Melting the Cold
AmyWings


Title: Melting the Cold
Author: AmyWings
Fandom: Angel: the series / Highlander Pairing: Angel / Methos
Disclaimer: The characters in this story do not belong to me; they are 
merely borrowed for recreational
purposes. Rating: A definite NC-17 folks. Feedback:
wings@midsouth.rr.com Please?  Every author enjoys knowing they aren't
writing in a vacuum.
Website: http://www.freespeech.org/wings_of_imagination/
Summary: An overcast day, a snowman, a broken down car, and fortuitous 
circumstances combine to bring two lost souls together.
Note: POV changes marked by ***

Huge thank-you's go to Theresa for betaing this story for me.  She's
the best.

+ + +

Angel looked around his dreary motel room one more time before he
finally decided that he would risk getting fried just to get away from
the green and orange furniture and the funky smell emanating from
suspicious yellow stains on the carpeting.  It was definitely the last
time he was letting someone else make his reservations.

He was going stir crazy with nothing to do but watch cable re-runs.  He
wanted to be back home listening to Cordy complain about money and Wes
mutter as he translated one cryptic parchment or another, and most of
all he wanted to sleep in his own bed.  Unfortunately, a combination of
Cordy's visions and Wes' prophecies had resulted in him traveling
hundreds of miles to Seacouver, Washington in order to prevent another
Hell-mouth from opening.  The upside was that he had arrived early
enough the night before to scout over the location specified in the
prophecy of Reksin, the downside was now he had the entire day to kill
before it happened and he had to get out of this room.  Now. 

Opening the door, he looked at the overcast gray sky that was
preventing sunlight from piercing the clouds and with a final shrug he
ventured out. His thoughts were faintly bemused as he strolled along
the streets of town. The last time he had had a chance to enjoy a day
outside was that Christmas in Sunnydale after he tried to greet the
sun.  The snowfall that had prevented him from becoming dust had been a
miracle that had managed to partially restore his faith after the
horrible dreams inflicted on him by The First Evil.  He still had
nightmares, but they had faded to normal instead of being a merciless
assault upon his sanity.  Buffy's joy at his continued life and her
smiling face as they wandered hand in hand enjoying the daylight was
one of the last good memories he had of Sunnydale. 

There was no snow falling from the sky today, but plenty rested on the
ground.  Untouched mounds of glistening white that piled haphazardly
here and there evidenced a recent and heavy storm.  The brisk, chill
wind felt almost friendly on his face as he ambled along listening to
the crunching sounds of ice under his feet.  He wondered at the
emptiness of the streets but surmised that the chill must be keeping
most people indoors.

Unbidden, his mind drifted back to his recent talk with the Oracles.
His recent brush with drugged champagne, courtesy of an aging soap
opera star that wanted eternity, had prompted the talk.  The drugs had
loosened his inhibitions and somehow released Angelus temporarily.
Suddenly it hadn't been enough that he avoided life and anything
resembling true joy to prevent the demon's return.  Now he had to worry
about strange pharmaceuticals that could alter his state of mind,
simulating happiness, and who knew what else.

The curse was the constant bane of his existence but it wasn't the
happiness clause that bothered him so much as the cold, frigid terror
of putting his friends in danger once again.  Every person has a limit
and he had reached his.  For once, completely unafraid of the
consequences, he had confronted the Oracles and demanded that they
either bind his soul to 

his body completely, with no clauses, no catch phrases, and no
loopholes or kill him right there.  It was absolutely the last time he
was taking the slightest chance with the demon.

To his absolute shock they had agreed and the Powers That Be had
granted him his soul free and clear.  The only thing that would release
him from this body now would be death.  He had been wandering around in
a slight daze ever since.  He still couldn't quite convince his heart
that he didn't have to fear the demon anymore and he knew he was a long
way from happiness, but the soul chilling dread was beginning to fade
slightly. He felt guilty that he hadn't told anyone yet, but his
emotions were unbalanced and he didn't think he could take their
reactions.

A different sound under his feet distracted him and he looked down to
see a slightly crushed red rose under the heel of his boot.  The
contrast of the crimson flower and the sparkling white snow resembled
scarlet drops of blood against pale skin.  With the faintest of
shivers, he bent, lifted the flower and inhaled the heavy sweet scent
that still clung to the crimson petals.  Ironically, the fragrance
reminded him that it was Valentine's Day, a celebration of romance and
relationships.  Smiling sadly, he slipped the rose into a pocket and
continued at a slower pace.  Old memories of splashing blood, dark joy,
and hot terror drifted across his mind and darkened his mood.

He stopped outside of a small park that had the surreal look of a
picture, trapped in time and crystallized.  The otherworldliness of his
surroundings caught at his mind and drew his attention away from his
dark thoughts. The branches of the trees were bare, dark brown and
coated with a shiny layer of ice that sparkled and shone even in the
filtered daylight. Untouched snow glistened and coated the benches and
bushes highlighting a scene of stark beauty.  He shook himself as he
focused in on the scene around him.  He rarely got a chance to enjoy
the daytime and resolved not to lose himself in old sorrows.

The snow did bring back a few good memories that lingered enticingly as
he considered the landscape.  The spark of an idea shot through him and
he almost discarded it because of its frivolous nature.  However, he
reconsidered; the park was deserted and, besides, there was no one in
Seacouver that knew him well enough to make fun of him.  So what would
be the harm?  A brief smile lit his face as he searched for a level
spot. Kneeling, he made a snowball and then began to roll it along the
ground.  It wasn't long until he had the base for a perfect snowman.
Time seemed to slip away as he carefully molded his creation.  His
friends in California would never have recognized the humming vampire
with the slight smile as their morose friend.

***

Stomping along the streets, Methos muttered under his breath.  It
wasn't enough that his bloody car wouldn't start, Mac wasn't answering
his damn phone and he had to walk home through this freezing weather.
He had to run into the only other Immortal around stupid enough to be
out in this frigid weather.  The other Immortal was young, cocky,
stupid, and refused to back down.  Taking his head had been irritating
and not even close to dangerous.  The youngster had been looking for an
easy mark and had made the fatal mistake of believing his harmless
student facade was his true nature.

So to make matters worse on this disgustingly cold day, he had
Quickening tendrils snaking through him and sparking his nerves
randomly.  It wasn't a particularly strong Quickening but Quickenings
never settled easily.  He really wanted to be home in a hot shower
right about now, preferably with someone who could help him with the
lust firing his blood.  Absent a willing partner, he'd settle for the
shower and his hand, if he could just make it home and out of this
damnable weather.

