Title: How To Beat The High Cost Of Living

Author: Buffywatcher

Feedback: Constructive comments always welcome: Deepkori@hotmail.com

Pairing: Spike/Angel(us), Spike/Lindsey (Implied but Non-con)

Rating: Strong R to maybe soft, romantic NC-17

Spoilers: A few minor ones here or there, dealing with mostly their pasts together.

Warnings: Strong sexual overtones, violence, ya know the usual…

Disclaimer: Just borrowing them for a bit of harmless fun. All characters, recognisable likenesses are retained by their owner and accredited license holders.

Writer’s Notes: This story takes place in an AU setting. Angel still runs Angel Investigations with a team consisting of Cordelia, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, and Lorne but there is no Connor and the bit with Darla and Dru did happen but they died in the fire. Spike’s time in Sunnydale was limited as he chose to leave town when he was chipped to make his own way in the world rather than depend on the Scoobies for help. You can consider the rest of their histories to be pretty much as shown on the shows. Please excuse any minor discrepancies or artist license. As always thanks are going out to GF, MarieC, Luba, and Mera my most excellent group of Beta/Editors.

Writer’s Credits: This features the song Where Angels Dare by Clay Crosse

Distribution: If I’ve already been given permission to archive my work please consider it yours if you want it. If I haven’t and you would like to archive it please do, all I ask is that you email me and tell me where it’s going so I can visit.

Summary: While investigating a case for a high society client Angel is shocked to discover Spike is living in LA under some very unusual circumstances.

*Character Thoughts*

Prologue

The night air is never still in the so called City of Angels. It presses against everything like a drunken whore; heavy, oppressive, leaving a distinctive smell that clings tenaciously to everything. He wasn’t here for very long when he realised that the smell of the city had worked its way into his pores marking him for its own. Lifting his arm he passes the back of his hand under his nose and yes it’s there clinging more tightly than any lover’s arms. The scent that is the press of untold thousands of separate scents that all combine to form a patchwork that is this city. He has taken care to learn this city and all it has to offer; slipping into the galas of the upper crust with a preternatural skill that he wields as effectively as any weapon in his arsenal. Sliding into every cranny of the underbelly, he explores, through the lowest of the lows, through scenes too dark, too dank to ever survive the light of day. Every part of this Mecca of civilisation has yielded to him in the four years he has called this place home.

He is a hunter and he will always be but now his prey is very different than once it was, as his life is very different from what it was. He is a Demon in the City of Angels and as countless cities before it, it will give itself to him and he shall walk amongst the highs and the lows as only he can. He watches from the shadows of the rooftop as a dark shrouded figure floats up the palatial steps of the once grand hotel that has seen better days. Four years and his Sire is none the wiser, of how close death dwells and dogs his heels. He smiles as he silently backs into the shadows, gathering them around himself like his own cloak and as always they welcome him gladly into their company. He truly doesn’t know why he does this, but it has become as necessary to him as the crimson elixir that is his lifeblood. He wonders what his sanctimonious Sire would have to say if he knew that he had his own Demonic Guardian Angel lending a hand now and then.

He remembers well his joy as he discovered that he could hurt Demons and it is likely one of the biggest reasons he was able to avoid the utter madness of not being able to live according to his nature. He is nothing if not a survivor and his will is stronger than any bit of fiendish technology that has been thrust into his brain and he knows that if he could ever tell his Sire of all he has learned; that he would be proud. He doesn’t fool himself though that such a reunion will ever take place; after all they have been to each other, all that they have done to each other the last thing they will ever be is friends. Routine has become his friend, being structure to a world where nothing is constant anymore, what was once taken for granted has become a gift that can be all too easily stolen.

His sleep is still cut by the sound of his own screams as he felt Drusilla’s fiery end and vaguely through the blood the resurrected Darla’s agony was its echo. He doesn’t know why he tracked the agony to this city of sin filled illusions when he knew it was too late to save his Princess but still he came. He watched as the last member of his family twisted in the hell of his own actions as his was not the only sleep disturbed by the lick of flames and the screams that never stopped until at last all was quiet. It was a quiet that screamed all the more loudly for the silence and it echoes inside them both he knows. He sees it every night as Angel strides into the night, tall and proud, defying any and all to knock him down and bring him low.

