A/N: As I sit here, struggling to string together a nice, interesting opening about me, I come to a startling conclusion: why should I waste time trying to think of something to say? I am writing this chapter in the same day that I wrote the one before in this story. Why? Because I already wrote the next chapter in my Elektra story, and now have nothing to do. I am bored out of my skull. So I'll write this chapter. And skip the long introduction…though now that I've reached the conclusion that I shouldn't struggle to write an opening, all the words are coming through. I hate myself sometimes. Am I alone?

Disclaimer: See above.

Distribution: See above.

the Passion of Angels and Demons

Chapter VIII

Introspect, Part II:

Angelus

Angelus was redefining the term 'self-control.' And it was seriously beginning to ride on him. How could it not? Here he was, the most feared and vicious vampires to ever be born, free at last from the mental prison placed upon him with the Ensoulment Curse by the thrice-damned Gypsies, and he wasn't out having a grand old time mutilating the unsuspecting populace of Sunnydale, California. No, he was stewing in his own frustration in a room that wasn't even his own bedchamber!

The thought of his bedchamber brought his thoughts instantly under control. Not really of the chamber itself, though the minions had done a surprisingly good job on cleaning it up for him; no, he was really more focussed on the prize that lay inside. The conversation the night before at the Bronze had gone better than Angelus could ever have imagined; Xander's responses had been both unpredictable and promising.

By nature, Angelus was a patient planner. Hell, he'd waited an extra week after he'd had all of his answers to start talking to the boy, just to make sure than every plan he'd anally obsessed over was going to be followed to the T. And of course it had; even after more than a century of Curse-driven foolishness, the name of Angelus still meant something in the vampiric community. He was more than a legend, he was a nightmare. And each and every one of his minions that night had known the consequences of failure.

Still, thinking of how close his boy was to him, and restraining himself from going to him, was chafing. Self-restraint was not something that Angelus was used to, and he now understood why; it was notoriously annoying. What he really wanted now was to just go in there and Claim Xander to him, to take him with fangs and with his body, to own him – but, no. Leave the impulsive idiocy to brutes like Spike. He wanted Xander the way that Angel had already had him – owned by his own submission.

Angelus considered it something of a cruel irony, the fact that Xander had fallen in love with his better half. Angelus was determined that Xander never knew how haunted by thoughts of the boy Angel had been. He wanted Xander to believe that Angelus was the only one who loved him, or his plans would be dashed. Thinking of dashed plans, Angelus was forced to consider the Slayer. She was proving to be more of problem than he'd imagined; true, she hadn't yet been able to lift a finger to stop him, but she had been resourceful enough to figure out how to defeat the Judge, a supposedly truly immortal being.

Staying in the factory was a risk, he knew; Buffy probably knew that Spike and Drusilla were staying there with the shattered remnants of the Order of Aurelius. Angelus snorted. He wasn't much of one for pomp and ceremony. He thought back over the years to the time when he had first met the creator of the Order, the self-styled Master, with Darla, and smirked. Darla had brought her new Childe Angelus to the attention of her own Sire – much to his detriment. Angelus had laughed in the Master's face, and they had proceeded to all out brawl. Angelus, still a new Childe and as yet not at his full power, had been beaten, but he'd still managed to walk out with Darla.

Thinking of Darla filled him with a mixture of melancholy and anger. He had killed his own Sire. Such was an abomination in the vampire world, and not only to tradition. Darla had been a classic beauty, statuesque and blonde, an incarnation of Aphrodite. She had been marvellously cruel (not as much as he was, of course, but still), and maddeningly tempting – he remembered the gruelling sexual marathons she'd run him through, teaching him the pleasures of the world that he'd only dreamt of when he was a dull, drunk Irish lad named Liam. They would make love for days, her tempting him to the height of orgasm and then refusing to get him off, until he was angry enough to punish her.

