“Aaaaangeeeeel!”

The brunette’s voice screeches, preceding her entrance into his office, where he has been trying to hide from her. In an equally wheedling tone she continues, “Angel… you *promised!*”

He looks up into her eyes with a pained look. “When, Cordelia? When did I promise you that I would dress up in a costume and go to some public street festival?”

The young woman rolls her eyes towards the ceiling; “Maybe it was when you promised to get out more. When you said you *trusted* me to help you try to enjoy life. Remember that? Deep conversation thing. We shared, like a moment…”

“I said I trusted you? Was I drinking? A lot?” He really had meant that to be a joke, but winced at the flash of pain across her face, “I’m sorry, I was just kidding, Cordy! Alright… tell me a little more about this… thing.”

Her face blooms into a smile; damn right she could act, “Well! They block off part of Santa Monica Boulevard, all the way from La Cienega to San Vicente...” Pausing at the blank look on his face. “West Hollywood, Angel… WeHo… where all the boys are!” Impassive Angel face, rapidly slipping into brood mode, “No you don’t… it’s gonna be *fun*! It’s Halloween… you can be whatever you want to be! Everybody dresses up in crazy costumes, there’s dancing… it’s just fun – you do remember what fun is, right?”

“Vaguely,” he replies dryly.

“O.K. then. You’ve got to trust me. Hey! I could pick out a costume for you! I’m thinking expensive, which you of course would pay for, and definitely non-monochromatic. Wesley is letting me choose his!”

“Costume?”

“Don’t you growl at me. It’s Halloween you big boring… guy, you! You’re supposed to dress up – and no, you can’t come as Vampire Detective!”

The memory pops unbidden into his mind, flashing blue eyes, sharp white cheekbones, an even sharper tongue – ‘’cause you’re Angel, Vamp Detective now? Ooh I’m so scared. What’s next? Vampire Cowboy? Vampire Fireman? Oh, Vampire Ballerina!’. Not his fondest memory, considering the torture…

“Stop that right now, buster!” Cordelia’s voice brings him back to a slightly less horrifying present. “I saw you… you were brooding! Cut it out!” she snarls.

“Cordelia… did you just snarl at me?” He looks incredulously at her.

“Yes!” she preens, “Pretty good, huh? I’ve been working on my angsty Angel impersonation; really cracks the guys up.”

“You three sit around mocking me?”

“Yes. No… Maybe?” She gives him a pleading look, “C’mon… just come with us… if you hate it, you can leave after a few hours.”

“A few *hours??*”

“Angel.” Her tone has become serious as she leans over the desk. “You are coming. You are coming in costume. End of conversation.”

And it was.

Gunn is dying… he rolls on the ground, clutching his sides in pain as the tears stream down his face.

Wesley is not amused.

“Fuck! English!” the man on the floor gasps out between further bursts of laughter, “What the hell happened to you???”

“Cordelia,” is the terse reply.

Struggling to stand, and making it to the divan before collapsing again in a fit of unmanly giggles, Gunn just points again, “She *made* you wear that? What – did you lose a bet?”

“Yes.”

The black man sobers… slightly, “Oh.” A snicker breaks his composure, “Man, she *got* you! You’re never gonna live this down. Does Angel know about – shit!”

Wesley spins around, following Gunn’s gaze to Cordelia descending the hotel staircase.

“Cor-Cordelia!” the Englishman stutters out in amazement.

“Shit!” Gunn breathes out his previous statement again, his eyes raking appreciatively over her costume. “Did you have those things sewn on, or are they just painted on?”

The brunette beauty tosses her hair back and smiles, “Not telling.”

She scans the hotel lobby, “Where’s Angel?”

Not removing his eyes from her body Gunn responds, “Uh… he went to pick up his costume, said to wait for him here.”

Her eyes move over Wesley, appraising, “Pretty good, Wesley… but I knew you’d probably forget the finishing touch.” She prowls towards the man, pulling something out of the coat carried over one arm.

“No!” He backs away from her; “I categorically refuse to let you put that on me!”

He finds his arms held by strong hands, “You lost the bet, English… gotta pay up in full!”

