bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,

Night Terrors

TITLE: Night Terrors
WARNING: m/m sexual activity. Adult language. Story is generally
not worksafe.
SUMMARY: 10 Years after the fall of Sunnydale, Xander has
distanced himself from his past life until a demon forces him to look
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing including the characters and products
named in this story. I do, however own an unused treadmill. If you
want to sue for that, help yourself.

This chapter sent, along with a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, to the wonderful Petxnd.

Thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the excellent banner.

Angel stomped into the luxurious suite and headed straight for the bathroom
to wash the grease and grime off his hands. It had not been the night he
had imagined.
Wes had NOT thrown himself into Angel's strong, accepting, forgiving
arms. Hell, he grumbled, the little fuck wouldn't even look at him.

Then, to top it off, he had had to change his own flat tire.
He strongly considered hunting down and biting the prick that had
left a railroad spike right in the exact part of the street he would be
parking. Fucking coincidence!

"Fuck! Where's the fucking respect? Who the fuck expects a
superhero to change his own fucking tire? Bet that little prick,
Spiderman never changes his own tires."

After a couple swipes to dry his hands, Angel tossed the towel to the
bathroom floor with as much oomph as he could manage. Even
noticing that housekeeping had left him a new rubber duckie, perched
atop a disposible bio-hazard bag, didn't lift his spirits.

His plans for tonight had involved a messy Wessy, not a
cummy dummy.

He continued to fume and curse as he marched to the kitchenette
to nuke a couple packs of blood. He had hoped that he would
need an extra one to plump and fill his tube 'o love but Wesley
was apparently not yet ready to be wooed and wowed.

Pitching the empties in the trash, he headed for his worthless childe's
bedroom. No sense in the whole night going to waste, he reasoned.
If nothing else, he could always fuck Spike up the ass then get some
sleep. He decided he would try another tactic with Wes when
they all got together tonight.

"If you think it is over between us, Wes..." He muttered. "You
are very much mistaken." He then banged on the closed door and
"Spike! Get up and get it up! Mr. Wiggles wants to go spelunking!"

Booting the door open, he was shocked and confused to find the room
empty and the bed neatly made.
"What the fuck?"
He vaguely remembered Spike offering to take Harris home, but that
shouldn't have taken this long.

Angel felt defeated. He stood in the center of Spike's room, his anger
had slid away and left him lonely, depressed and totally Wesless.
It was true, he thought, the life of a superhero is a thankless one.
Sadly, Angel crawled into Spike's bed. Then, as a last act of defiance,
he snatched the chocolate mint off his pillow and popped it in to his

Wesley dragged himself out of bed. He picked his glasses up of the
bed stand and slipped them on as he stumbled to the bathroom.
He wasn't sure what time it was but he already felt like he needed
a nap.

He had tossed and turned for hours. He knew coming here would
be a mistake. He scolded himself for ever leaving London and cursed
the big lug for tricking him into this unwanted reunion.

But, to be honest, Wes knew he couldn't blame anyone but himself.
Angel was the king of dirty tricks when it came to getting what
he wanted and Wes knew exactly what Angel wanted.

The worst part, Wesley conceded, was that he knew he was weak.
He loved and wanted to be with Angel so bad it laid like a brick in
his stomach and stabbed like a sword through his heart.
If they didn't kill this demon and haul arse fast, he would be rolling
over and begging like the good puppy he was.

When he finally did fall asleep, he was awakened after only three hours
by the repetitious knocking of the oak headboard in the master suite
as it bounced continuously off the wall that adjoined their rooms.

He promised himself, not for the first time, to search the old man's
room back at the Watcher's Council for a stash of little blue pills.
Fucking Rupert Giles could apparently get it up more often than a
bull in a field of happy cows on a sunny day.

Shuffling out to the kitchen, he found Giles and the ever present
Andrew sharing a pot of tea and a cream cheese bagel, whispering
and giggling.

"Wes, good morning, or I guess, good evening is more accurate.
Did you sleep well? We sure did."

Wesley scowled and scrounged for a packet of Earl Grey. Naturally
there were plenty.
"To be honest, Andrew, no, I did not sleep well. Exactly where are
we on this demon thing, Rupert? Family reunions are fine and dandy
but we are here for a purpose and sitting around drinking wine and tea
is not getting it done. We really should be finding a way to dispatch
this Nambulist and return to London post haste. Where is Willow?"

Giles eyebrows rose at the fussy watcher's rant but he refused to allow
it to affect his own mood. He had noticed the pointed lack of interaction
between Wesley and Angel earlier and assumed that was what was
behind this evenings impression of Oscar the Grouch.
Andrew instantly bristled at the perceived disrespect to the Head
of the Watchers Council and had a snotty retort on the ready.

Calmly, Giles placed a hand of restraint on Andrew and he turned
to Wes.
"She is in the small study off the dining room. As a matter of fact she
is preparing a spell that should tell us exactly what is going on with this
demon and it's relationship to Xander. We would like to be able to
formulate a plan of attack for when we all converge tonight. Would
that suit you?"

Immediately Wes regretted his nasty attitude but blatant jealousy
directed at the two men who were all but snuggling over their breakfast
caused his apology to die on his tongue. He snatched up his tea cup,
mumbled and walked away pretending he didn't hear Andrew's
raspberry or Giles snicker.

Wesley stomped down the hall and, without knocking, pushed on the
swinging door that led to the library. The small room was set up as an
effective home office and had all the equipment and reference materials
needed for demon research.

"Hey Wes."

Wesley looked down at the small redheaded woman on the floor and
answered her with a very nonenthusiastic "Willow"
He noticed that she had shoved aside the professionally placed furniture
and rolled up the exotic, expensive oriental rug. He wouldn't even
comment on the chalk circle she had drawn on the bamboo hard
wood floor.

Pulling a chair over to the corner, he sat down to watch. He had seen
so much magic over the last two years it no longer thrilled or shocked
him. It was just another tool in the box. Another french fry in the
Happy Meal.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, Willow sat cross legged in
the center of a circle she had drawn with grey chalk. In front of her
sat two bowls. A small one with herbs and ingredients she would use
in the spell casting was near her right hand while the large one of
seemingly clear water, sat directly in front. Sitting to the left of the
larger bowl was a wine glass.

Wesley leaned back stretching his legs out in front and crossing them
at the ankles. He sipped his tea nonchalantly.
"So what exactly is this spell for?"
Willow continued to quietly chant and sprinkle ingredients into the
large bowl of water.

"A Nambulist is a demon that drifts through the sleep dimensions. They
are generally harmless and just toy with our dreams then move on. I'm
going to take a peek into that dimension and see what's there. Then I
will interject a bit of Xander in the form of the saliva from his glass and
see what it attracts."

Wesley nodded and picked a bit of cheese cracker out from under his
fingernail. Sounded logical to him. Since he was bored he decided to
stick around and watch.
'Besides,' He thought, 'It beats watching the shameful sight of an
older, supposedly dignified, man canoodling with an annoying underling."
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