Some would see that as arrogance, the cold unfeeling unconcern of a sociopath but he knows what Angel is looking for in that defiance. He seeks the proof that he exists, that his actions have not forsaken him, and that his redemption remains within his grasp; as he remains standing foe after foe and apocalypse after apocalypse. He doesn’t know what makes him stay other than the knowledge that Angel exists therefore he has not been left alone in eternity whimsical clutches. That knowledge would surely be as keenly felt were he across the sea but for the first time in an existence that he never asked for but that he is thankful every night for, he is free. With Drusilla’s passing, Darla’s miraculous resurrection and sadly anti-climatic end, and Angel’s soul, there is nothing left to tie him to the life he once led. There is no role model left to pattern himself after.

He truly had no conception of just how scary that could be; until all that he was as a Demon was submerged beneath the human idea of cruel mercy. A Demon that has nothing left to take joy in but the cry of fellow Demons. From a Prince to a Judas in one easy lesson courtesy of the Initiative. Somewhere along the way of learning to live with the dichotomy of the fact that he was forced to hunt his own kind to feel like the predator he was bred to be, he made an astonishing discovery. He was proud of his only remaining Sire as he walked the razor’s edge that was busily cutting him to his ribbons. He still walked though, every night out into the night in defence of humanity and puppies and another bright shiny day dawning that he would never see, consigned as he is to the shadows. Perhaps that is why he followed him that first night, a shadow just a little deeper than the other shadows, just far enough out of range that Angel couldn’t detect him but close enough. Since his diet has changed so radically, his Demon leashed and chained, his scent has changed he knows. Where it was once thick with the fear and copper tang of human blood drawn from dying prey, it is now lighter with more of the citrus undertones that seem to result from a diet of bagged human blood. That combined with what has always been his greater skill in sensing his Sires, has kept him from alerting Angel to his presence. He did not know that in following Angel on his nightly crusade that he was in fact one more person being saved by his efforts.

He knows who is he now because he has rebuilt himself one small piece at a time, doing what he does best; surviving and thriving despite the adversities tossed up in his way. He survived Angelus and the Initiative. He can survive and find a way to beat the high cost of living as a Demon in the City Of Angels too.

After all it’s just another night in the life of Spike in the big city and it’s time to get on with the business of living it. The blond Vampire spins on his heel, running towards the far edge of the roof and leaps off, duster flaring like great black wings as he plunges back into the shadows that are his home.

Chapter One

The sun is nipping at his heels as he makes it into the darkness of the basement stairway with only a scant few seconds to spare as the sunlight catches only a fleeting glimpse of his disappearing shadow. Spike chuckles quietly at his own reckless behaviour as he wins his own insane game of catch-me-if-can with the sun. Every day he waits just that one minute longer, needing to push his luck and put it all on the line for this nightly race against the dawn’s coming.

If he had been even a few seconds longer than he was, he would be a smouldering, cursing mass of bad temper. A few minutes longer than that and he would have found out just how alive he really is, in those few milliseconds before he was a candle flickering against a strong breeze; here one second and gone the next, nothing but dust and drifting smoke. He knows it’s the height of lunacy but sometimes just sometimes, he imagines he can almost feel his heart pounding in his chest. He laughs at the irony of his life. Over a century ago he had to die for his life to really begin and here all these years later he feels most alive when he cheats death.

His footsteps are silent, despite the heavy boots he’s sporting as he descends into the depths of the building. He passes the door to the basement laundry room, not sparing a glance for the door that leads into the boiler room and continues to the end of the hallway. He pauses before a seemingly blank wall and presses his hand to the cracked plaster and mutters a quiet incantation. The wall beneath his hand ripples and the illusion hiding the door ripples away and the door opens inward of its own volition. He passes into the surprisingly spacious and tastefully decorated apartment, shrugging out of his duster as the door closes behind him. The colour scheme is surprisingly cheerful; the walls are a light creamy yellow colour that is so pale it is almost white but retains a warmer feel. The carpeting is a thick wool Berber in the palest of warm tan colours reminiscent of coffee with a lot of cream stirred into it. The furniture is all heavy and thickly cushioned, made for lounging and lazy kisses more than sitting in his opinion. The warm reddish glow of the antique wood is a wonderful compliment to the décor. A fairly sizeable kitchen dominates one corner of the room and he’s discovered he has quite the surprising flare for cooking and he rather enjoys his duties as the chief chef among the flatmates.

