She'd been a drifter, running from something she thought was worse than the frigid loneliness of the north. It was unfortunate that she'd sought shelter in a place so torn by separatists that it had no heart left to give. The cold, forbidding face of Montreal called to few people, all of them broken somehow.

He would've lingered, whispered a few words in her memory, but he was far enough from home that he needed to leave immediately in order to get back. He winced as he folded himself into his car, wishing he wasn't so filthy. He'd gotten over his fixation with appearance soon after leaving Los Angeles, but he still liked being clean. Mud and leaf debris caked on him, fouling his skin and filling the car with an earthy, musty odor that reminded Angel of the unkempt elderly. Death was what clung to him, following him like a drunken heckler. Couldn't he be left alone? Did his nemesis and those fucking horsemen not just take a vacation and go somewhere else? Must he always fail?

On his way home, Angel stopped by a small, dingy shop he'd often passed but had never entered before. The selection was good, better than he'd expected. Spike would... appreciate Angel's thoughtfulness, he was sure. At least, he hoped he was sure.

Spike had just finished sweeping the entranceway floor when Angel returned. The blonde stashed his broom and stood next to the well, waiting for Angel to close the door and acknowledge him. He'd spent the entire night cleaning--dusting, mopping, scrubbing. The church was, to be honest, filthy. Spike didn't even consider blaming Angel. His Sire was busy with his destiny and had no time to do menial work. However, he would surely appreciate floors without dirt smeared over them, a bathroom without soap scum, and clean fixtures. Spike had also laundered pretty much everything in the church he could reach, using the washing machine and dryer he'd been surprised to find in the basement.

Angel came home to the scent of lemons. To be precise, the smell of lemon-scented cleaner. The interior of the church was awash in light, shining off newly-scrubbed walls and floors. Angel, however, had no trouble ignoring the surprising, welcoming cleanliness of his home. His attention was on Spike. His lovely, marble childe stood in a garden of light, beeswax flames dancing around his shoulders. Lost blue eyes glowed like cold fire. Were it not for the random smears of soot and grime on Spike's body, Angel would have sworn he'd been replaced by a statue.

This wouldn't do. Angel would not have Spike in such poor condition. "You need another bath, Spike."

Spike's head shot up. ::I am too filthy for my Sire.:: He nodded and turned to retreat into the bathroom. Angel followed him, still carrying his purchases behind his back. When they got to the bathroom, Spike watched Angel in confusion for a moment before reaching for the dark vampire's clothes. His Sire was also grimy and mud-covered.

Angel let Spike undress him, setting his new purchases aside for the moment. This time Spike did not hesitate to settle into the warm water with Angel, nor did he balk when Angel chose to bathe him. Angel relished the soft murmurs that arose as his childe finally relaxed. When Angel pulled Spike to him, cradling that beloved form to his chest, Spike went willingly.

::Ah, Sire, for this I would endure all the hells ever dreamed up by the devil himself.:: Spike's eyes drifted closed as Angel held him close. Strong Sire's hands clasped him, pulling him back together. That gentle pressure was a surer glue for Spike's soul than anything he'd ever encountered. Oh, how he craved this!

Angel let them drift into a warmed, drowsy state. He was pleasantly aroused, hyperaware but not aching from the delicious closeness of his childe's body. The only thing keeping Angel from simply sleeping in the bath all day was what he'd bought earlier. He needed to present those purchases to Spike. He sat up reluctantly, rousing Spike. The blonde stood, reaching for a towel for Angel.

After he was dried off, Angel retrieved the large plastic bag he'd brought in from the car. Spike watched with veiled curiosity as Angel prowled through it. "Come here, childe," Angel murmured, waiting for Spike.

::I am here already.:: Spike came forward to stand directly in front of Angel.

"Do you want to stay with me?" Angel asked, his voice deceptively soft.

::How can I not? You are my everything, Sire. I cannot leave you. Should you cast me aside I shall dwell forever in your shadow, feasting upon your castoffs.:: "Yes," He said simply.

Angel withdrew a strip of dark leather, accented by silver fastenings. Spike's eyes widened. ::A collar!:: It was... ::You would give me this?:: Angel held the item out to Spike. ::Claim me, Sire. Take me back into your fold, into your bed where I belong.:: "I..."

