Dennis's POV
I turned from the holotable and headed for the secondary elevator on the east wall, the one that actually connected to the garage level. The main elevator only ran between the living room and the sublevels, a design choice I'd insisted on for security compartmentalization, and right now I needed wheels, not a living room.
But I wasn't leaving without tying up loose ends.
"Angel." I called over my shoulder without slowing down. He was still gripping Doyle's shoulders, eyes red-rimmed, the tether between us radiating a storm of joy so intense it almost made my teeth ache. "I know you're happy. I'm happy for you. But don't forget to give them the introductory conversation. All of them. The bond, the hierarchy, the threats, the timeline. You have all day with them and can resume your work tonight."
Angel blinked, surfacing from the emotional flood long enough to nod. His voice was rough. "I will."
"Alfred." The butler had released Bruce and was already composing himself, hands clasped behind his back, spine straightening with the precision of a man who considered visible emotion a temporary indulgence. "Bruce is Rank Three. After you're done with the introductions for your group, bring him to Frank or Scott or William, honestly whoever's not busy, and make sure he understands his new responsibilities before I get back for this afternoons meeting. Rank Three isn't just a title. It comes with command authority and expectations."
Alfred inclined his head, steady as bedrock. "Understood, sir. I shall see to it personally."
Bruce's tether pulsed with something sharp and questioning. He didn't like being talked about in the third person like he wasn't in the room. He didn't like not having answers. He didn't like any of this, and the bond was the only thing keeping that discomfort from manifesting as something more confrontational. I filed it away. Bruce Wayne was going to be a project, but the kind of project that paid dividends for decades.
"Good." I turned toward the elevator.
Or tried to.
A hand caught my shoulder and spun me around with surprising force. Angel. He'd crossed the distance between us in complete silence, centuries of predatory grace compressed into three steps, and before I could react his mouth was on mine.
The kiss was hard. Desperate. His hand found the small of my back and pressed me flush against him, the other sliding down to grip my ass with a possessiveness that sent a jolt of heat straight through my core. His tether exploded with emotion, gratitude and love and a fierce, aching lust that tasted like old wine and fresh grief, the joy of recovered loss transmuted into physical hunger. I kissed him back, threading my fingers through his dark hair, letting the chi hum between us until the golden thread connecting our souls vibrated like a plucked string.
He broke the kiss after what felt like a full minute. His eyes were dark, ancient, and completely sincere when they locked onto mine.
"When you get back," Angel said, his voice low enough that only supernatural hearing could catch it, "I'm going to fuck your brains out for this."
The look in his eyes left no room for ambiguity. Love. Affection. Gratitude so deep it had weight. And underneath all of it, a hunger that mirrored my own.
I smiled, letting my thumb trace his jaw. "That's a promise."
Behind him, the reactions were exactly what I expected. Cordelia had both hands pressed to her mouth, eyes wide, cycling through shock, confusion, and something that looked suspiciously like indignation. Wesley's glasses had fogged. Fred was staring at the ceiling as if hoping it contained answers. Gunn had taken a deliberate step backward. Connor looked like he wanted to hit something. Doyle, bless him, seemed mostly confused about being alive and had apparently decided that his friend making out with a teenage boy was a problem for later. Spike was leaning against a support column with his arms crossed and a smirk that said he found the entire situation hilarious.
They'd just watched their old friend, a two-hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampire with a soul, kiss a seventeen-year-old boy like he was the last breath of air in a drowning world seriously they were starting to think that dating younger people like Buffy when they first met wasn't a one time thing with him but a pattern. Not to mention after being resurrected. In a subterranean military bunker. They wanted answers yesterday, to bad they weren't going to get them from me right now.
I stepped toward the elevator again. Angel caught my wrist.
"One more thing." His expression shifted to something practical, the warrior reasserting itself over the lover. "Could you give Spike a soul-light tattoo? Otherwise it's going to be difficult showing him around the mansion at this time of day. Sunlight and all."
The reactions behind him intensified. Cordelia's face scrunched into open disgust. "A what for Spike? Angel, what have you gotten yourself into now? And have you gotten romantically involved with another underage child my god angel."
"Not now later, Cordy, and don't word it like that you make me sound like a predator or something." Angel said without looking back.
Wesley pulled his glasses off and began cleaning them with aggressive precision, a man desperately organizing the one small thing he could control. Fred whispered something to Gunn that I didn't catch. Connor's jaw tightened now worried his father might have a secret thing for kids.
I ignored all of it and opened the Succubus God System interface. The golden menu bloomed across my vision. I navigated to the shop, found the Soul-Light Tattoo under vampire utilities, and confirmed the purchase. Thirty sex points vanished. Total: eight hundred and fifty.
Across the room, Spike grunted and yanked his shirt up. A pattern of interlocking golden sigils blazed to life across his ribs, burning bright for three seconds before settling into something that looked like molten amber beneath pale skin. He stared down at it, then looked up at me with an expression of grudging respect and Appreciation after all he may not completely understand what's going on but he did understand from Angel's words that he should be able to walk in the sun now and that could never be a bad thing.
"Cheers, mate."
"Don't mention it." I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed on a room full of reunions, questions, and golden tethers humming with new life.