Wesley groans as he lets himself be pulled onto the divan. Silently he vows never to bet anyone, anything, ever again, as Cordelia concentrates on painting his fingernails.

Several long and strongly protested minutes later; three heads turn to the figure entering the lobby doors.

Three mouths gape open at the figure in front of them. Dark hair is loose around his face; his neck covered by a black silk neck cloth tied in an impossible fashion over a dark high collared shirt. Below that is a sumptuous vest of black shot through with threads of gold and green, really the only color in his costume. Snug as the vest are the long black breeches covering his well-muscled legs, the fabric smoothed down to soft leather shoes. An elegant cut-away black coat covers the whole ensemble, while one hand holds an exquisite ebony cane, the head a bold griffin.

Angel is magnificent.

Angel is extremely upset.

“What the hell is going on here?” he growls out.

His eyes flicker to a strange shade of dark gold as he takes in the scene before him.

Wesley, in impossibly snug blue jeans and black T-shirt. Too new black duster and Doc Martins. Hair spiked up crazily with some white mousse-like substance. The look of utter shame on the man’s face does nothing to dint the demon’s fury as he turns to Cordelia, clad in the tightest black pair of leather pants he’s ever seen. Wide leather belt, topped by a soft white shirt… her own leather coat being shrugged on even as he strides towards them.

“I’m not going to ask again – What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?”

Cordelia gazes calmly at him, unfazed, “Geez! Take a pill, already! Even Gunn figured it out right away. Wesley here is the Fangless Wonder, and I’m Angelus, circa Sunnydale! Pretty cool, huh?”

Angel blinked. “What?”

The former cheerleader in the painted on leather pants frowns at him, “Wes is Spike, and I’m the Psycho Scourge of Sunnyhell… get it?”

He nods mutely, anger evaporating, finally regaining some control; “You’re insane.”

“Well duh… I’m you without a soul. And what’s with your getup? I mean, Halloween is ‘come as you aren’t’, not ‘come as you once were like a hundred years ago’!”

Gunn laughs gingerly, still sore from his previous riot of fun, but stills as Angel turns on him, “And what are you supposed to be?”

“I’m the token black guy that’s gonna follow you guys around and laugh my ass off tonight.”

Wesley coughs, “Er… Angel… I hope you’re not too upset… about me dressing up as your… as Spike is not too upsetting to you.”

“You’re not upsetting me Wes… you’re scaring me.”

“Great!” Cordelia laughs, “That’s what it’s all about… the fun/fear factor! Now let’s get going… we’re gonna have to park like a mile away and hoof it!”

Muttering under his breath, “I never wore pants *that* tight.”

Angel drives down the 10 Freeway, listening to Cordelia and Wesley bicker in the back seat. Gunn sits beside him silently grinning. As he takes the La Brea exit he turns to the back, “Could you two possibly stop fighting until we get there?”

Cordelia smiles sweetly at him, “No Angel, we can’t. We’re practicing being you and Spike so we have to fight like this *all* night.”

Wesley groans, “Please… let me stake her!”

Gunn leers and opens his mouth, but is silenced by a look from Angel, “Don’t go there, Gunn!”

“Looks like this is as close as we’re going to get,” the dark man says as he maneuvers the car into a parking place between a battered Gremlin and a new black SAAB in the midst of a quaint residential neighborhood. As the four troop towards the boulevard, other parked cars, as well as the other groups of people they pass evince the same eclectic combinations. Every walk of life in Los Angeles is apparently heading to this one street.

At La Cienega the crowd surges forward as the light changes, pedestrian movement barely controlled by traffic cops on horseback. The four move slowly, trying to stay together, each one having a marvel to point out. For just an instant Angel freezes, some smell, some *thing* tugs at his memory but evaporates as Cordelia grabs his arm and points wordlessly to a trio of young cowboys passing them. Angel smiles as he comprehends the reason for her wild gesticulations. The boots, hats, vests and leathers chaps the young men wear comprise their entire costumes. Firm asses bounce happily in plain view as the three walk arm in arm into the crowd.

Wesley blushes and stammers, “Th-they, they’re…” he trails off helplessly.