Shivering as a chill wind blew across his neck, he spent several
minutes cursing the temperature, cars, Immortals in general and one
traitorous friend in particular.  He absolutely loathed the cold and
only Mac's presence had kept him in this dreary town.  And now that
damn Highlander had the nerve not to be home when he needed a ride.  On
the spot he decided it was time for him to move to warmer climes and
find new friends. Not that he and Duncan were that close any more.  The
Highlander tried but his stupid narrow mindedness got in the way.  He
still had yet to forgive Methos for his less than perfect background.
Maybe a few years away from each other would give them both some
perspective and allow him to forget about the accusing look deep inside
Duncan's dark eyes.

A flash of movement caught his eye and drew him out of his black mood.
In complete disregard of the weather, a tall well-built young man in a
leather coat was building a snowman in the park.  Methos' eyes widened
as the man turned.  The first thing that hit him was the beauty of the
man's face.  His features were strong and masculine with a sensual
curve to the lips and short dark hair that looked soft to the touch as
it moved in the wind.  Methos' eyes slowly traveled along the strong,
lithe body that looked perfectly sculpted, even through the camouflage
of clothes.

Moving closer, he noticed that the young man was humming.  With an
inner chuckle, Methos recognized the song as "Frosty the Snow Man".
Apparently, the mystery man had a sense of humor along with an
appreciation of the absurd.  He admired the long, elegant fingers as
they moved slowly along the snow, molding it into shape, even as he
wondered how the man could stand the cold.

Suddenly, startled and wary eyes lifted and pale fingers stilled as
Methos walked closer.  He kept his body loose and easy as he noticed
the tension in the other man.  Recognizing the coiled wariness of a
fellow warrior, he made no move that could be interpreted as
threatening.  Stopping several feet away, Methos waited and watched as
deep brown eyes swiftly swept the surrounding area before returning to
him.  He tried to project harmless innocence but had the feeling this
man saw beneath the facade and judged him as dangerous.

There was something haunting about the young man with the serious
expression that spoke to him.  A sense of sorrows shared and burdens
shouldered.  Searching the deep brown eyes he caught a glimpse of
wildness that called to his own nature.  A forgotten part of him began
to awaken and throb.  However, like any wild creature, he could tell
this beautiful man was on the verge of bolting.  He didn't know why but
he was almost desperate for that not to happen.  Keeping his body
completely still, he watched as the tension slowly bled out of the
large frame.

Without moving, he smiled and began speaking in an easy low voice.
"Hi, I didn't mean to interrupt, but curiosity is one of my failing
sins and I just had to have a closer look at you and your snowman."

His gaze turned to the snowman in question and it was a startled moment
before he could process what he was seeing.  When it finally
registered, he couldn't help laughing.  The snowman had deep ridges in
its face and red fangs glistened in its mouth.  Looking closer, he saw
that the fangs were rolled rose petals.  This caused him to snicker
again as he looked back up into the stranger's face.  There was the
slightest hint of a smile about the lips and the brown eyes looked a
bit lighter in color than before.

"Frosty the snow-vamp, I presume."  Methos said with a grin.

With satisfaction, he noted that the hint of amusement touching the
man's face had grown into a real smile that lit his beautiful eyes for
a brief moment.  Judging from how quickly it vanished, Methos presumed
that smiling was not something the other did easily or often.

"I'm Adam," holding out his hand, he continued, "And might I compliment
you on a splendid and imaginative creation."

There was a brief hesitation before his hand was clasped in strong,
cold 

fingers.  The grip was firm but gentle and he shivered as a soft voice
answered him.

"I'm Angel."

He couldn't think of another name that would suit this man more
perfectly. Slowly he let go of the other's hand and the tingle in his
body increased as the soft skin slid over his own.

"So Angel, aside from making snow-vamps, what are you doing outside in
this nasty weather?"

"Nasty?" 

Methos watched as Angel looked around at dark trees lit against the
backdrop of a gray sky and mounds of snow heaped into corners and
spread into sheets on the ground.  The somber gaze lingered for a
moment on a brilliantly colored little bird that was warbling into the
silence.

There was a wistful and sad quality to the curve of the sensual mouth
when the soft voice continued.  "It's all in how you look at it, I
suppose."

"And how do you look at it?"  Methos questioned softly.

There was silence for several moments before Angel answered.  "As a
chance to enjoy the daylight, see the snow and the storm clouds, listen
to songbirds..."  The words trailed off and unfocused eyes stared past
him into the trees.  

The otherworldly air of the young man intrigued Methos.  It was as if
he existed outside of everyday reality.  Angel's dark eyes were
shadowed with a weariness that no mortal should bear and it was that
glimpse that drove him to break the silence that had fallen.

"Okay.  I admit it's beautiful today.  I'm just too damn cold to
appreciate it."

The lost look on the beautiful pale face faded as dark eyes took in his
reddened ears and the trembling he couldn't quite suppress.

"Why are you still outside?  You need to get somewhere warm before you
catch pneumonia."

"My damn car wouldn't start, so I'm stuck walking home from the
University."

"Couldn't you have gotten a ride?"

"I tried a friend of mine.  Damn traitor wasn't home," he muttered.
Methos caught a glimpse of amusement on Angel's face and smiled to
himself. "Everyone else had 'plans' that I didn't want to mess up."

"Plans?"  The query was followed by a puzzled look that changed to
enlightenment after a minute.  "Oh.  Valentine's Day."

"Yeah.  Valentine's Day."  Methos repeated sourly.

"How much further do you have to go?"

"Just a few blocks." 

Despite the fact that the sharp chill combined with the hot twists of
an unsettled Quickening had him in constant discomfort, he didn't want
to leave this intriguing, puzzling man.  Seldom had he met someone with
so many contradictions.  Old sad eyes in a young lithe body, a
warrior's wariness combined with a poet's soul, and the whimsy of
building a snow-vamp over-shadowed by weariness deep in dark eyes.
Methos wanted to know what had happened in this man's life that had
made happiness such a fleeting emotion and what he could do to see the
darkness erased and replaced with joy.  With an inner grin, he also
acknowledged he had an almost overwhelming urge to taste that sensual
mouth, lick that pale body from head to toe and slowly fuck Angel
senseless.