At the thought of his flatmates, Spike smiles. When he found his way here to this city where sometimes even a friend seems little more than a stranger, he was shocked to discover other Sunnydale ex-patriots. He wonders what it is about that hell-blessed town that leaves its mark on all who dwell there for a time that even in another city they are drawn together. He long ago stopped questioning his good fortune in finding people; that for reasons of their own have been as isolated as he is; to accept him. He hands up his duster on a slat of hooks by the door and toes off his boots setting them neatly under the hanging coat. He stalks across the apartment and down a short hallway and through the door at the end of the hall, catching the edge of his t-shirt and pulling it off as he goes. As he does every time he enters his room he smiles as he closes the bedroom door behind him. His room is full of heavy old oak furniture, stained a rich mahogany tone that glows from the touching hands of untold years in a way no artificial patina could hope to imitate. He finds the room very peaceful, a serene haven that shelters his quiet times and reminds him very much of his life before he was a Vampire.

He strips off his clothes and shrugs into a simple velvet robe before grabbing a change of clothes and leaving his room for the bathroom next door. A quick shower and he emerges wearing a pair of loose silk sleep pants and a matching sleeveless top that he’s crossed loosely over his chest and secured with the attached belt. He pops back into his room and hangs up his robe before padding silently back out into the main living area. Seeing the message light flashing on the phone he pushes the buttons to listen to the messages while he pads into the kitchen to start breakfast.

Within the hour he’s laid the table with a veritable feast of foods, each of the four place settings tailored for their owner. Smiling at his daily accomplishment he stalks quietly down the hallway and taps on the first door on the right. “Oz, Harm I’ve got breakfast on the table.” Hearing a stirring from behind the door he moves down the hallway to the second door on the left and knocks softly. “Ethan, breakfast is on the table. Come eat while it’s hot.” He isn’t surprised when the door opens almost immediately to reveal its occupant fully awake and dressed for the day and smiles at Ethan. “Good morning Pet. Robert called to apologise, he’s not feeling well and doesn’t think he’ll be able to make it to work tonight and you had two messages from Giles asking you to call him.” He turns and heads back to the dining area of the common room and slides into his chair at the foot of the table as Ethan takes his seat at the head of the table.”

“Well we can just forget that Giles called shall we?” Ethan lifts the napkin over his plate and smiles at the delicious looking Denver Omelette, hash browns, and perfectly toasted bagel lathered with just the right amount of cream cheese. “This looks wonderful as always Spike, thank you. It’s a wonder I don’t weigh a ton with you spoil me this way.”

Spike chuckles quietly. “Tell it to someone that doesn’t know that working magic doesn’t just sap your magical energies but takes its toll physically as well.” He feigns a superior tone but then ruins it by smiling and sharing a laugh with Ethan. “Seriously you may have lost a couple pounds by the look of you so make sure you eat lunch today eh?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Ethan quips spearing some hash browns as Spike chuckles and sips his morning mug of type o and nibbles on his own bagel.

Both men turn to smile as the door to Oz and Harmony’s room opens and the still sleepy pair emerge hand in hand, weaving their way sleepily to the table. Of all the surprises he has had to adjust to in his new living situation has been learning to accept the relationship between the young fledgling Vampire and the Werewolf musician. He would have thought it was impossible for a Vampire to have a relationship with a non-Demon but in hindsight he realises that Oz has a unique perspective that has seen the relationship thriving. Far from being human, his wolf half has left him with a keen understanding of what a predator is and for the last three years the pair has been blissfully happy.

“G’morning, Spike, Ethan.” Oz mumbles and he pulls out Harmony’s chair for her before sitting down next to her. Harmony echoes the good morning as she grabs for the freshly heated mug of blood laced cappuccino and delicate biscotti that she prefers for her breakfast. Oz looks down at his rare steak and eggs and grins wolfishly as Ethan pours them all glasses of orange juice.

“Anything exciting happening tonight?” Harmony asks covering her mouth as she yawns delicately.

“The Club called seems they’ve rented the place out for a private party so I get a free night off since I won’t work any more private parties after that last fiasco. Which will work out fine since Robert’s ill and won’t be in to work tonight and I can lend Ethan a hand in the shop.” Spike says softly, sipping his breakfast and smiling faintly as his flatmates enjoy their own breakfasts.

“That would be great of you thank you Spike. We’re due to get in some big shipments in tonight so it would be a big help.” Ethan says thankfully. His magic supply shop is doing a very healthy business and he is grateful for the help and thankful that the business is thriving and money troubles for the four friends aren’t of paramount concern.