They had toured the world together, created Drusilla together (and eventually Spike), shared a bond that even that Souled coward Angel hadn't dreamt of with Buffy…and he'd driven a crossbow bolt through her heart without the slightest hesitation to save the life of that beautiful blonde bitch. Angelus growled in rage as he stared into the fireplace. Thinking of the Soul only made him think of the rift that had been allowed to grow between himself and his Childers.

Angelus, Darla, Drusilla and Spike, and then eventually Penn. Oh, how they'd run rampant through Europe, terrorising and fighting, loving and hating, a bloody, incestuous cult. The Scourge of Europe, they'd been called, sharing a bond that nothing could break…until those damned Gypsies conjured up the perfect punishment for his crime. Angelus could still remember the tightness of that stupid Gypsy whore's cunt as he'd rammed himself in her, nearly fucking her to death and then sharing her blood with his beloved Darla. If only he could have foreseen the consequences of that action!

It was a small consolation that the camp had been utterly destroyed by his Sire and his Childers not long afterwards. He could remember his years of wandering, lost, lonely and practically crazed by the soul now burning away in his demon's heart. It was wrong, unnatural; he tried to claw it out, nearly staking himself to get it out. His every instinct screamed at him to hunt down the humans, to feed, but he'd only fed on the blood of animals.

He had sought out his Sire and his family, desperately seeking some sort of familiarity, some sort of familial warmth with which to ground his rampaging emotions, to chain his soul. Instead, he had run from Darla when she'd demanded a baby being killed by him, and nearly staked his Childers that night, half out of his head with the pain of rejection. He'd come to his senses, luckily enough, and ran.

And now, here he was, brooding over his past like that damn Souled bastard. He threw himself up from his seat and paced through the room, thinking. Breaking Xander to his will would take time, and it would need to be done carefully. The boy was fragile in ways, and strong in others. The obvious abuse that he'd borne in his old home would go far to protect him from being physically broken in, and had also given him a considerable mental defence. However, that which made him strong also made him weak. The boy was starved for affection.

Gentility wasn't exactly the strongest of Angelus' tricks, but it could all be accomplished. Xander's defences were already lower than they should be where he was concerned. But he did need to worry about moving to a new locale; the factory was already too easily found by the Slayer. The Slayer…thinking about her was enough to set off a new wave of growling. She had inspired love and adoration, practically obsession in the Soul, but Angelus merely wanted her dead. But more than that – this girl had made him feel…good. He snarled in disgust.

But his revenge on the Slayer would have to wait for a little while. Now, his focus was entirely on owning his boy. The door clicked open and he turned, unsurprised to see his two Childers entering what Angelus had mockingly dubbed 'the Sitting Room,' as it was the only room in the house aside from his own chambers that had enough furniture to make it comfortable. But that had ever been Spike's problem: not enough pre-planning. He relied on luck and his own skill at fighting to survive. It still filled Angelus with pride at the idea that one of his favoured Childers had laid low two Slayers, and that Drusilla had slain one herself. But they had grown far too independent of their "Daddy" for his tastes. It was time to reign them in.

"Ooh, Daddy, how he sparkles and shines! Everything in my head is singing!" Dru moaned ecstatically. Since the Love Spell had worn off, she seemed to have completely forgotten the fight over Xander that she'd waged against her Sire. Good, Angelus thought. Xander was a prize – he had the same problem as Drusilla. Too much goodness and just the right hint of magic in his soul made for a far too tempting prize to scores of demons. Xander himself, since learning of the world of monsters, had been nearly mated and killed by a giant preying mantis, fell in love with an ancient Incan mummified princess…the sooner that Xander was Claimed and Marked to his master's satisfaction, the better.

"Yeah, we got you you're bit of fluff, then," Spike said presently, breaking into Angelus' thoughts. "So when're we gonna get on and kill of that bloody Slayer instead of dancing around her friends?" he demanded.