Methos swallowed a curse as another wave of Quickening energy racked
his body.  He gritted his teeth and tried to maintain a pleasant
expression but judging by the concern on Angel's face, he wasn't
succeeding very well.  Realizing the concern could be used to his
advantage, he injected just the right amount of pleading and
embarrassment into his next question.

"Would you mind walking me home?  I hate to impose but I could really
use the company." 

Angel's face was still for several seconds before he hesitantly nodded.


Methos smiled gratefully as he walked towards his apartment with the
silent man at his side.  Shudders were continually shaking his body by
this time.  Movement distracted him and in silent amazement he watched
as Angel removed his coat and then draped it around him.

They were nearly the same height but his slender build was engulfed in
the folds of fragrant leather.

"What do you think you're doing?"  Methos asked in surprised amusement.

Angel was now clothed only in a dark gray sweater and pants that were
woefully inadequate to combat the chill.  Even now, he took no more
notice of the cold than he had earlier when packing snow with his bare
hands. However, no matter how accustomed Angel was to frigid
temperatures Methos couldn't take the mortal's coat.  Methos wouldn't
suffer anything more than a few moment's discomfort if he got frost
bite however it could be deadly serious for the other man.

Swiftly he removed the covering and tried to put it back on the large
form beside him.  Strong hands prevented him however and again he was
gently enfolded in the warmth of leather.  They had stopped in the
middle of the sidewalk during the confrontation and an angry repeat of
his query was prevented with a gentle finger over his lips while the
other hand held the coat closed.

"It's okay, Adam, temperatures don't affect me much.  I don't need the
warmth and you do.  Quit arguing and let's get you home."

With a worried glare, he started back down the sidewalk at a swift
pace, determined to get both of them out of the weather.  Despite his
protests, the heavy leather began to conserve his body heat and his
bones stopped aching quite as badly.  That didn't stop him from keeping
a close eye on his companion for any signs of distress but as far as he
could tell, Angel seemed to enjoy the sharp breezes and turned his face
up into the strongest of them.

***

With an effort, Angel managed to remain impassive in the face of the
continual barrage of concerned stares being sent his way.  The way Adam
was worrying about him was sweet but unnecessary.

Taking a deep breath, he savored the smell of the man hurrying beside
him.  The scent was rich, erotic, and unique.  It held the musty smell
of books and ages past, the spiciness of desert kingdoms and warm
sunshine, along with a sharp tang of copper blood and storms.  With
every stride, the scent swirled around him, flooding his senses and
stirring his hunger.

This mortal was affecting him like no other in his long life.  Almost
instinctively he knew that here was someone who would understand the
burdens he carried.  Adam's aristocratic face, slender form and ruffled
brown hair placed him in his mid-twenties, but the way he moved, the
way he spoke, and most of all the expression deep inside shuttered eyes
conveyed the impression of greater age.

Adam was an enigma wrapped in a mystery and surrounded by
contradictions.  His face and mannerisms conveyed guilelessness and
innocence and yet he moved with the grace of a hunting cat and looked
at him with the sharp eyes of an eagle.  On the outside he seemed the
calm product of a civilized society and yet, for a moment, Angel had
seen the unfettered wildness of ages past shining brightly.

He felt a sense of kinship burn brightly within him that he couldn't
explain. Adam was obviously human and yet he seemed so much more.  With
anyone else he would have refused the plea of company and followed from
a safe distance until they were home.  But Adam's smiling amber eyes
and gentle voice promised warmth and understanding and he was so
lonely.  He hoped he could be forgiven for reaching out for a small
moment of light and humanity 

Adam's voice broke him out of his contemplations and he realized they
had reached an apartment building.  The quick ride up the elevator was
almost dream-like and he wondered what he was doing following a
complete stranger home, even an absolutely delectable, gorgeous
stranger.  With an effort he yanked his mind back from following that
thought to its conclusion and focused on the apartment they were
stopped in front of.

With a flourish Adam threw the door open and then motioned him inside.
"Welcome, mi casa es su casa," he added with a smile.

Invitation taken care of, Angel hesitantly walked inside and stopped to
admire his surroundings.  Much as its owner, the outside did not
reflect the inner abode.  The furniture was simple and plush and a
splendid backdrop to the other furnishings.  Every culture and age was
represented, modern art mixed with tribal artifacts, and scattered
throughout the room were books of all sizes and shapes.

Slowly, Angel walked to one wall and gently touched the glass of a
framed manuscript.  The language was Irish Gaelic and the illustrations
were exquisite.  It was Celtic in origin and brought back memories of
innocent days before he struggled with his inner demons.  History lived
and breathed in this room and for the first time in years he felt young
compared to the scope of age represented in Adam's apartment.  Still by
far, the most fascinating part of the room was its owner.  He
contemplated the sleek form that was crouched in front of the
fireplace.  Angel absently wondered what rabbit hole he had fallen
through and if he really wanted to find a way home.

***

Methos stifled a sigh of purest relief when the tinder finally caught
and the first flares of heat wafted in his direction.  Throwing both
coats over a chair, he knelt and thrust his fingers as close to the
flames as he could without singeing them.  When feeling returned to his
numbed digits he cast a glance at his visitor and watched as he
examined the bookshelves, running gentle fingers down the spine of some
of Methos' more obscure finds. Shaking his head in exasperation, Methos
realized the daft man still had made no move towards the fireplace and
the heat it provided.  He felt a brief flicker of hilarity as he
considered that maybe his guest was a snowman himself and would melt in
the heat, before he rose, walked over to his visitor and impatiently
hauled Angel closer to the fire.

He didn't slacken his grip until they were both seated comfortably on
cushions before the flickering orange and red flames.  Methos grasped
both of Angel's strong icy hands between his own, chafing them back and
forth to warm them.

"Damn man, you aren't made out of ice you know.  At least I hope you
aren't made out of ice, because I'll be miffed if you melt and ruin my
rug. Do the nerves in your hands even work?"

"They work." 

The slightly husky tone of Angel's response alerted him to the fact
that his movements had become caresses and he was drawing circles on
the slowly warming hands still in his grip.  The Quickening that
rippled along his senses urged him to explore the pale skin under his
fingers further, but the wariness and confusion that washed over the
young man's face bade him be careful.  Lifting a hand, Methos traced
one side of the handsome face.  The instinctual wince and sudden move
to pull back told Methos much about his companion, as did the iron
control that had halted the sudden retreat.

Smiling sadly, Methos continued to rub feathery circles on pale skin.
"Life is never easy, is it?  Most of the time it kicks you in the gut
and then spits on you when you're down."  Receiving no response, he
leaned closer and gently kissed the side of the full lips.  "Two make a
better stand than one, however."