Ethan sips his coffee and lets his eyes drift around to rest on the truly astonishing assemblage of people that has somehow and in someway become the closest thing to a family he thinks that he’s ever had. Each of them has found themselves outcast from their various communities. His evil deeds in the past marking him forever with the stigmata of dark wizardry that he wasn’t fortunately to escape unlike his good buddy, old pal Rupert Giles. Though he knows Rupert still has feelings for him he knows that he will never admit to that in the cold light of day and he refuses to be someone’s dirty little secret.

He got the hell out of Sunnydale as fast as he could and had hoped to lose himself in the anonymity of the crowded city. How funny it was when he was in the city for less than a week when he was jumped by a trio of Vampires only to be saved by the most extraordinary intervention of a most unusual Vampire. Ethan glances at the elder Vampire with obvious affection and sees Spike flash him a smile and a slow wink. He almost chuckles knowing that Spike is as caught up in the nostalgia as he is. He has much in common with Spike, including their mutual quests to redefine what their lives are. They are both struggling every day to overcome natures that are by design anything but heroic but together they have persevered. They have become close friends and confidants in the last few years and he considers the powerful Elder Vampire to be his best friend and he knows that the feeling is mutual.

They were both somewhat shocked to stumble on a small Irish style pub on night only to find Harmony trying to earn a living while dealing with the fact that she was a fledgling without a Sire to teach her the ways of Vampires. Spike quickly took the young and confused fledgling under his wing and to Ethan’s surprise taught her how to live as a Vampire while retaining a symbiotic relationship to humans. Aided by the fact that Harmony had apparently been sired by a Vampire not much older than she is, thereby weakening her Demon, she has adjusted much more easily than her adopted Sire.

Oz came to them purely by the randomness of chance as he came into the pub one night when they were all there and happened to recognise Spike from his time in Sunnydale. Fortunately he and Harmony were able to restrain Oz from ripping spike apart long enough to explain that he had changed. It was to the young man’s credit that he quickly calmed down and perhaps due a bit to the pretty Harmony’s influence. Gradually over time they all became friends and eventually a close knit group all united by their adversities into a family stronger than some born of blood.

It was Oz that found them their new home, having heard about it from an old band buddy and he saw the advantages of it right away. Five bedrooms and two bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and dining room and a huge common room, with a conspicuous lack of windows made it ideal. Ethan bought the converted apartment outright and invited his three friends to move in and he was pleased when they all accepted with some provisions.

After discussing the specifics for hours the costs of moving in were decided. As Ethan refused to accept rent money from his friends, the three friends each found something else to offer their benevolent benefactor. Ethan’s magical skills were put to good use, carefully warding and protecting their home from detection and invasion and with a spell here or there he makes their lives just a little easier. Spike’s cooking skills and his more unusual esoteric gifts made his niche easily determined. He has never wavered in his dual roles as Chef and Protector, excelling at both with the competence they’d come to expect from the enigmatic Master Vampire. Given his somewhat surprisingly extensive knowledge of the arcane arts; which he attributes to a century of assisting Drusilla, it is not uncommon to find him helping Ethan in the shop. Oz and Harmony have taken responsibility for the housework. He himself has seemingly inherited the role not unlike that of a doting Father figure which is rather amusing as Spike is over twice his age. In truth he often relies on the Elder Vampire in mush the same capacity, having found in him an accepting and generous nature and unfaltering loyalty that his own Father has long lacked. Each of them is haunted by their own Demons but together they have found souls to make their lonely quests to be better than they are, a lot less lonesome.

They have even managed to do some good here and there, by keeping the Demon population in line. It isn’t an unusual occurrence for one or more of them to accompany Spike on his nightly patrols that seem to satisfy his Demon’s thirst for vengeance. All of them have at one time or another been drafted to aid Angel’s cause behind the scenes. It secretly amuses them that Angel would likely have a stroke if he knew that some of his narrow escapes and miraculous victories were due in no small part to their efforts. He knows everyone that thinks that they know them would be amazed and likely not trust their motives but they keep doing it all the same.

“Why don’t Oz and I stop in when we get off work and lend a hand?” Harmony asks with a smile, leaning against her lover’s shoulder.

“That would be terrific we can use the help, thank you.” Ethan accepts with a smile and nod as he rises from the table. “I’ll see you all tonight then.”

Spike catches Oz’s eye and they exchange a silent message. “Why don’t I walk you to the shop Ethan? I wanted to stop by the music shop and pick up some new strings for my guitar today and it’s on the way there.” Oz kisses Harmony and ducks into their room to change.