Gunn laughs and slaps him on the back, “No man, they *weren’t*! But if it makes you feel any better, I think the red head liked your jeans!”

Wesley frowns and pulls the leather duster around himself, and follows the three forward into the crowd.

There it is again! Angel stops suddenly, and Cordelia slams into him. “Ow! Watch where you’re going Mister… don’t make me go all grrrr on you!”

The dark man turns to her, the disturbing feeling of familiarity gone again, “Cordelia, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I mean, I haven’t been around this many people in a long time.”

The girl grabs him by one arm and hisses; “I’m having a good time, Angel. And if it bugs you to be walking around this human buffet…” she waves her hand at the crowd, “Think how I feel!” The dark man looks at her in confusion. “Angel… all these cute guys are *gay*! They aren’t looking twice at me. At you, sure, at Wes, maybe, but only because I made him wear those clothes. And Gunn?… definitely! But me? I may as well be invisible! So you’re gonna hang out with us, and look at all the pretty things we can’t touch. Got it?” He isn’t given a chance to agree as she pulls him along to catch up with the other two.

Glumly, Angel walks, not listening to the excited banter of his co-workers. Ahead of them, the crowd parts to reveal a proud parade of what appear to be Las Vegas show girls. But despite the appropriate curves and graceful gestures, he can smell, he knows… under the paint, the elaborate garb, these are men. The rest of the crowd realizes this too, which seems to only fascinate them more. This time, at the opposite edge of the crowd, he sees… it can’t be. Just the profile, turning away from him. Agitated, he pushes through the throng, reaching the other side, but not finding the figure he’d seen.

‘It can’t be,’ he thinks to himself. ‘It’s just this night… this place. Too many strange things.’

Wesley catches up to him, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder, “Angel… everything all right? Did you see something?”

“No Wes.” He turns and smiles at the other man, “Just a ghost.”

The Englishman looks at him oddly then returns the smile, “Complete with white sheet?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then, come back and join us, Cordelia wants to get something to eat.”

“Thanks Wesley, but I think I’m going to wander for a bit. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

The ex-Watcher looks concerned but apparently decides to let it go, “All right. In front of this book store…” he looks at the sign, “A Different Light… appropriate. We’ll see you here then.” The dark demon turns away, “And Angel?” He looks back, “Be careful.” A wry smile, and the vampire disappears into the crowd.

No longer needing to appease Cordelia, Angel slinks into the nearest alley, stopping at the wave of lust and pheremones that assault his senses. Grunts and moans from the variety of pairings, all oblivious to his intrusion. Okay, this apparently is not a city of empty alleyways. He backs out into the fray, his senses temporarily overwhelmed. As he tries to clear his head, he is jolted again by a face in the crowd. Gods! How can this be? He gapes in fascination as the creature turns its’ head, its’ gaze locking with his, eyes widening in mutual shock and recognition. Suddenly a crowd of Carmen Mirandas move between the two, and by the time their fruity headdresses have passed, the apparition is gone.

The dark man sighs, and leans back against the store front, his mind reeling over what… no *who* he thinks he has seen. There is little time for consideration as a blur of motion moves out of the crowd and a body hurtles towards him, arms wrapping around his chest tightly, head burrowed in his shoulder.

“Angelus,” is the relieved name breathed into his coat.

The demon cannot move. Too many thoughts and emotions are warring in his brain. The figure pulls back, blue eyes that were flooded with relief move into wariness at the larger man’s lack of response. “Angelus? It is you… isn’t it?”

“Spike?” barely more than a whisper.

“What?” The smaller man is backing away; a dark haunted looked in his face.

The demon reaches out, grabbing the other man by the collar. One large hand reaches out to grab the sable curls, pulling none too gently.

“Ow! It *is* you, ya wanker… what’d you do that for?!” blue eyes flashing.

“William?” It can’t be… it can’t be his mind tells him. It could be, his heart whispers.

“Aye. It’s me.” The younger man rubbing ruefully where his hair had been pulled.