When there was no move to stop him, he feathered soft kisses over
silken skin.  His hands cradled an unresisting face as he teasingly
nibbled on a soft lower lip as his tongue sneaked out to lick a trail
of moisture from side to side.  A faint shudder was his answer and the
mouth under his own partly slightly.  Delighted with the invitation, he
slipped in to taste and savor.  The kiss was gentle and sensual, slow
and seductive.

He slowly coaxed a response and as he tasted and explored the cool
recesses of the sweet mouth a shy tongue came out in response and
tangled with his own.  He began a gentle, sucking motion and soon he
was rewarded with a moan and hands in his hair drawing him closer.
Heat rushed through his veins and soon the gentle kiss had transformed
into a passionate storm.  Angel tasted of the bitterness of rose petals
crushed, the sweet dew of a moonlit night and underneath it the sharp
tang of steel and blood.

Instincts never fully suppressed screamed to life and harshly urged him
to conquer and possess.  To mate and place his mark so fully on the
other man that his ownership was never questioned.  The predator in him
ruthlessly plotted while he continued to coax and seduce.

Suddenly Angel pulled away and stumbled to his feet.  With a glance at
the panicked face, Methos quickly rose and placed himself between Angel
and the door.  Methos' lips still tingled from heated kisses and the
sweet taste of the other man lingered on his tongue.  Sometime in the
past few minutes, he had decided Angel was his and he had no intention
of letting him get away.

"What is it?"

Methos watched as the pale man struggled to speak and followed the
movement of his throat as he swallowed repeatedly.

In a gentle compelling voice Methos coaxed, "Tell me what's wrong.  Let
me help.  What are you frightened of?"

Broken words began pouring from Angel as he began to pace wildly.  "I
can't do this.  Oh god, I just can't.  I thought I could.  But you
smell so good.  I can't help it.  I want to taste so badly.  So very
badly.  God help me, what am I doing?  I can't stay here."

Wild eyes stared at Methos and he saw need, despair, darkness, and so
much fear reflected there before the large form tried to move around
him to reach the door.  Angel's strength staggered him but was no match
for skill and seconds later the younger man was flat on his back with a
very determined Immortal sitting on his chest, staring down at him.

"Take a deep breath, calm down, and then tell me coherently what is
wrong."  He was dismayed to note the rasp of total command in his voice
but the tone seemed to have gotten through to the other man whose
demeanor slowly changed to aching sadness.  Seeing that the panic was
gone, Methos stood up and coaxed Angel back to sitting in front of the
fire.

Angel stared into the flames as if mesmerized and hugged himself as if
finally feeling the cold.  His voice spoke of regret and bitter
experience. "Adam, trust me when I say you don't want me in your life,
even if it's just for one night.  It would be better if you forgot you
ever saw me."

"Not going to happen.  Tell me why the thought of tasting me has put so
much despair in your eyes."

"Tell me."  He repeated and punctuated it with a fierce shake.  When he
received no answer his eyes darkened and the razor thin edge of control
he was skating slipped slightly.  "Make no mistake, Angel.  I'm not
letting you go and I will find out what you are hiding.  Even if you
leave right now, I'll find you.  So I'll ask you one more time.  Tell. 
Me. What's.  Wrong."  The last words were gritted out and his eyes
shone dangerously with every year of his accumulated power.

Mouth open slightly, Angel stared at him in astonishment and believed
every word.  Dark, lethal power radiated from burning eyes and the
predator in him recognized when he had met a stronger foe.  With a sigh
of despair Angel surrendered.

"I didn't want to just taste your skin, Adam.  I want to taste your
blood.  It calls to me so strongly.  Promising such sweetness and life.
Coppery and hot, salty and thick, pure and strong.  One taste would
never be enough.  I haven't even experienced it yet and I'm already
half addicted just from the smell of your skin." 

Methos stared at Angel in absolute confusion.  His blood?  Even as a
dark suspicion began to creep into his mind, the large form beside him
tensed slightly and the beautiful face that Methos was staring at
changed.  In less than an instant, a vision out of a nightmare
confronted him.  Yellow glowing eyes, ridged swollen features, and
gleaming fangs.  A low warning growl rumbled through the room.

Incredulous disbelief held him still for only a second before he
reached out to draw a finger gingerly down Angel's ridged forehead. 

Angel's rumbling voice emerged from that changed face to state what was
now obvious.  "I'm a vampire."

Methos continued to stroke Angel's ridged forehead while his mind
whirled in furious thought.  This was something he hadn't expected, but
if immortality came with vampirism like the legends claimed, it could
prove to be a bonus.

"How old are you?"  Methos asked.

"Two hundred seventy two."

The vampire was just a child to him but very old by mortal standards.
Which meant that part of mythology must be true.  But Methos would
never have imagined a vampire that would deny himself blood.

"Do all vampires try to refuse themselves the blood they need to
survive?"

A bitter laugh erupted from Angel and his face melted back into his
human features. 

"No.  I'm unique.  The only vampire with a soul.  The others would
think nothing of drinking you dry and discarding your corpse.  They
live without a conscience, murder with a song in their hearts and a
smile on their lips." The words were dark with jagged edges of pain.
The tone spoke of bitter experience and gruesome familiarity.

Voice flat, the dark haired vampire continued, "I was like that for a
long time.  I gave an ugly death to everyone I met until I choose the
wrong victim and her relatives cursed me by restoring my soul.  The
magnitude of what I had been doing, the way I had been living slammed
down upon me in an instant.  It would have been much more merciful for
them to simply have killed me.  Sometimes I find it hard to believe I
didn't kill myself."

"I'm glad that you chose to live."

A single tear slipped down the vampire's face.  "Why?"

"Everyone has darkness inside their hearts and most of us don't have
your excuse for it taking over.  Besides," he leaned over and placed a
hard possessive kiss on Angel's parted lips.  "I don't give up what's
mine."

"Yours?" a husky voice questioned with wonder.

"Yes.  Mine."  Methos confirmed with a sharp nod.  "Now get on with the
story, so we can move on to better things."  He emphasized his point by
smoothing a caressing hand down the vampire's chest until he came in
contact with a throbbing erection.

Angel moaned when the hand was removed and then cleared his throat with
difficulty.  "Right... talking... well..." 

