1.
The warm water pounded over his shoulders as he braced a palm on the tiled wall, fingers splayed and grasping as if they could claw their way through the slick marble and steady him in some way. It was an illusion though, because when Angel let this particular memory take him away there was no steadying, no regaining control, until he found the physical release he usually worked so hard to deny himself.
Of course back then there'd been no showers, just large metal tubs full of heated water poured by his boy's own hands. Those were the times when he'd send the girls away; telling them William would help him wash.
There was helping, but very little washing, as Angelus' head had lolled against the edge of the tub, eyes barely focused on the flames from their fireplace as the reflected light danced in blue eyes. The hand that had directed the sponge over his broad chest would have long ago dropped the soapy implement and reached beneath the warm surface, circling his cock, expertly manipulating his foreskin, pulling and stripping him in a practiced manner, somehow both rough and delicate at the same time, tipping him over the edge even faster than Darla's delicate prostitute's fingers could.
Shaking, eyes slitted so he could imagine the candles he'd left flickering in the bathroom was that remembered firelight; Angel forced his cock through his tight fist once more. He knew what he liked, how to touch himself, but could never do it just like his boy had, and yet the memory made him get there a little faster, made the release somehow sweeter as his come jetted against the wall, cock pulsing hard in his fingers.
"William!" The shouting of his name somehow completed the fantasy, though it often left him able to do little but curl into a tight ball in the corner of the shower, lost in thoughts of what Angelus had so foolishly lost for him.
2.
The feeling of shredding flesh with his nails, tearing into a pale throat with his fangs, he could push those things out of his head during waking hours. But now that Spike was back in his life, the pull of familial blood, the scent of it so close every single day, sent him whirling into dreams of a time when that glorious, coppery fluid would not have been denied to him.
William most often of all his childer, had let Angelus feed his desire for it. As much as the blood of innocents would flood his body with its sweet lusciousness, the taste of family, the power of his own bloodline rolling down his throat, had made Angelus hard as steel, and the memory of it could still do the same to Angel even now.
In his dreams, his boy once again bent to his will, screaming out in pleasure and pain so exquisite that Angelus never forgot the sound, though Angel wore his body now. The nights that brought Angel those dreams would leave him to wake shaking, covered in sweat, rolling on come-drenched sheets, one hand shredding a pillow as he humped himself against the bed.
It was always the same thing that pulled him from the dream, the sound of his own voice screaming out his favorite childe's name. "William!"
The guilt was enough to make him roll the sheets into a tight ball and sneak out in the middle of the night to stuff them into the basement incinerator, hoping that it could burn away his shame along with the stained fabric, that it would somehow destroy the flames of desire that twisted at the steel of Angelus' cage.
3.
Spike was the only one who knew just how close to the surface Angelus really was. He was the only one who could possibly understand that while the soul could temper your daily actions and reactions, it could never drive the demon out, never destroy the memories they both carried. None of the others knew, or would want to know, the capacity for evil they still carried inside them every day.
The soul covered it as effectively as the mask of their human faces covered the demon, but it couldn't cover every desire.
The desire that they instead covered with lies, shouting out their false hatred, pushing each other's buttons in front of the others, for the good of their little family, but even more important, to save their own sanity.
It was at night, alone in his office after Spike would visit, a little more of the mask slipping each time they let their voices soften, let the memories of the other things they'd once meant to each other bubble up closer and closer to the surface, that Angel would put aside the lie. Those were the nights when he could hold it in no longer, locking the door as soon as his childe left, scrambling at his belt and jerking his pants down. Kneeling on the leather sofa, he'd bend over, nose pressed to the leather cushion where Spike had rested his head, inhaling deeply of his boy's scent, though it would be too faint for any but a highly developed predator such as they were to detect.
Angel would come hard and fast, sometimes licking at the leather in hopes of picking up another trace of Spike, of his childe, his boy, his sweet William, and he grunted out the poet's name, finally rubbing his hand through his own come, massaging it into the leather. As he tucked himself away, buckling his belt, Angel would wonder if Spike could smell his musk on the leather, wondered if he knew it was all for him.