The elevator rises fast, and opened onto the underground garage. The air was cooler down here, tinged with motor oil and concrete. Rows of vehicles gleamed under fluorescent strips: armored SUVs, sedans, BMWs, trucks, sedans and a few tactical transports that Duke's team used for perimeter runs.
Flash was waiting beside my BMW, leaning against the driver's door in the designer polo I'd bought him, still looking freshly showered and alert. His tether brightened the moment he saw me, a warm pulse of eagerness and purpose.
"All ready, Dennis."
"Good. Get in the back."
He blinked but didn't question it. Probably figured I wanted Peter riding shotgun. He pushed off the car and opened the rear door, sliding across the leather seat. I tossed my backpack into the front passenger seat, then climbed into the back beside him and pulled the door shut.
"Legion, drive us to Peter's. Standard route."
"Confirmed, sir. Estimated arrival: seventeen minutes."
The BMW hummed to life and pulled smoothly out of the garage bay, ascending the ramp into pale morning sunlight. Manhattan traffic was already thickening, horns and sirens filtering through the armored glass like distant music.
Flash looked at me, the first flicker of confusion crossing his face. "You don't want to sit up fr—"
"I'm hungry, Flash." I shifted to face him, already unbuckling and pushing my jeans down to my ankles. Not all the way off. If something happened, if a tether screamed danger or Legion flagged a threat, I needed to be dressed in under three seconds. But far enough. "Take off your pants. You're riding me until we get to Peter's or your legs give out. Whichever comes first."
The confusion vanished. In its place, something fierce and bright flooded his tether, a rush of desire and validation so strong it almost made me dizzy. Flash had been patient. He'd watched well more like felt me grind points with Frank, with Ben, with Duke, with Gordon and William, and he'd waited his turn without complaint because loyalty to his god demanded it. But the wanting had been building in him like pressure behind a dam, and I'd just opened the gates.
His hands were on his belt before I finished speaking. The polo stayed on but the jeans and boxers hit the floor of the BMW in one motion. He swung a leg over me, straddling my lap, and I felt the Dawngleam tether between us ignite with shared anticipation, his heartbeat hammering against my chest through the thin fabric of his shirt.
I pulled a thread of lubrication magic and let it do its work, warm and slick and thorough. Flash hissed through his teeth, bracing his hands on my shoulders, then sank down with a sound that started as a gasp and ended as something closer to reverence.
There it is.
The Sex Point counter in my peripheral vision began ticking upward. I let my head fall back against the leather headrest, one hand on Flash's hip helping in keeping his rhythm, the other gripping the seat. The BMW glided through Manhattan traffic with algorithmic smoothness, Legion adjusting speed and lane positioning to minimize stops. Outside, the city churned with its usual Monday morning indifference, completely unaware that a god was feeding in the backseat of a luxury sedan.
Flash found his rhythm fast, athlete's body doing what athlete's bodies did, all controlled power and efficient motion. His tether sang with uncomplicated joy, the happiness of a young man who'd been given purpose and belonging and was now being reminded that he was wanted. I dialed the sexual inducement to half power and watched his eyes lose focus, lips parting, pace quickening.
"That's it," I murmured. "Don't hold back."
He didn't.
The city blurred past the tinted windows. Eight minutes. Nine. Flash's thighs were trembling, his breath coming in ragged bursts, but he didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. I fed him just enough of my chi to keep going past the point where his body alone would have quit.
At fifteen minutes, Legion's voice came through the speakers, politely neutral. "Two minutes to Parker residence, sir."
I increased the inducement to three-quarters. Flash made a broken sound, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise normal skin, and came apart above me with his face buried in my neck and painting my black shirt white. I followed thirty seconds later, the release pulling a weak pulse of golden energy through the tether that made the BMW's interior lights flicker for a second.
The counter settled. I'd gained a respectable amount, nothing earth-shattering, but every point counted toward the mission rewards that would change everything.
Flash slumped against me, breathing hard, radiating contentment like a furnace. I gave him exactly fifteen seconds of afterglow before tapping his hip.
"Pants. Now."
He laughed, breathless, and scrambled off my lap. We both dressed with the efficiency of people accustomed to stolen moments, and by the time Legion eased the BMW to a stop in front of the Parker residence, we looked like two normal teenagers on their way to school. Mostly.
I checked the mirror. Hair fine. Jacket straight. The faintest flush on my cheeks that could pass for morning cold and all of Flash's cum cleaned up via the hand towel I kept in the center console compartment.
Peter's front door opened. He emerged with his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking better than yesterday, steadier, the Dawngleam bond having done its quiet work overnight with Ben and May. He spotted the BMW, grinned, and jogged down the steps.
I watched him approach and felt the constellation of tethers shift to accommodate his proximity, golden threads weaving tighter. Behind me, the mansion hummed with a hundred new souls settling into their places. Ahead, school waited like a mask I wore for six hours a day.
Peter opened the front passenger door and slid in, tossing his bag at his feet. "Morning. Why does it smell like—" He stopped. Sniffed. Looked in the rearview mirror at Flash, who was very carefully studying his own fingernails.
"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to before first period," I said.
Peter shut his mouth. Legion pulled away from the curb.
The city swallowed us whole.