bar. "Peaches won't take kindly to seeing you are breaking apart his hotel."

"I needed something to use as a defense." Nic snarled. "And who the hell is Peaches? What kind of a name is that? And what do you mean Oz is a werewolf? What kind of joke is that?"

"Peaches is my bloody poof of a Sire." Spike informed him cheerfully. "But best not call him that. He goes by Angel now."

"But he used to call himself Peaches?" Nicholas sounded incredulous. He had a very clear idea of the kind of man who would call himself Peaches. He envisioned yards of gold lame and floating, pastel silk. He felt a little ill. Effeminate men gave him the willies.

"Nope. I call him Peaches. Used to be Liam." Spike said. "But ya better not call him that, either." He grinned wickedly. "I suppose Your Poofiness is out as well."

Nic stared. Enough off kilter to let Spike throw an arm around him and lead him down the stairs in a half embrace.

Oz shook his head, rolling his eyes indulgently. "Spike." He chided the widely grinning vampire.

"What do you mean, he's a werewolf?" Nic repeated. Spike ignored him, grinning like a hound as he dragged them blithely into the meeting room.

ne'ichan
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- 36
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Thralls