Methos listened in amazement and sympathy as Angel began telling a
story of vampires, demons, betrayals, and tears.  A determination to
protect Angel from further sorrows rose in him.  Leaning close, he
wrapped his arms comfortingly around the shaking vampire and shuddered
as Angel spoke of Hell, torment, and never ending screams.  The story
turned to Los Angeles, the fight against darkness, and stubborn,
determined friends who refused to let the vampire dwell completely in
the shadows.  Methos felt relief fill him when the story concluded with
the latest confrontation with the Oracles and the news of the curse
being permanent.

Silence fell for long minutes as Methos continued to soothe the slowly
calming vampire.  Angel's story had confirmed his earlier intuitions.
He had finally found someone who could understand and accept the
darkness in his soul.  Lost in his musings, he jumped when Angel pulled
out of his arms.

"My life story is beside the point.  What is important is that I still
have the needs and instincts of a vampire.  I still crave your blood
and you are not safe with me, even with a soul."  Angel's voice was
tired and sad.


***

Angel stared at the brown haired mortal with the old eyes that sat
beside him.  He still didn't understand exactly what had happened.  One
moment he had been headed out the door and in the next instant he was
lying flat on his back with burning eyes and a dark voice of haunting
power mesmerizing him.  And Adam had reacted as if finding out vampires
existed was only a momentary shock - simply another fact to be added to
his knowledge.  He didn't even look worried that he was enclosed in a
room with a vampire that craved his blood.  Was he sane?  Would any
sane man want to be involved with a vampire?  Before his speculations
could run away from him the man above him spoke.

"It's quite simple Angel, you crave my blood therefore you drink it."
Even as he stared at Adam in astonishment and growing anger, a dark
smile flitted across the pale face that glowed in the flames from the
fireplace. "Besides, I like the idea of you being addicted to me."

Adam's words made him shudder with both longing and a bit of horror.
He watched warily as Adam stood and walked to the coat he had thrown
across a chair and slowly drew a broadsword out of its enveloping
folds. The mask had fallen from shuttered amber eyes and the predator
that Angel had only glimpsed before shone from burning orbs.  All the
softness had drained away and what was left was someone more dangerous
than he had ever met.

The dark golden voice that seemed to vibrate with power continued, "I
also am not what I seem.  A two hundred seventy two year old vampire
may seem old and powerful from a mortal's point of view.  But I am not
mortal." The smooth voice dropped almost to a whisper even as Adam sat
down beside him again and the naked blade was cradled in loose arms.
"My name is Methos and I am Immortal."

Suddenly, in a move too quick to stop, Methos slid a hand down the
sword in his arms.  Blood began to stream across pale skin.  Every
instinct in Angel screamed at the scent of freshly spilled scarlet
life.  His face rippled into his vampire visage even as he forced his
raging body not to move. 

Seconds later, Methos lifted a smeared hand to his own mouth and a pink
tongue came out to lick a clean path across unmarred skin.  Unbelieving
Angel reached out and grabbed the hand and brought it close to him.
Even then he could see no signs of the wound that had existed only
moments before. 

Finally giving in to temptation, Angel slowly licked the hand clean and
lapped and sucked at the rest of the arm until only pale skin showed.
He moaned as the fluid he craved crashed over his senses in red
explosions. Shaking, he came back to himself to find he was sucking the
lean, elegant fingers, removing every drop of the salty, sweet liquid. 

Methos was watching him with a hungry, possessive stare that sent
shudders of delight rippling down his spine.  He could see traces of
red around the edges of the thin, sensual lips.  With urgent hands
Angel pulled him into a torrid, explosive kiss.  The hot, dark taste of
the sweet mouth combined with the traces of blood sent Angel spinning
and crashing.  The power contained in the Immortal's body pulsed with
strength, with life, with the weight of ages.  Angel had never tasted
anything like it.  Lost in a hazy vortex of pleasure and exploding
sexual heat, he cried out as the sweet mouth lifted from his own.

He started to come out of his daze as he watched the panting man
leaning against  him strain for breath and control.  The taste of blood
still lingered along his tongue and his every instinct was screaming
*'mine'*.  If he understood Methos correctly, then even if he lost
control he would cause no permanent damage, but he had to be sure.

"So you cannot die?"

"I can die but I don't stay that way.  You could drain me of blood and
I would die only to wake up later."  There was a hesitation and a
considering look before he continued.  "The only way to kill me
permanently is to remove my head from my body.  Anything else I will
recover from."

"How do you know?"

"There are others.  We prey upon each other in what is called The Game.
We meet in single combat and the loser forfeits his head.  The winner
gains the loser's power in a rush of energy called the Quickening."

"You hunt each other for power?"  Angel's voice was appalled.

Old, sad eyes held his own.  "Be grateful The Game keeps our numbers in
check, child.  Otherwise mortals would have it much worse."

"Child?  How old are you, Methos?"

Sadness melted to be replaced with rueful laughter.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Warily he nodded.

"I'm the oldest.  I can't remember my beginnings, but I think I'm about
five thousand.  Give or take a few centuries.  Oh, and I would
appreciate it if you would call me Adam in public.  Methos is a legend.
There are Immortals who would hunt down you and everyone you loved just
to get to me."

Five thousand years?  How could anyone be so old?  No wonder vampires
and curses didn't bother him, he must have seen so much worse in his
life. How many empires had he seen rise and fall?  How many cultures
had risen from the fire only to later fall into ashes?  How could
anyone endure the weight of that many ages passing?  Friends dying, the
world changing, and having no one who understood about the swift
passage of time.

Hot hands slid under his sweater recalling Angel's attention to the
present. Fingers trailing fire began to smooth themselves along his
ribs while a low voice whispered in his ear.  "What I haven't told you
about Quickenings is that they don't settle very well at first.  They
dance and scream along your skin and burn streaks through your nerves. 
Then they move into your blood and settle into your bones until you
crave either sex or violence."

Quick fingers unbuttoned his shirt while the sibilant voice whispered
even closer to him.  "Did I mention I took a Quickening this morning
and right this moment I'm about to crawl out of my skin?  Why should it
worry me that you drink my blood?  I want to lick, suck, and bite every
inch of your delicious skin.  I want to own you, possess you and make
you mine.  I want to be inside you and have you scream my name.  I want
to haunt your dreams and bring laughter to your days."

