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thatotherpervThis has been a rather nerve-wracking writing experience. I think it’s just so much darker than anything *I’ve* ever written, although it’s far from being the darkest thing I’ve ever read…it was just an uncomfortable stretch of my skills. Thanks muchly to all of my wonderful friends who petted me through trial runs and more neuroses than it probably warranted. :) no really. I was a basketcase. special thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sparrow2000, who gave me a good chunk of her time for betaing and idea-bouncing. Thanks and curses to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
sexymermaid who prodded me relentlessly until it was done—the whole SEVEN MONTHS that I was working on it. Haha.
Please heed the warnings, so that we don’t make each other cry later. This fic has 3 parts, and is completed. my plan is to post part 2 on Saturday and part 3 on Monday, though I might stretch it out over a longer period than that if response seems slow.
Warnings: Angel/Xander is the pairing, but it’s not shippy…in other words, they are not destined for a romantic ending. *This is darkfic.* Non-con and mindfucking like woah. additionally, there are some aspects of this fic that I cannot warn you about, because they would spoil the effect.
Title: The Void
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Angel/Xander, Xander/other
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Xander’s in the wrong place at the wrong time again, poor schmuck.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Warnings listed above. Do I need to say it again? this is darkfic.
A/N: This fic takes place in a slightly AU Bs5/As2. In As2 Reprise, Darla does not show up at the Hyperion after Angel discovers the home office is on earth—Xander does. As2 proceeds a little differently in this ‘verse…everything is explained eventually. The biggest thing to realize is that Angel has been driven farther into his own personal darkness than he was in canon. He’s pretty bat-shit here.
~*~*~*~
The first thing that tipped Xander off to the wrongness in LA was a lack of Jimmy Choo’s.
Cordelia had a long habit of removing her shoes whenever there were books to be read. She used to do that in the library during after-school research parties, and Xander liked her feet, so sometimes they had to sneak off to the janitor’s closet. She so did that on purpose, but it took him a long time to figure that out, because women were wily, and Xander was a sucker.
But there were no shoes under Cordelia’s desk at the Hyperion, as there had been all the other times Xander had visited her in LA, between apocalypses. And if there were no shoes, that meant there was no Cordelia. And it was business hours. If Cordelia Chase were not steadfastly awaiting money, or potential money, that was a bad bad thing. Xander had always been pussy-whipped for a good little capitalist.
Now that he noticed the absence of footwear, Xander noticed that the lobby of the hotel was stiflingly quiet. Eerie quiet. Hellmouthy quiet, and if Xander’d had any survival instinct at all, he would have hightailed it out of there.
But Buffy really needed that thingamajig to fight off a skanky hellgod, and really, there was a reason Xander was the Zeppo.
So instead of running away as fast as his little legs would carry him, he called out to Angel, and wandered further into the hotel.
His voice echoed off the parquet. The hotel felt empty, but Deadboy was one creepy-stealthy dude, so you never knew, with him. One thing was sure, though. Cordy and Wes and that other guy, Gunn, had left abruptly. Their desks were in disarray, as though interrupted from a normal day’s work, with no time or opportunity to straighten up before closing time. Wes’s workspace was littered with old tomes as carelessly as the pile of Penthouse next to Xander’s toilet, and the day he did that on purpose was the day Xander ate the guy’s old tweed suit. He seemed to have loosened up fractionally since his stick-in-the-ass Watcher days, but…he wasn’t that loose.
The badness amplified when Xander approached the bathroom, intent on relieving himself of the Big Gulp he’d sucked down on the way here. The carpet squished under his shoes where it met bathroom tile, and a nudge on the door revealed a layer of water covering the floor. The toilet was overflowing, unheeded.
Xander’s skin crawled. Queen C? She didn’t tolerate malfunction in her throne. Xander felt extremely unsettled now, and kept a nervous eye on the door as he shut off the steady stream from the toilet tank.
He peed in the small cubicle shower, which…rude and slightly unsanitary, but desperate times, and not even his growing heeby-jeebies could eclipse the ache in his bladder. But he was almost too nervous to release a stream, and as soon as nature was done with its social call, he was getting the hell out of here. He’d search the kitchen for uh…bodies, or something, and then he’d run on back to Sunnydale. They could do without the whatchamacallit. Or better yet, he’d go to Cordy’s apartment, and in a good world he’d find her there, and they’d hunt down the thing themselves.
But the thing was, Xander just wasn’t sure it was a good world. In fact, he knew it wasn’t.
So, body-checking in the kitchen, it was.
There were no bodies in the kitchen (including the food pantry, which he checked, because Angelus had a sick sense of humor, and Angel was a remarkably tidy man). However, there was a visible layer of dust on everything other than the fridge handle and the microwave. The significance of that didn’t escape him.
There was something wrong here. Very wrong.
“Hey, Xander.”
The voice was startlingly casual in the midst of all the Friday the Thirteenth creepiness, and if Xander jumped three feet and squeaked, it was just between him and the fridge and Angel’s smirk. Speaking of which….
