Disclaimer: Don't own, etc., etc. Joss Whedon rules supreme and retains pretty much everything. Only written for personal enjoyment and because this plot bunny just wouldn't die, even after some serious staking…

Summary: Occurs after Brother, Unfortunately Mine. Rating 18 for sexual references. The sibling theme is not entirely played out …

HOW TO KILL YOUR (PSYCHO) BOYFRIEND IN ONE HARD LESSON

Chapter 4 - Demon Lover

"Hey," Spike greeted Wesley as he strolled into the other Englishman's office and discreetly closed the door after him, his eyes taking in with amusement the myriad piles of books, scrolls, stone tablets and…Golfing Weekly.

The ex-Watcher laid down his pen. "There were doughnuts?"

"You're sweet enough," Spike apologised.

Wesley rose, but didn't approach Spike as he usually did, instead his face remained closed and sombre. Spike opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but then his keen nose picked up a scent. Inclining his head on one side, he moved closer, openly scenting Wesley, who remained impassive.

Fred. Her scent had been on Wes before, but not as strong as…forget strong, try marinated. Fred's scent was all over Wesley; it was as if she had run a marathon and used Wesley to towel off – she was in every pore. The oestrogen and testosterone hit Spike's nostrils potently, triggering an instinctive response in his groin – and his fangs - that he had to instantly suppress. "Oh. Last night?"

Wesley nodded silently.

Spike blinked, "Well is my timing fabulous or what?"

"Not really."

Spike looked at Wesley for a long moment, then turned his head and said over his shoulder, "Angel."

Despite Spike barely speaking any louder than a normal conversational tone, Wesley's office door opened instantly and Angel walked in, closing the door again before his eyes flicked automatically to Wesley's neck, which was still unbitten.

"Take a deep breath." Spike ordered his grandsire. "Just do it."

Angel inhaled a good lungful of technically unnecessary oxygen. "Oh. That's…"

"Practically ground into him, yeah." Spike affirmed.

"It was Illyria."

Both vampires looked at Wesley as he said the three words in a tone they couldn't quite decipher.

"You hurt anywhere?" Spike asked in a tone of voice so caring and gentle that it would have had even Buffy slack-jawed with amazement; as it was Angel turned his head and looked at his grandson with obvious astonishment.

"Not…only in a good way." Wesley assured him. "Fred – Illyria has access to Fred's…to Fred. Before Illyria…me and Fred, you know…as Fred was dying, one of her last regrets…one thing she was really pissed about…was not…"

"Getting up-close-and-personal with you. So Illyria decides it needs to integrate fully into this dimension in more ways than one, plus gets itself in good with the human it killed so it could steal her body by tumbling you." Spike summarised.

"Perfect clarity." Wesley whispered Angel's previous discernment of Spike's greatest ability. "In short, yes. Illyria has decided, for the time being anyway, that I am it's mate. Fred was able to come back for a while last night…and, for some unfathomable reason that makes me want to weep with relief, she's okay with this. But Illyria was in the driving seat for big chunks. I just thought…I don't know what I thought." Wesley shook his head wearily.

"Preaching to the choir, pet." Spike's lips twisted into a wry resemblance of a smile. "Dru'…I was with her for a century…Dru took me when she wanted…and how she wanted. Some of the things she did to me…I've fought three Slayers in my time, and Drusilla hurt me worse than any of them…regularly."

"I'm in love with Fred and it's Fred's body," Wesley shook his head, "but when Illyria – in a crazy way I feel as though I'm being unfaithful to Fred. Am I making any sense here?"

"In a way, yeah." Spike answered. "Your problem is that you've got character, unlike say…me, who'll shag anything with plump hips and big tits. Instead of being ruled by your gonads, you fell in love with the person as well as the body you wanted to tumble, that's why it's harder for you to do the Standard Male Bad and go into 'all cats are grey in the dark' mode when you get it on with your sweetheart."

"I think I just fell down the rabbit hole. Spike is being profound…and getting it right." Angel looked at his second, muttering half to himself, "I told you I didn't like where this was going…Wes' I'd give pretty much anything to be able to get rid of Illyria and restore Fred totally. Being a hitch-hiker in your own body…but, whatever we can do to help, we will."

"You did what you had to do. If you had sent the sarcophagus back to the Deeper Well, Fred would never, ever have forgiven you for letting all those people die in agony on it's route there. First thing she'd have done would've been to stake the pair of you." Wesley assured them grimly. "It's just – keep quiet about the blood thing, okay. Illyria doesn't really get the vampire thing and Fred's not letting on to it."

"It doesn't know that –" Spike paused as he saw the way Angel's jaw tightened slightly and a subtle tension suddenly sprang up between Angel and Wesley.

"Illyria's an Old One, when it lived, the demon species that became vampires still walked the Earth in their original bodies, the Turok-Han." Wesley pointed out. "Those few humans Sired in its time were, and still are, classed as vastly inferior half-breeds usually killed on sight. It was only later when the Old Ones finally left our dimension because of spreading humanity that one of them Sired a human, who bit someone else and so forth. Illyria still doesn't really comprehend any of that, probably still not got over no longer being God-king of the Primordium, et cetera. Illyria just realises that you two are supernatural beings whose ancestral origins lie within it's own epoch." He looked thoughtful. "That may be one of the reasons why Illyria decided to stay with our group – the demons within you two are probably the closest thing Illyria still has to contemporaries."

Spike and Angel looked at each other, distinctly less than enthused by this idea.

Continued in Chapter 5…

© 2005 C. D. Stewart