Angel felt fevered and chilled at the same time.  A hot mouth latched
onto one of his nipples and a heavy languor began to spread through him
even as a sweet fire burned into his heart.  Teeth worried and tugged
and laved his nipple until it was swollen and aching and then gently
licked and sucked on it to soothe the hurt.  Attention was switched to
his other nipple and the same treatment was given to it also.
Shuddering, he managed to catch a moan before it escaped only to
receive a sharp nip in retaliation.

"No.  Don't hold back.  I want to hear.  Let go for me and just enjoy."

Swift hands tugged his sweater off and his senses swam with the power
and force of this man.  He hadn't felt this off balance and out of
control since he was human.  Watching as Methos straightened and
stripped off his own sweater, he marveled at the beauty and lean
strength revealed to him.  For this man clothes were definitely used as
a camouflage.  Pale muscles rippled and radiated an effortless
strength.  Dusky nipples gleamed on a sculpted chest.  Angel's eyes
drifted upward to take in ruffled hair, wet swollen lips, and sultry
eyes.

Angel couldn't resist touching any more and he placed both of his hands
on the narrow waist and slowly slid them upward marveling at the silken
heated strength.  He feathered gentle fingers across the thin skin of
Methos' collarbone and then rested his thumbs across the pulse point in
the pale arching neck.  He marveled at the feel of life under his
hands, it had been so long since he had come out of the shadows to
experience the pulse and throb of living.

Amber-brown eyes stared at him with dark glitters of lust and a husky
laughing voice said, "The floor is nice but I'd rather move this to the
bed.  If there's anything I've learned in my time, it's be comfortable
whenever you have the chance."

Dark eyes sparkled back at him.  "You have to let go of me first."

This produced a sexy pout and a sigh, "Well, nothing's perfect."

Bonelessly fluid, Methos rose to his feet and extended his hand to the
dark vampire lying sprawled on his floor.  Angel smiled as he took the
helping hand. 

***

Struggling for control, Methos swallowed heavily as he guided the half
naked vampire to his room.  Shattered nerves were shrieking at him and
the Quickening was crawling along his skin causing him to shake.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed at the sensation until it subsided to a
bearable level. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed Angel down until
he was sitting at the end of the bed and knelt to remove his boots.  He
unlaced one boot and pulled it off and then dealt with the other one.
Looking up from his deceptively subservient position, he drank in the
sight of his lover.

Dark glowing eyes stared down at him with sexual lust vying with
uncertainty.  Methos planned to banish the hesitance.  This man, this
vampire, this child, belonged to him heart, body and soul.  He had
lived for so long without a friend who could understand both the
darkness and the light within him.  A companion who wouldn't die on him
within the span of a short mortal lifetime.  A lover who needed him and
who was needed in turn.

With a swift move, Angel was tumbled onto the bed.  He lay there for a
moment in an enticing sprawl.  Methos sinuously slid up the prone body.
Reaching the vampire's neck, he blew hot air on the long pale throat
and followed it with a thorough licking that caused Angel to shudder
and murmur faintly.  The murmur became a moan as Methos began to nibble
and gently bite at what would be the pulse point in a human.
Apparently necks were as much of an erogenous zone for vampires as they
were for Immortals.  The vulnerability gave the bites a spice of danger
and sent his emotions careening beyond his control.

He had waited long enough.  He was through with patience and coaxing,
now he simply wanted to conquer and devour and take what was his.
Hurriedly he divested both of them of their remaining clothes and the
feeling of Angel's naked cool skin against his overheated own caused
him to bite his lip until it bled.  The brown eyes looking up at him
seemed to dilate before a large hand slid behind his neck and drew his
mouth down. The kiss that resulted had nothing of gentleness behind it.
It devoured, seduced, claimed and marked the other.  Blood was
exchanged and the kiss went on and on until Methos had to pull back or
pass out.

After a few gulps of air he moved hot hands up and down the sculpted
body presented to him.  Michelangelo would have given up his soul to
have a model like the writhing man on the dark satin sheets; pale
strong limbs with rippling muscles, features of a fallen seraph,
pouting lips begging for seduction, flat nipples that were still
swollen from their earlier play, and a beautiful cock swollen with
borrowed blood.  Methos spent a bare moment admiring the gorgeous man
in his bed before he pounced.

His goal was to drive the other man insane; to hear him beg and plead
and then take him beyond the realm of thought into a world composed
entirely of sensations.  His hands were everywhere on the cool body in
his arms. They smoothed down ribs, circled around a tucked belly button
and his hot mouth followed his hands leaving trails of hot moisture
across taut chest muscles.  Gentle sucking kisses were interspersed
with almost rough bites and when one hot hand moved down to cover the
leaking cock nestled between pale thighs, Angel arched up with a cry.
He gently cupped the member while he drove the dark vampire to crazy
heights.

Methos moved to kneel between Angel's bent legs and his mouth dried and
heat raced through him when the strong thighs opened wide at the
slightest of pressures from his hands.  Taking advantage he rolled the
silky balls in one hand while he held the leaking cock in the other.
Keeping a firm grip at the base he guided the length into his mouth and
moaned upon his first taste of Angel's essence.  It was salty, sweet,
thick, and he wanted every drop.  The cool length slid down his throat
until his lips rested against the base.  Using every millennia of his
experience he slowly sucked with increasing pressure until Angel was
writhing in pleasure.  He pulled out until only the tip was in his
mouth and swirled his tongue, lapping up the excess moisture.

His hands were playing a bit lower, with one finger gliding and teasing
along the vampire's perineum and circling the taut hole just below it. 
Never enough pressure to be truly felt, it teased and caressed and
promised more while the mouth sucked and licked and finally scraped
until cool seed was flooding his mouth.  The dark vampire was spasming
and cumming and he swallowed and coaxed every drop until Angel sagged
back upon the bed boneless and panting for unneeded air.

Pausing for only a bare moment to savor the sight of beautiful features
relaxed in a dazed smile, he used strong hands to turn the pale man
over. A muscular back with sculpted thighs and legs and a luscious
bottom met his eye.  Two taut, smooth buttocks filled his hands and a
low groan rattled out of a tired throat when he spread the cheeks and
leant down and wetly licked the exposed skin.  He pulled Angel up onto
his knees and then pushed his legs apart so he was fully exposed to
him.  Using his hands to hold him open, he tongued pink skin and placed
short licks on the ring of muscle quivering before him.  The taste and
smell here was darker and earthy like bittersweet chocolate. 