Angel pulls the body into his, one hand still snaking through soft hair, pulling the head back gently, exposing the pale throat. The other man tilts his head willingly as hesitant lips move over the white scar on his neck. The dark head hovers there for a moment, willing himself to believe in this insanity, drinking in the scent of his Childe, lips barely brushing against the sensitive skin. The world around them vanishes as he brings his head up and loses himself in those brilliant eyes. Without another thought, he swoops in to plunder eager lips. Ferociously he parts the mouth beneath his, tongue pushing in, sweeping along the boy’s palette. The taste never forgotten is suddenly his to ravish and he suckles greedily on the tongue, pulling in the answering whimpers. Finally he registers the hands pushing at his chest and breaks the kiss.

Angel’s hand moves around to cup the face in front of him, his thumb moving up to brush the scar over the left eyebrow. “How… why are you here?” he asks.

Consternation flickers over his Childe’s features, “Don’t know. I was home, out huntin’ wi’ you… we got separated, then suddenly I’m ’ere. An’ ’ere is very bloody odd. But I could smell ya… so I kept lookin’.”

Eyes full of wonder gaze up into brown, bruised lips open in amazement, “I didn’t think I’d find ya here… Sire.” Insistent hands fist the fabric of Angel’s shirt, pulling the larger man back down to the fervent mouth of the brown-haired youth. “None o’ that matters ’tho… I found ya, an’ I won’t let ya go!”

Angel lets himself fall into the kiss, allowing the smaller man to taste him, reveling in the feeling of that strong tongue moving in his mouth, attacking him, as sure hands move over his torso. He doesn’t know how or why his William is here, but he is through wondering as the other man’s hips grind insistently into his own. He can feel his Childe’s arousal pressing into his own even as the other growls out his need. This has to be his Will, Spike would never have let his souled self get this close without trying to kill him. His Will… his arms wrap around the smaller man, trying to pull him in closer.

“Cor Angelus… ya’ll crush me.” The brown-haired youth laughs, not really trying to break away, but squirming so their erections rub exquisitely though their clothes.

“Gods, William, but I’ve missed you!”

“Really?” One hand moving between them, and his boy is cupping his hardness, stroking him through the cloth. “Better remind ya right quick then, hadn’t I?” Blue eyes laughing, he pulls the larger man unprotesting into the darkened alley. A quick sniff, “Ugh! We won’t be the first ones in here.” He spins around to face his Sire, “But we’ll be the best.”

“So sure of yourself, lad?”

A wide grin in the darkness, “That I am!”

In a graceful move he kneels before the older man, nimble fingers working at the ties on the costume breeches. With a groan, Angel’s head falls back as his engorged member is brought into the night air. A low laugh brings his sight back down to the beautiful creature below him; he watches in fascination as the pink tongue darts past perfect lips to lick the precum glistening on the tip of his cock. So unlike his boy to be so hesitant – “Ahhhhh!” thoughts banished by the sensation of his William taking him in deep, swallowing him to the root. His hips rock forward his whole body wanting to crawl into that cool mouth and be worshipped by that tongue. Blunt teeth graze his foreskin, forcing it down as the tongue lashes the tender skin. His fingers grab onto the brown hair, guiding the willing head over his shaft, and he moans in delight as a hand warmed with friction firmly massages his tightening sac.

With a needy groan he pulls the smaller man up flush against his body, ignoring the other’s snarl of protest and seeks out his mouth, licking his scent and taste from it ferociously. His Childe is like no other, made by him, made for him, all of this tasted and recognized in his devouring kiss, leaving the other breathless and flushed as he pulls back. Tries to pull back. Strong hands are moving though his hair, pulling him back down to that avid mouth, the wet kiss communicating the need for more.

It doesn’t matter that this can’t be real. That this can’t last. He won’t think of the other desperate bodies in this dark place, all aching for the same moment that will fade as soon as it is over. Nothing matters except the urgency of the body thrusting against his. Without hesitation he pulls the arms from around his neck and turns the smaller man to the wall, bending to swiftly undo the rough breeches, pulling them down to reveal the tight white globes of flesh he’s dreamed of for a century. His hands part the mounds, revealing the puckered entrance, his tongue laving around and in. Allowing himself a smile at the whimpers and curses pouring from the mouth above him. Loving the way the hips wriggle and shift, his boy trying to impale himself on the tongue questing entrance.