Everyone knows it’s just a flimsy excuse to walk Ethan to the shop but it’s a fairly standard practice for the four friends to escort each other to and from work most of the time. The city is rife with dangers and the small precaution has saved their lives a time or two.

“I’ll give you a hand with the dishes Harmony.” Spike rises and helps Harmony clear the dishes away and carry them back to the kitchen. “What are you going to do about Giles Ethan? He calls here two or three times a day now; I don’t think he’s going to go away.” Spike asks concerned.

“Is he still causing you trouble Ethan?” Harmony asks with a scowl. “You’ve asked him to stop calling here a dozen times over the last few years, when will he get the message?” Harmony looks at Oz as he comes back tucking a Metallica shirt into his jeans. “Oz, Giles is still bugging Ethan!”

The Werewolf scowls. “What does he want now? The jerk screws you over and thinks he has the right to keep pestering you? Want me to call him and tell him to back off?”

Spike smiles icily and his eyes flash dangerously. “Perhaps we should take a drive up to Sunnydale and let his precious Slayer know what he’s up to.” Oz and Harmony’s expression leave little doubt that they think that’s a wonderful idea but Ethan just looks sad and weary. “Why don’t I give the Watcher a call mate and see what he wants? You shouldn’t have to deal with him like this; leave it to me?”

“Thank you Spike but ….” Just then the phone rings interrupting Ethan and Spike grins menacingly and dives for the phone, snatching it up before anyone else has a chance to move.

“’Ello?” He says smoothly, softening his harsh accent back to its genuine smooth cadence that betrays his intelligence and breeding as anything but lower class. “No, Ethan isn’t available right now. You can leave your message with me, Watcher. Yes I am aware of who you are Mr Giles. My name is William and I am his… associate. Anything you have to say to Ethan you can say to me, as he’ll tell me anyway once you talk to him. Oh it is ‘personal’ is it now? Well that can’t be you see for I take up all of his ‘personal’ time and energy; so I guess that means that you don’t need to speak to Ethan after all and can stop calling us everyday now.” Spike calmly hangs up the phone and the current of cursing spilling out of it and grins at his open-mouthed friends. “Well that should fix him.”

The flatmates all break into torrents of laughter at the thought of what Giles must be thinking. Oz and Ethan leave together still laughing and Spike and Harmony turn their attention to the dishes before returning to their beds for the day.

Chapter Two

Angel watches, his fingertips forming a steeple under his chin as his newest client leaves his office. He’s not surprised as Cordelia and Wesley slip into his office closing the door behind them.

“It seems Mr McNamara is having some unusual legal trouble all of a sudden, courtesy of our favourite law firm.” Angel states simply, lost in contemplation.

“What does he expect us to do hold his hand while they screw him? We’re not lawyers.” Cordy says clearly disgusted to be working on a case that has anything to do with Wolfram & Hart.

“I have to agree, it does sound like a case for lawyers rather than a detective agency. What does he expect us to do to assist him?”

“He wants us to find out why Wolfram & Hart is putting pressure on him to sell them his business.” Angel glances down at his notes. “Apparently he runs quite a lucrative talent management agency but they’re strictly small fry compared to the type of acquisitions Wolfram & Hart usually go after.”

“Well I admit it is strange for Wolfram & Hart to bother to try and acquire. Do we know for sure that it is the business they are trying to acquire? Perhaps there is another motive?” Wesley muses.

“That is what we’re being paid to find out. Put the word out to our sources that we’re paying top dollar for any information on Wolfram & Hart in regards to one Rolph McNamara and Rising Stars Entertainment Management Incorporated. Be sure they know this is a confidential ours eyes only inquiry. I don’t want Wolfram & Hart tipped off to what we’re doing. As soon as the sun goes down I’ll head out and rattle a few cages to see what shakes loose.” Angel states flatly. Cordy and Wes nod and leave while Angel picks up a file from his inbox and tries to lose himself in the tedious routine of work.

A few hours later he is in the basement of the Hyperion working out when Wesley appears silently on the lower step of the stairs.

“Angel there is a very disreputable looking gentleman named Streak of all things asking to see you. He says he has some information for you and he’s unwilling to deal with Cordelia or I and will only talk to you personally.” Wesley’s voice clearly betrays his affronted pride as he turns stiffly and climbs the stairs. Angel hides a grin and follows the stiff-necked former Watcher back up the stairs.