***

Soon, Angel was moaning again, lost to himself.  Sensations were
crashing upon him so rapidly that he had stopped thinking all together.
It had been so long since he had felt this type of pleasure.  He hadn't
dared give up this much control to someone since he had been turned.
The sheer ecstasy and powerlessness that he couldn't allow himself
before was now clutched almost as a lifeline.  What would have once
damned him now sent him on a journey to heaven.

Methos tongue curled and began to thrust against the taut hole until it
gave beneath the pressure and he began to lick and spread wetness
around. The slick wet heat penetrating him over and over had him
gasping and clutching bedclothes until they tore.  The sensations were
maddening, penetrating, and were about to cause him to lose his mind.
He moaned in protest when Methos pulled back only to shudder as a
lubricated finger circled him slightly and was gently pushed in only to
the tip.  He tried to lift to press the finger deeper only to subside
when Methos growled, "No, be still."  When he stilled the penetration
slowly deepened, twisting and turning, pulling sobs from him and
pleading whispers soon began to escape.  Dark words answered him.

"You're mine Angel.  Get used to it.  I've waited for you for
millennia.  All through the dark years, the guilt, the hopelessness, I
was waiting on you. My own fallen Angel."

Another finger joined the first and soon they were thrusting in time to
dark words of possession and loving endearments.  Mindlessly he cried
out when the stimulation was removed only to thrust back hungrily when
something larger was presented to him.  Burning heat pressed into him,
stretching him almost painfully and filling the empty void.  His world
was broken open flinging him into a world of sensations.  He had no
concept of space and time.  His entire existence was the throbbing life
inside him, the strong hands that held him motionless and the screaming
need that was clawing at his throat.  He sobbed in relief when the hot
body molded to his back began to move.

***

Methos dug his fingers into bloodless arms while sheathing himself in
the cool body.  Silken skin gripped him and slick moisture rubbed along
his length.  His control in tatters, he waited only a few seconds for
Angel to adjust before sliding back out - only to slam back inside
again.  Angel arched to meet him, broken pleas falling from his lips.

Methos gripped pale hips as he abandoned all control and obeyed the
demands of his body.  The burning that scorched his nerves found a home
in the cool haven of writhing flesh.  Tilting his hips to change the
angle he reached a certain spot that had Angel throwing back his head
in full game face and snarling and pleading.  The strong, beautiful
body of his beloved arched in ecstasy finally broke him and even as he
slammed in one last time he bent to dig blunt teeth into a pale
shoulder.  Methos rode out the storm as the dark vampire screamed and
convulsed around him.  Wave after wave of pleasure, pressure and pain
hit him so fast the world grayed out.

His only reality was the cool body underneath him and the rumbling purr
of a contented vampire filling the air.  He groaned when Angel shifted
but settled contentedly when the vampire turned and gathered him close.
Methos felt Angel's soothing hand being smoothed up and down his back
and he drifted further and further away as the Quickening finally began
to settle inside of him, leaving him exhausted and only a passing
stranger to reality.  He only had time for the fervent hope that Angel
would still be there when he woke up, before sleep cradled him in his
arms and took him to the land of dreams.

***

Angel shivered even as he continued to stroke the man in his arms.
There was little chance of him sleeping, even if he had wanted to.  The
events of the past few hours were simply too astounding.  He still
wasn't sure he was dealing with reality.  Was this what it felt like to
be insane?  If so, he was all for the condition.  He hadn't felt this
content in...  he'd never felt this content.  Which settled the last
bit of doubt he had about his soul's permanence.  He was free to find
his own life at last.  Or rather life had decided to find him.

He shifted his gaze to the warm weight in his arms.  Methos was all
pale lean lines combined with lithe muscular strength.  His rosy lips
were swollen and his silky hair stood up endearingly in places.  He
resembled a debauched angel.  The entire man was sexy, tempting, and
powerful.  The memory of that power washed over him and he licked dry
lips as he remembered being claimed.  He had always been the strong one
before, the caregiver, and he wouldn't give that up, but now there was
someone who could share the burden.  Someone he could give up control
to and lean upon.

His arms tightened involuntarily as he remembered that Methos lived
here in Seacouver, hundreds of miles from Los Angeles.  A long distance
relationship would be difficult.  His schedule was too erratic.  There
were days of complete boredom interspersed with days of frantic
rushing.  And he could never tell ahead of time, which would happen at
any given time. A low growl rumbled out of him.  He wasn't letting the
man in his arms go. Something had to be worked out.

"What's wrong?" 

The sleepy voice interrupted his musings.  Angel looked down into
amused amber eyes that twinkled invitingly at him.  He leaned down to
savor a sweet gentle kiss that involved nibbling and licking and more
licking.  With a groan he pulled away and absently swept his tongue
over his lips seeking any stray taste of the older man.  Which brought
him back to his previous thought.

"I live in Los Angeles and you live here in Seacouver.  My schedule is
crazy and I don't know when I can manage to visit."

A slender finger placed over his lips stopped his words.

"Not anymore."

Not anymore?  Angel ran the response through his head several times and
still didn't understand it.  He settled for a confused but hopeful
expression that got him a chuckle and a quick kiss on the end of his
nose.

"As of now, I don't live in Seacouver anymore.  I just haven't packed
yet." 

Stunned, Angel stared down at the smirking man cradled in his arms.
"Just like that?  You've known me for a few hours and you plan on
uprooting your entire life?"

The smirk stayed in place but the eyes saddened slightly.

"Don't worry so, love.  I've been uprooted more times than you could
ever imagine.  I have moving down to an art and I had already been
thinking that it was time to leave.  Los Angeles sounds perfect.  It's
nice and warm and comes with my own personal Angel.  What could be
better?"

He was still stunned but happiness began to creep into his heart.

"You'd really move to Los Angeles?"

"I was actually hoping to skip directly to living with you.  Think you
could find a use for a 5000 year old warrior scholar with designs upon
your gorgeous undead body?"

Angel felt that a smile was in jeopardy of becoming permanently fused
to his face.  He froze as a random thought hit him.  Oh.  Shit.
Frantically, he started looking for a clock.

"What time is it?"

A bewildered gaze followed him but answered readily.

"About 5:30, just a little after dark."

Angel slumped thankfully.  He hadn't been this distracted in ages and
the entire reason for being in Seacouver had slipped his mind.  He had
less than two hours to stop another Hell Mouth from opening in this
city. Regretfully he smiled down at the still puzzled man lounging on
the bed.

"I'm sorry but I've got to go.  I'm in Seacouver to stop a Hell Mouth
from opening.  The consequences of being late are not something I want
to deal with."