Xander turned to see smirking Angel, as expected. Maybe. It had to be Angel. But Angel hardly ever had a facial expression, much less one that was so sharp and smug. So maybe this wasn’t Angel. Maybe this was….
“Angel!” Xander cleared his throat and tried for a manlier pitch. “Angel. You look uh….” Scary as hell. Kinda pissed off. Really evil. Like you’re playing with your food. “Hey, so I’m just going to cut to the chase, as they say here in Hollywood. Are you Angelus? Because you seem to be short a few humans.”
And Angel(us?) smiled this flinty little smile that made Xander’s balls try to crawl right into his pelvic cavity, because it wasn’t looking so safe on the outside. Angel was blocking the only exit. Fuck. Xander was an idiot.
“Where’s the trust, Xander? If I were Angelus, wouldn’t you be dead right now?”
His tone was lilting, like a mockery of Angelus, but the body language was all soully—intimidating, but stiff. Houston, we have mixed signals.
“See, I’m not so sure about that. Because from what I remember, Angelus likes to take his time and fuck with people for a while before he rips their entrails out.”
And wow, Xander needed to invest in some duct tape for his big fat mouth, because something about that sentence made Angel(us?)’s eyes light up, and when faced with a choice between the two happy-making options there, Xander voted for ‘entrails.’ Not a classic preference, sure, but Angelus? Probably not a considerate lover. Any fucking with people would probably involve the ripping of entrails anyway and….
Woah. So not thinking about that. Metaphorical fucking. As in, head games. No need to jump to the Big Gay Sex. Angelus would be a lot more likely to chain him up in the basement to toy with the Scoobies than to bend him over the counter and….
Holy crap, definitely no need for blood to rush in that direction. It was a known fact of the universe that penises had no common sense, but this was really not the time for secret man-lusting. Mortal danger. Do you hear that down there? Mortal. Danger.
The source of penile confusion was probably that Xander used to have dreams…very disturbing, unwanted dreams that started out just like this. His penis apparently did not understand that this particular scenario was unlikely to end with fuzzy handcuffs and Cool Whip, and was doing its best to cheerlead them to that end.
His penis was an idiot.
Angel(us?) smirked at Xander in a knowing way, dark eyes sliding slickly down Xander’s body until they rested on the treacherous, disobeying bulge in his pants. His hands flew over his crotch, as if that did any good, and Angel(us?) laughed, and the sound made a shiver zing up Xander’s spine, because Angel had never made a sound like that before.
When he had a soul, that is.
“So uh…” Xander cleared his throat. Dammit, he was a man now, not a nervous little boy but goddonthurtmeplease. “Where is everybody? Cordy? Wes?”
Way to sound authoritative. As authoritative as a hall monitor about to get a wedgie.
Deadboy, in whatever form, suddenly gave him a look of extremely perverse amusement. “You know what, they’re in hell.” He started to laugh again, muttering something about a home office, and Xander’s blood ran cold.
Oh god, Cordy….
“Goddammit. Who fucked you this time?” It wasn’t quite what Xander meant to say, but…pertinent.
He regretted the question when Angel became intensely serious all of a sudden and advanced on him, quick and graceful, too close too fast. Close enough to cage Xander in against the counter. He tried to scramble backwards but only succeeded in rapping his knuckles on the flour jar and yelping.
Angel was too big, pressed right up against Xander without actually pressing, and he smelled oddly good, like expensive cologne and man. It didn’t quiet Xander’s spiking pheromones, and even though now was not the time to explore his repressed sexuality, Xander had no doubt what Angel was sensing when hard glittery eyes swept down Xander’s body and back. Was it possible that an erection was somehow an adaptive fear response? Fight, flight, or…bone?
“No one’s fucked me yet, Xander. Volunteering?” The question was oddly detached, impartial, as though Angel weren’t all over him like a polyester suit.
Xander laughed, but it sounded like hyperventilating. “I don’t really go in for necrophil—AH!”
And that time he had squeaked but you’re goddamn right he squeaked because Angel had him by the nuts—actually, the whole damn package, in that big hand of his—and if that wasn’t a cause for squeaking, then what was? Angel wasn’t squeezing, yet, but he was applying the kind of grip that suggested that squeezing might be imminent. Angel’s sharky smile was even and white and somehow just as deadly as his piranha-face would be.
Oh god.
“Silly me. Here I was, thinking that that’s exactly what you went in for.” The heel of Angel’s hand pressed and rubbed in a way that was oooohhhh god, and there was a wet spot blooming in his boxers, and Xander Harris was the easiest manwhore ever. Here in bizarro world.
Especially when Angel(us?) nuzzled his extremely lethal face into the crook of Xander’s throat and sniffed, and there was a brush of lips, and Xander’s pelvis jerked.
“Goddamn, you smell good.” And then there was a cold wet tongue, taste-testing. Exploring his flesh in a functional way that really shouldn’t make his cock throb, but Xander was never such a lucky guy. Obviously. “Terror and lust and loathing. But I always liked a little bit of….” Angel paused, brought up short by a thought. He reared back and the look on his face was sincere, and Xander recognized with utter clarity who was in there. Angelus’ attempts to be Angel had always been too contrite, unconvincing. Only the true broody one could brood that well. He was the master.