A scruffy looking man in baggy jeans and a ripped tie-dye T-shirt is slumped against the counter and sullenly ignoring Cordelia’s attempts to talk to him. For all appearances he could be any one of the thousands of college kids that flood LA but Angel knows better than to judge by appearances.

“You have some information for me, Streak?” Angel asks his dark eyes fixed on the suddenly fidgety informant.

“Word has it you’re interested in some information regarding a deal Wolfram & Hart is trying to push with McNamara Entertainment, is that on the level? If it is I could be persuaded to part with a hot lead that will crack the case wide open for ya.” The snitch shoves his hand out expectantly but Angel grins coldly to see the subtle tremors he can’t hide.

Angel nods to Cordy who scowls but places two crisp hundred dollar bills in the man’s grubby hand.

“Another two hundred if the information proves to be all you say it is.” Angel says implacably.

The informant hastily shoves the bills deep into his pocket. “I got a sister that works for them lawyers in the acquisition department and she says that the one pushing McNamara is some MacDonald bloke that works for the bigwigs on the top floors.”

That bit of information has Angel, Cordy, and Wes all snapping to attention. “Lindsey MacDonald?” Angel asks pointedly.

“Yeah, I think that was the bloke’s name. Maisy says he was real impatient with the delays but that it seems the Senior Partners don’t consider this a real high priority matter. She thinks maybe it’s personal.” The grubby snitch holds out his hand demandingly, feeling bold under the eager stares of the trio. “For a bit of an incentive, I can even tell you where you can find that MacDonald bloke.”

Angel’s eyes narrow perceptively and nods to Cordy who slaps the final two hundreds into the outstretched hand, smiling sweetly as the greedy man yelps.

“I got a cousin that works as a bouncer down at this fancy skin bar down on the piers called the Gentleman’s Club. That MacDonald bloke has been there every Friday and Saturday night for the past six months straight. Clive says he’s got the throbbing hots for one of their star attractions and he only performs on Friday and Saturday nights. They’re closed tonight for some private shindig but Clive says the bloke MacDonald has the hotties for never works private parties so you may wanna try tomorrow night. One other thing and I’ll give ya this one free of charge since ya been so generous and all. That bloke that the MacDonald fella likes, well it ain’t a mutual thing ya get my meaning, so he may be willing to help ya shaft that fella if’n it’ll get rid of him.” Streak takes off, all but running out the door with his ill-gotten gains.

“Well this is an interesting development. What is Lindsey up to now?” Cordy grouses.

“It seems the wise course of action would be to approach the dancer he’s… interested in. Perhaps we can find out more about what Lindsey is up to?”

“I’ll go to the Club tomorrow and see if I can talk to him. If Streak is right it may be we have a valuable ally in finding out what Lindsey is pulling now.” Angel turns on his heel and strides up the stairs to take a shower, wondering what kind of man has managed to catch Lindsey’s dubious attentions.

Chapter Three

Angel scowls and tosses back what must be his sixth watered down drink of the evening. Everything about this evening has been one long annoyance after another and everything is starting to get on his nerves. He is grateful he doesn’t need to breathe. The air is so thick with smoke, the press of what seems to be a thousand bodies and so choked with pheromones that you could swim through it. He’s deliberately chosen the farthest booth in the deepest of the dark shadows where he can see easily see the all three stages and the majority of the tables. He watched silently as Lindsey was ushered in like some honoured guest and shown to a table set prominently front row centre of the largest stage. His silent observations haven’t paid out as Lindsey looks faintly bored and increasingly impatient leading him to believe the one he’s come to see hasn’t been on stage yet.

He is about to leave in disgust when the house lights dim and soft spotlights illuminate the stage and soft music starts to play. It is surprisingly soothing and melodic and wholly unlike any other music that has been assaulting his ears this evening and his attention is immediately caught and held. Movement catches his eyes and he watches as what appears to be every bouncer in the club taking up positions around the stage and turning to face the crowd.

Outside in a winter world

Sits a woman all alone

It's not the air that seems so cold

It's the love she's never known

A disembodied voice floats out softly over the crowd. “We must remind our patrons that you may not get on the stage or touch the dancers or you will be immediately escorted off the premises. The Gentleman’s Club is proud to present one of our star attractions to the centre stage, welcome William.”

A soft spotlight illuminates the back of the stage as a soft foggy smoke roils theatrically from hidden vents in the stage. The dancer’s pole has been mocked up to look like an old fashioned gas flame streetlight and a park bench has seemingly materialised out of the darkness and what was a stark stage has been cunningly transformed into a foggy park walk. He suspects that the club must employ an illusionist or perhaps a magician as the set redesign was too unobtrusively set up and he didn’t see anyone on stage.