“Please… Angelus… now!” Voice ragged with need.

Rising swiftly, the dark man allows his demon to surface, fangs sinking into the flesh of his own hand, blood flowing as he strokes it over his hardened flesh. Without ceremony he moves the red and glistening tip to his William’s entrance and sinks in. He muffles the cry of pain, pressing his bleeding hand to his lover’s mouth, his body thrilling to the hard sucking mouth on the wound as he pushes in deeper. Will’s hips begin to move back against his, his body adapting to the invasion, and craving more. Angel pulls his hand from the boy’s mouth and uses it to steady himself on the wall as he begins to thrust more sharply into the willing body. His free hand moves around to grasp the rigid cock of his Childe, slick with precum. As he pulls hard on the turgid flesh, Will’s head falls back on his shoulder, mouth open and gasping at the sensations overwhelming him. His head tilts back further, his offering clear.

Angel hesitates, long enough that his Childe senses it and stills. Both are teetering on the knife’s edge of desire. Then a low cry of joy from the smaller man as he feels the razor points of his Sire’s fangs sink into his flesh. His body vibrates with the ritual, his inner muscles clenching around his Sire’s length embedded in his body, and he comes, thrusting into the tight fist, his body giving whatever it can to the demon feeding at his neck. With an answering growl, Angel pulls his bloody mouth away from the wound and plunges into the tight clench of muscles, erupting inside that tight embrace.

His final thrusts are lazy, his hands caressing and gentling the body trembling in his arms. Too soon, he pulls his softening member out and turns the boy in his arms, surprised at the ferocity of the kiss that meets his. His lips part under the insistent tongue, knowing the other man is seeking out his blood, lapping what he can find there, then deepening the kiss until there is nothing in his senses but this mouth fastened onto his with such need. Finally the boy pulls back, resting his head against the wall, and just stares at him. Smiling, Angel kneels and tugs the trousers back up, fastening them before adjusting his own.

Such a curious look in those blue eyes. Lust, yes, but a certain… smugness at the corners of that well-used mouth curving up in a smile.

“’At was nice… jes like old times!”

Cautious step back, “Spike?”

Delight shines in that face, “In the flesh!”

“Why?”

“’Cause I *wanted* to. An’ as ya recall… I generally get what I want.”

“But why… all of this?” His hand gestures to Spike’s rumpled garb.

“Well, ya wouldn’t ’ave touched me otherwise… ya soddin’ poof. ’Ad a damn hard time findin’ all this kit. Bleedin’ well took two months to grow me hair out.” He quickly closes the space between them. “Knew ya wouldn’t listen to ‘Spike’, but ya couldn’t turn down yer ‘William’.” The last words spoken softly, his face placed just below Angel’s so he can feel the puffs of breath on his skin with each word.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“*My* William?”

Wet lips claim Angel’s in a fierce kiss.

“That answer yer question?”

A silent nod.

“Right then. Best be getting’ back to yer pets.”

Confusion flits across the dark man’s features, “Then this… this was…”

“Cor, Angel… yer a thick-headed pillock. Picked meself a right arse of a Sire, didn’t I? Weren’t ya listenin then? Told ya I found ya, an’ I wasn’t lettin’ go.” A deep growl, “An’ I meant it!”

His voice thickened with anguish, “Spike… Will… I can’t… the curse…”

He is startled at the loud laugh and stares into amused eyes, “Angel… ’ave I ever once… in all our time together ever made ya perfectly ’appy?”

Slow shake of a dark head.

“Not about ta start now then, mate. Yer soul’s perfectly safe with me… an’ that’s about the only thing that’ll be safe.”

A slow smile of understanding spreads across Angel’s features… it feels like it will split his face, “Then that means…”

An answering grin. “’At means next time, no bleedin’ costumes.”

“Next time,” Angel speaks the words with hope.

A nod is his only response.

“And that would be when?”

“’At depends.”

“On what?”

“How quickly ya can find yer pet humans and get your arse back to yer hotel.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”