"Impatient, Spike," Angelus tutted admonishingly. "The key to dear, sweet Saint Buffy lies in her friends – the little idiots that always managed to do you in are where her weakness is. Get them all, and all you have is a scared little blonde bitch trying to stab you with a stake," he explained slowly, his every word carving marks of derision towards Spike's swelled ego.

Sure enough, his Childe shot him an evil look as he lit up a cigarette. Angelus sent him a sweet smile in return, before he sprang into motion and slammed his fist straight into Spike's face. Spike yelled in surprise and pain and his nose shattered under the force of his master's fist, and he fell to the floor. Angelus looked down at him dispassionately.

"Manners, boy," he snapped coldly. "I'm no fool minion that you can guttersnipe at. You'll show respect for your Sire," he continued, his every word driving like an icicle into Spike's centre. "Drusilla, come here," he ordered coldly as she went to help Spike up. She turned to her Sire with a mixture of confusion, apprehension and love splayed across her face.

"Yes, Daddy?" she asked hesitantly. She walked toward him with that strange walk of hers, somewhere between drifting and dancing. He grabbed her hard enough to bruise as soon as she was within reach. She moaned in pain and desire. He could smell her arousal, but tonight was not the night to respond to it. This was discipline.

"He'll get help when he's earned it, Dru," he snapped. His fierce yellow eyes dared her to contradict him. Sensing that this wasn't the time for adoration, she nodded, bowing her head submissively. "Ye've both gotten away from my control for too long," he said coldly. Spike glared at him defiantly, which was rewarded with a steel-toed boot to the ribs, breaking one of them. He gasped in pain, instantly bowing his head in submission. "That's better," Angelus said coldly. "Now, I've some business to take care of, and ye're not to interfere. Await my orders…

"Oh, and another thing?" he called out as they prepared to leave. They turned, sensing that now was not the time to piss him off. "If either of you so much as lays a finger on my boy, I'll make you eat each other's hearts, Childers or no," he said coldly. He flashed his fangs by way of confirmation of his threat. They both shuddered. They may not have been under Angelus' control for more than a century, but they knew when the master's words must be obeyed. He nodded, satisfied. It wasn't as permanent and protective as a Claim, but it would keep them away for the time being.

It was time, anyway – Angelus' senses, hyper-sensitive to the sweet boy lying up in his bed, could sense Xander quickening to wakefulness. He grabbed the bag that held what he needed for this first meeting, and headed out toward the chamber. Minions bowed in submission as he passed, and he nodded imperiously. He was wearing no shirt and only black leather pants with the button undone, and he knew that that would help…sweeten the boy up a little bit. In time for his first lesson, anyway.

My boy. My hot, sweet little bitch, he thought to himself with a wolfish smile. He sped up, hurrying in a way that he hadn't since the days of Darla. There was a deep-driven need inside of him to be with his boy, speaking of a bond between them that had already been established. He decided to be pleased by this development, but it was worrying also. He needed to be the master that Xander unconsciously desired, needed to be strong and firm.

He was in a black mood, a mixture of anger, lust, and apprehension darkening his gaze. And so it was that Angelus walked into the room to find Xander, terrified, defiant, angry, aroused, and wrapped in a sheet. Their eyes never left each other's as Angelus slowly, slowly closed the door, locking them in together.

A/N: Starting next chapter, there is gonna be some BDSM. I'm not talking all with the heavy, fetishes and stuff, but Xander is being trained to be Angelus' pet, not to be his cute little lover. The chapters might get a little graphic (hello, demon) and if such things offend you, then you might want to wait until I post a chapter after an event (I'll announce when it's safe to read again). Also, this is rated M. There will be sex. There will be sex between two men, between a man and a woman, and probably between two women.

Yet again, if these things offend you – don't read it!

And, on a bonus note – I passed fifty reviews! I'm having a day of kudos to myself – it's been a sweet ride. Now, of course, I'll be expecting to pass 100 before the last chapter of this story is published. You wouldn't disappoint this face, would you?

Five by five and livin' large

PyroPadawan.