Angel waited. It had to be Spike's choice, whether or not to take the collar. This was the test, in Angel's mind. Spike had to be willing, wanting...

The universe stopped, curious and wanting to watch this most significant of interactions. It accepted a cocktail from eternity, who had also pulled up a chair. They shared a knowing smile. Oh, this was going to be *so* good.

A slender hand began its elegant climb. Past the waist, forward across a sculpted torso, over to that strip of skin and element. ::With this collar, I thee take as my Master, in sickness and in health, to lead and protect me, to free me through your sweetest control.:: The leather was a beatific kiss, blessing Spike's earthbound hands as he accepted it. Liquid silver, cold and sliding as he brought this seal to his neck, gliding past every fear he'd never had. This was his Sire's right, his gift, his love. Once Spike buckled this collar, he was once again bound to Angel, as he had once been, when the world last smiled upon them.

Angel watched the collar wrap around Spike's ivory neck, binding his soul to his childe's as silver met silver in a silent, shattering wail of finality. The presence of that midnight dark band on his childe brought Angel back to the moment. His childe. *His* childe, willingly bound, resting forever at his feet. Wanton, wanted. Needed. Craved. "Spike," Angel whispered hoarsely. He needed the touch of his childe, proof of Spike's existence here in this lonely, abandoned house of gods.

Spike heard what Angel did not say and moved closer to his Sire. Those whisky eyes held what Spike himself felt: desire, strong and thick, feared and fearing. His Sire should never fear what lay between them, nor Spike's response to him. No! This Sire, his everything, the totality of his existence, he was never to suffer such doubt. Spike reached for Angel, hands worshipful from the first contact.

Angel groaned as Spike slid his hands down the dark vampire's chest, tracing well-defined muscles and teasing aching flesh. Then Spike was gone, falling, on the floor, and then there was nothing. Nothing but incredible, wet pressure. Suction. Angel looked down in time to see Spike pull back and sink down again, slowly-too-slowly swallowing his cock, hands wrapped around Angel's thighs as the blonde prayed a litany of contact, of tongue and lips and convulsing throat.

::I shall want nothing but this, Sire, your body given in trust to me, to be loved and cherished. Let me hold you inside myself, where you dwell always. I am yours, as I am of you. Accept this offering, Sire. All is quiet here in our heaven, so that I may give fully to you. Softly, softly, Sire, I am begging you. Let those perfect eyes see how I adore you.:: Spike dragged his lips over Angel's cock, catching precious drops of precome on his tongue. ::Such a lovely nectar you give unto me, Sire.:: Then Spike took Angel deep, swallowing over and over again. Oh, how he loved the way Angel's cock stretched his throat, pushing the limits of his eternal body. How had he forgotten how much he needed this, this penitent glory?

Angel threaded his fingers into Spike's silky hair, giving reassuring contact to his childe as he was worshiped. And that was what Spike was doing, Angel knew. He could feel the difference; he'd been serviced by enough people to know the difference. This...emotional surrender, wanton gift of pleasure, it was what they both needed so badly. It was what Spike had given Angelus when he'd been a newly born vampire, and what Spike was giving Angel now. And still Angel watched, fascinated, as Spike's ecstasy-wracked face pressed into his loins. His climax was coming, slow but speeding, a marathon drawing ever closer. Pleasure in parallax, moving in and out of synch with his mind.

::You are almost here, Sire. Be realized, come, be born into me. Trust me with your seed, your precious self. Come for me. Am I acceptable? Can I bring you pleasure? Is this good enough for you?:: Spike redoubled his efforts, striving for perfection, needing this validation. ::Oh, Sire, is this what you wanted?::

"Spike!" Angel shouted, body quaking as it released itself in a sudden burst of lassitude. He slid outside himself, finding a new, more welcoming home inside his childe, only to find that he'd never left this warm and loving place.

The universe and eternity quietly gathered their belongings and returned to their regularly scheduled programming, satisfied that this pair, brought together and ripped apart by forces they were loathe to control, were once again reunited. This time, they swore, not even the blasted beings who found such amusement in hurting their charges would dare interfere.