4.
Angel had practically run away into the dark after Sunnydale High's disastrous parent/teacher night. Of course he'd thought there was a chance it might happen one day, that he'd be in the same place as his boy once again. The reality was, however, much different than what he'd imagined.
He'd pictured himself staking Spike, putting him down - had told himself he'd be doing the world a favor.
Somehow, all such thoughts had fled his mind when faced with the real thing, when his boy was standing right in front of him, leaving him trembling, with a terrified Xander's life in his hands. A part of Angel had wanted the offer he made to be real, had wanted to make a meal of the ripe boy and share it with his childe, another part of him had demanded he reclaim what had once been his, that part had left him with a cock so hard he'd had little doubt that Xander would have felt it if he hadn't been so busy concentrating on the fear of his own imminent death.
Angel had released Xander, done what he needed to do to control the situation, then ran, not even making it back to his apartment before he'd had to touch himself, ducking into a vacant lot, leaning on a tree, freeing his cock to the night air, handling it quickly, trying desperately to get himself off before he was discovered. Every time he'd done this for so long, the small blonde figure of Buffy had danced in his mind, but tonight it was replaced by the kneeling figure of his boy, honey-colored curls plastered to his head with sweat, mouth working Angelus' cock in Angel's memory.
"William." The word was barely a whisper as Angel jerked his cock frantically, pushing himself to orgasm, wishing he had the bad judgment, and the balls, to go to his boy.
5.
"I guess we all have that one who got away, that one who forever clouds our minds and affects the choice of every partner we do have from that point on."
"Yeah." That had been the best Angel could come up with after Wesley's statement. He'd been awkwardly comforting his friend, hoping that the affections Wes held for Fred would not interfere with his ability to work with the team now that she'd so clearly chosen Gunn.
Hours later, lying in his bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, manipulating himself beneath his covers, his mind was still focused on Wesley's comment and the epiphany it had struck in him. The shock at discovering that for him, the one who'd gotten away had actually been William, never wavering as his hand brought him closer and closer to release. Angel worked himself with William's face in his mind, stroking his dick firmly from root to tip, rolling his heavy balls with his other hand.
Memories of so many times he'd missed an opportunity to tell his boy what he'd meant to him flooded his head, all these years wasted when he should have taken his love with him, saved William from himself as he'd found his own salvation. Now Angel was left with nothing but the painful thought that he'd never get another chance at any of those things.
As he got closer, Angel thrust up into his fist, ass flexing off the mattress as his strokes drove him toward climax, using an image that had long ago burned into his brain of a marble-skinned beauty standing next to their bed, sweat glistening on his body as he rose to prepare his sire a drink after working so hard to pleasure him. Trembling violently, Angel came now to that memory and to the remembered taste of sharing wine with his boy, drinking it from his sweet lips. He called out William's name as he shot, come flooding over his fingers and soaking quickly into the blanket that covered him.
Settling slowly, the rhythm of the blood flowing in his veins something he recognized very clearly as it moved away from his cock, leaving it soft as he still stroked it gently, licking his lips and wishing still for another taste of William's.
"Are 'ya okay?"
Angel jumped when Fred spoke to him at his open door, so wrapped up in thoughts of a time long past that he hadn't heard her coming down the hall. "Yeah, I'm fine - why?"
"I heard you from my room, calling out for someone - William I think. You musta had a nightmare."
"Yeah… a nightmare - sorry I woke you. If you wouldn't mind closing my door, I'll try to be quieter."
"Sure… night, Angel."
"Goodnight, Fred."
Angel felt his cock swelling in his fingers again, memories of William still at the front of his mind. Closing his eyes and pulling his thickening length with rougher strokes, Angel hoped that this time he'd be able to keep it down, touching himself as he concentrated on not picking up the phone and dialing Willow's number to find out how his boy had been doing.
The End
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