Outside in a winter world

A lonely child roams

Will ever loving arms unfold

To give his soul a home

Soft footfalls have him leaning forward, interested to see what kind of Dancer would choose such a classy setting for their routine. A classically dressed man appears dressed in an old style black and grey pinstriped suit, clearly inspired by the zoot suits popular in the Thirties and Forties. A stylish fedora style hat is pulled roguishly low and in the low light his facial features are all but concealed beneath the concealing shadow the brim casts. A stylish overcoat if hooked nonchalantly over his shoulder, held by a casually crooked finger. From hat to highly polished black leather shoes he is like a living page from a Gene Kelly movie.

Angel’s eyes widen as the man walks beneath the mock streetlight and platinum pale hair winks from under the hat and very familiar cerulean blue eyes flash with a brief amber flash of gold as he suddenly pitches forward. He catches the streetlight and deflects his body into a skilled spin around it, tossing his overcoat free as the centrifugal force carries him around the light to end up pressed against it, panting softly as though he were holding tightly to a lover. Angel’s eyes narrow and spark dangerously.

So they're living on hopes, and they're living on dreams

While the devil is pushing them to extremes

Can their spirits be strong, when for loving they long

For the day will come, when they must move on

He dances softly against the streetlight, as he undulates his shoulders and letting the motion of his body carry it down to his feet and then back up. He tosses the hat aside as he leaps up and catches the light and spins around it with easy grace his body moving to the ebb and flow of the music, his moonlight pale hair looking all the more stark against the darkness of the suit.

Where angels dare to walk, there you must walk

Where angels dare

Angel stares and can’t believe his eyes as Spike dances like a vision from a wet dream. His extraordinary agility, strength, and flexibility allow him to pull off moves that even the most boneless of gymnasts would be hard pressed to pull off. He makes it all look easy and effortless but the muscles dance under his skin in a seductive rise and fall that betrays the physicality of the demanding routine.

Outside in a winter world

There's a man who's lost his love

So many secrets left untold

Should he turn and look above

Spike’s flipped up to lock a powerful leg around the streetlight letting the momentum of the leap allow him to spiral lazily around until he is sprawled artfully around the support. He rocks against the stage dancing on his back lifting his legs and letting them twine around the support until he can’t help but imagine those legs wrapped tightly around something of flesh and blood. The part of him that knows what that intimacy feels like reacts with a painful throbbing that shouts at him to leap onto that stage and pull Spike off and remind himself of pleasure taken in the dark so long ago.

Outside in a winter world

One old man sits alone

He thinks of all the years gone by

And what little love he's known

His sensitive ears pick up whispered conversation from a nearby table that may as well be a shout for as loudly as it rips through his nerves.

“How can he move like that? He can’t be human, nothing human can move like that.” A man whispers brokenly, small breathy gasps betray his aroused state.

“Who cares if he is, as long as he can move like that in bed too?” His companion groans quietly.

“Well I’m reconsidering getting married now I can tell you! I’m not sure I can be straight and want to take him home can I?” The first man laughs nervously but Angel can hear his heartbeat hammering louder with the admission.

“Just shows you have taste my friend. I think you could be seven shades of straight and still want a taste of him, he’s something special.”

Angel bites back a growl and swallows the desire to lean over and snap their necks as Spike winds his way up the streetlight until he’s standing, shrugging off the suit jacket along the way. The crisp white shirt glows under the soft lights, lending him an ethereal air that is only magnified by his flushed skin and pale hair. The effect is a brief one as the shirt soon joins the suit jacket revealing skin silkier and more luminescent than any shirt could ever be.

So they're living on hopes, and they're living on dreams

While the devil is pushing them to extremes

Can their spirits be strong, when for loving they long

For the day will come, when they must move on

For someone that lives in the shadows of life, the light adores Spike with the single-mindedness of the most devoted lover causing the shadows to twine jealousy closer. It wraps around him with glowing arms turning him into the flawless marble perfection that no work of Michelangelo could eclipse. He is a work of art, the Rembrandt of enticement, the Da Vinci of sensuality without restraint, the Kinkade pf reckless abandonment. He dances as only he can, layers of movement meeting and clashing only to flow back into harmonious conjunction. He draws every eye, he holds every heart in thrall, for these few minutes he stands as a God and they worship. Their pounding hearts and breathless sighs and rising chorus of ardour are his benediction and their silent voices call forth a being like no other. A graceful fluttering of his feet and his shoes go sailing off stage and Angel has to smile at the black polish winking from those vulnerable toes.