"Hell Mouth?"

"It's exactly what it sounds like.  A portal to Hell opening up on
Earth.  Not a lot of fun.  There's already a contained one in
Sunnydale, we really don't need another."

Bemused amber eyes blinked at him for a few moments.  He had to stifle
a grin at the muttered comments that emerged.

"Well live and learn they say, although it's been a while since I
learned anything this strange.  I can see life with you isn't going to
be boring. Strange, weird, fantastical... wait, how is that any
different from my life anyway?  Oh well, need any help?"

Leaning down, Angel nibbled on a swollen lip and placed tiny kisses on
soft skin.  Methos looked sated and sleepily content.  There was no
reason to drag both of them out of bed.  Especially since,
paradoxically, this promised to be an easy job.

"No need.  As devastating as the consequences would be, preventing the
opening should be easy.  It's no grand conspiracy of the forces of
evil." Sighing he shook his head.  "Just a group of teenage amateur
witches who stumbled upon the spell at the exact right time and place
for it to work. But to stop them I have to get there in time, so I need
to leave."

Regretfully, he pulled himself up and hunted down his clothes that were
scattered throughout the room.  He detoured to the bathroom that he
could see from the bedroom and quickly washed up.  Stopping by the bed,
he took one last look at the man sprawled across the covers.  With
another quick caress he was gone.


***Two Weeks Later***

Cordelia glared angrily at her boss and wondered who had spit in his
blood this morning.  He was carrying being moody, uncommunicative, and
grumpy to new heights.  Ever since the trip to Seacouver he had been
different.  Something had happened while he was there and she was going
to find out what.  Even the patented Angel glare wasn't going to make
her back down.  The fact that Wesley was standing beside her with his
own scowl only strengthened her position.  If she weren't so angry and
worried she'd feel sorry for her outnumbered employer.

He had returned from his trip in a strangely jubilant mood.  There had
been an almost ebullient happiness in his eyes, which she was ashamed
to say had immediately started her thinking scary Angelus thoughts.
Confronted with a crossbow however, Angel had been quick to reassure
them and had admitted that the Powers had changed his curse.  She had
attributed his happiness to that and, after an all night celebration
from which she was still recovering, she had dismissed thoughts of
Seacouver.  However, since then the dark vampire's mood had steadily
gotten worse.  He wasn't glaring, yelling, or causing a fuss, which
would have been easier to take; he had just slipped steadily into a
depression that neither she or Wes could bring him out of.  They were
at their wits end and she was at the end of her, admittedly small,
store of patience.

"Okay, Angel, enough with being Mr. Broody Guy.  The tension around
here is enough to give me a headache and I get enough of those from the
damn Powers that Be.  Something happened in Seacouver and I want to
know what it was.  So start talking."

She tapped her foot impatiently and waited and waited and waited.
Finally she smiled sweetly at the stubborn vampire.  "You don't pay me
nearly enough to put up with this.  I'm thinking workers' compensation,
maybe a shopping trip, or a Bahamas vacation."  She stopped suddenly as
if deep in thought and then brightened and continued.  "I really need
to be surrounded by my friends in this time of stress.  Perhaps I
should call Sunnydale.  I'm sure Willow and Xander would come visit.
Of course, that would mean that Tara and Anya would have to come too,
and maybe even Spike if it's Xander's turn to watch him- but what's a
few more people, right?  The more the merrier, I always say."

She watched in hidden glee as dark eyes widened in horror at the
thought of an imminent invasion from the Scooby Gang and the annoying
blonde one.  His mouth opened in what she thought for sure was the
beginning of a confession to every last sin he had ever committed when
they were interrupted by a cool amused voice.

"Monetary and emotional blackmail.  I think I'm going to fit right in."

She turned sharply to face the person who had spoken and stopped. Wow. 
Leaning against the frame of the door was a lean man with a dark trench
coat flowing around his frame.  He had beautifully sculpted features
and was definitely yummy but he set her danger signals off.  There was
a great deal of controlled power contained behind that lopsided smile
and she began edging around to the weapons rack but she stopped dead at
the look on Angel's face.  Her breath caught in her throat at the
absolute joy that shone from his eyes and the delighted smile on his
face.

A deep throaty chuckle sent her attention back in the other man's
direction.

"Miss me, love?"

With barely a second to process that statement, Cordelia was presented
with the sight of Angel rushing across the floor and pulling the
smiling man into a deep kiss.  Blinking in surprise, she felt a blush
spreading across her face.  Oh.  My.  They were practically devouring
each other and it was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.  She
watched avidly as the two men kissed and whispered and hugged.  She
felt tears sting her eyes as Angel peppered the other's face with small
kisses and whispered endearments.  The lean man laughed delightedly
while returning the favor.

Seeing that the two had totally forgotten their presence, she snagged
the goggling Wesley with one hand and hauled him out of the office. 

Well.  That had certainly been unexpected.  And while she still didn't
understand what was going on, the joy on Angel's face was enough for
her-at least until the reunion was over and she could corner and worm
every little fact out of them.  Maybe now the office could get back to
what passed for normal in this crazy town.

Now about that shopping trip...


End 

+    +    +    +   +   +

Note: This little bit of insanity didn't fit in with the tone of the
story but when Methos said "Frosty the snow-vamp" the idea stuck with
me until this was born.  Enjoy.  

Frosty the Snow-Vamp

Frosty the Snow-Vamp

Frosty the snow-vamp was a wicked evil bloke
With bright sharp fangs and a ridged face
And two eyes that gleam and smoke
Frosty the snow-vamp is a horror tale they say,
He was made by night in a lethal fight
And as dead came out to play 

There must have been some magic in, 
that Holy Water they found.
For when they threw it on his head
He began to dance around.

Oh, Frosty the snow-vamp was dead as he could be,
And the people say he could maim and slay,
As he came for you and me

Frosty the snow-vamp knew the sun could kill that day, 
So he said "Don't run and we'll have some fun, 
Now before I burn away

Down to the cemetery with a scythe in his hand 
Running here and there causing a great big scare 
Saying "I'll catch you if I can."

He chased them down the streets of town, 
Right to the traffic cop. 
And after blood and mayhem 
He finally had to stop.

For Frosty the snow-vamp had to hurry on his way, 
But he waved goodbye saying 
"Don't you cry, I'll be back to kill some day."

Thumpety thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump,
Look at Frosty run...

Thumpety thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump,
Escaping from the sun!

END