Where angels dare to walk, there you must walk

Where angels dare

Where angels dare to love, there you must love

Where angels dare

Angel can’t bite back a growl as Spike grabs the streetlight and twines his body around it with supernatural strength hanging motionless like a butterfly trapped in amber. He snaps his leg around the streetlight and spiralling to down to stand on his feet. The slow movement peels the suit’s trousers off like a snake shedding its skin, leaving him clothed only in the briefest of black thongs. He hooks a leg around the streetlight and wraps a hand around it, leaning forward and stretching his hand out in silent entreaty towards his very table. Angel snarls as his hips jerk in response to the silent demand and he hooks his ankles around the chair legs and grabs onto his chair to keep still.

We all have troubles in our lives that we must face

We're all just players in this game we call the human race

Spike slowly lets his fingers roll up into his palm as his arm drops to the side and his head falls forward as though rejected by an unseen lover. He pitches his body into a tight spin around the streetlight using the momentum to launch across the stage in a dramatic move that allows him to sweep up the overcoat and hat he threw off at the beginning of his dance. He rises smoothly to his feet and wraps the coat around him with a flare, dancing around to face the audience with a slow movement.

The human race

He puts his hat back on with a flourish, making a production of smoothing the brim down to shadow his eyes as he does a hip turn and stalks slowly off-stage, whistling quietly to the last strains of the music. Right before he reaches the curtains he turns slightly into profile. He touches the brim of his hat in a classic goodbye gesture before turning with a smirk and walking through the curtains the tail of the coat swinging rhythmically with the swaying of his hips as the rafter all but crack under all the applause.

The announcer’s voice floats out over the crowd once more in gentle dulcet tones. “Once again that was William, one of our star attractions here at the Gentleman’s Club. We have to remind you that William does not entertain offers for private dances and does not receive visitors between sets, sorry folks. Please stay for his second set at one am and as always shots of Jack Daniels are half price during his sets. Please welcome Byron our next dancer, a real RISING star that we think you’re going to like.”

Angel grimaces as he realises that he’s done more than applauded his wicked Grand-Childe’s performance and he slips into his jacket artfully hiding his stained trousers with an uncomfortable and unaccustomed self-consciousness. Angel doesn’t bother to bite back a snarl as some obnoxiously raucous song starts screaming through the stage speakers.

He notices Lindsey approaching the manager of the club a few feet away and pulls back into the deeper shadows, tuning his ears to listen in as he talks to the manager.

“I’m sorry Mr MacDonald but Wil was very specific about not allowing visitors backstage. He’ll quit if I try to press him any longer and he’s too valuable a commodity to lose.” The man stammers nervously. He clearly fears the inscrutable lawyer but it seems he fears losing a star attraction much more.

“Then if you would please give him this I would appreciate it.” Lindsey’s voice is pleasant but the sound of the heavy velvet jeweller’s box against the man’s palm sounds like the lash of a bullwhip. Judging by the manager’s pained squeak it felt about as good as one as well. Angel watches Lindsey stalk out of the club, anger radiating in every movement and he’s torn with a desire to follow him and to sit and catch Spike’s next performance.

The uncomfortable wetness of his wool trousers makes up his mind and he slips out of the Club and discreetly follows Lindsey to a high rent area and makes note of the condominium complex he stomps into. Angel looks at his watch and curses. He won’t get back in time to catch Spike’s last performance and he starts his car with a vicious twist of the key and slams the accelerator and rockets for home.

In the morning he’ll get Wes and Cordy digging into the records and find out just how long his pain in the ass boy has been in town. Then he’ll track down the bleached blond menace for what is apparently a long overdue Sire/Childe chat. Right before he strangles him.

*If he can keep his hands off his more interesting parts that is.* Angel thinks with a mocking laugh at the proof of his lack of self control getting cold and clammy on his favourite wool trousers. He screams down the late night streets happily fantasising about different ways to throttle Spike.

He never realises that he’s humming the song from Spike’s performance as he hops out of his convertible and all but hops up the steps into the Hyperion. The silent blond watcher; on the rooftop across from the old hotel; chuckles huskily as he spins on his heel and dives off the rooftop into the embracing darkness.

Life in LA has just gotten a lot more interesting.

TBC in Story two