And more importantly—why would Angelus be using the microwave when he could tap his meal straight from the source?
“I still have my soul. Sorry I put you on.”
The confirming reassurance was completely non-sequitor to the sniffing and licking and grip on his manly bits, but its abruptness didn’t stop the wave of relief, and the glimmer of a feeling that he’d make it out alive, once Angel was done with whatever perverse mid-life crisis was going on at Xander’s crotch.
Angel sighed happily and leaned back into his throat. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.” And whatever Angel was smelling now, it must be like catnip for vampires, because Angel was rubbing his face on Xander’s throat, and his hand on Xander’s dick, and Xander was whimpering.
“One more thing though,” Angel murmured low, right up against his ear, and Xander could hardly concentrate now, what with the pumping and the stroking. His attention was thrown off his cock, however, by a cracking-shifting noise that was wayyyy too familiar, and made his balls tighten in the terror-shrinking way. There was more scrambling on his part, but Angel was holding him fast by the scruff. And let’s not forget, by the cock.
“A soul doesn’t mean a fucking thing. It took me more than a hundred years to realize that, Xander. I think you might have caught on quicker, but I’m not sure you have that kind of time on your hands.”
And then there was a crippling pain in his neck (ha) and the rending of flesh, and suction, and then everything got a whole lot dimmer, and Xander’s last thought was that he’d miscalculated again, but at least it would be the last time.
~*~*~*~
Xander awoke…alive. Pulse? Check. A steady need for oxygen? Check. Fledgy bloodlust? Conspicuously absent. Though why the fuck Angel would want to turn him was a mystery, so his persistent humanity made a lot of sense. Why he was waking up at all…that remained to be seen.
Of course, he could just ask Deadboy, since he was conveniently located on top of Xander. Settled in comfy, like he’d been there a while.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Angel was sort of…smiling at him, with a kind of dry benevolence.
It wasn’t until Xander tried to move that he found his wrists strapped to the headboard. No give to them. Just the small movement of tugging sent out a spark of prickliness from his ailing circulation, and it made him wonder how long he’d been out.
“Angel, you asshole, let me—”
“Open wide!” Suddenly there was splatter of orange juice flowing down towards Xander’s mouth and he had to open or let the stuff splash sticky all over his face. He choked on the sweetness at the back of his throat, and forced himself to swallow as the stuff just kept coming.
“You know, Xander, you’re a natural at that. It’ll come in handy later. Probably isn’t going to taste as good as OJ, but if you’re polite about it, I’ll rinse your mouth out afterwards.”
“You fucking pervert I’m not going to ghehghghggh….” Here’s a fun fact—it may be hazardous to your health to attempt speech when a tasty beverage is being poured intently down your throat. Angel stopped and waited politely while he choked and coughed.
Xander decided to try a different tack, because Angel almost looked reasonable right now. In a psychotic way. And you know, he didn’t seem to want Xander dead—the life-sustaining blood sugar gave him away. Not that he’d trust the guy as far as he could throw him, but Xander did trust that the disproportionate amount of guilt Angel suffered from could be played upon.
Optimism demanded that Xander overlook the fact that he was already naked.
“Angel. I don’t really know what’s been happening around here, but let’s not be so hasty about the uh…bondage, okay? We all have our, um…moments, but we wouldn’t want anything to happen that you might regret. Right? So why don’t you just untie me, and I promise I’ll never mention this to the Buffster. Our little…kinky…secret.”
Angel narrowed his eyes and considered Xander through the dark slits. Finally, he shook his head. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to regret this at all. Just the opposite. Thanks for your concern though.”
Xander was momentarily stunned out of quippiness. “Angel, you can’t be serious. Let me up. You have to.”
Angel studied him seriously. “I’ve come to a few conclusions about my destiny lately, Xander. Important ones, for me—and right now, for you. Do you know what they are?”
“Uh…no?” Jesus. Leave it to him to be stuck with a vampire in the middle of an existential crisis. If he weren’t currently tied to that vampire’s bed, sans clothing, he would have laughed.
“This atonement business is a total crock. I’m never going to make up for everything I’ve done, because they don’t want me to make up for it. No matter how hard I try, they’re out to screw me. The Powers, and Wolfram and Hart. The world is not a fair place, Xander—I know it, and you know it. So what I think, is that my so-called destiny can fuck right off. I don’t want to be this guy anymore. So we’re going to have a little fun, you and I. And I think that if I have enough time to make you all…conflicted and self-loathing, that might just make me happy enough that I don’t have to be this guy anymore.
“So no, Xander, I won’t be letting you up.”
….Jesus Christ. Xander really wished Angel was still laconic-guy. Because when the man talked, he had a habit of being frighteningly honest, and that had been a little piece of enlightenment that Xander really didn’t need.
“Look, Angel, it’s obvious you’re going through a…rough patch, but you shouldn’t talk like….ha. ha. Um….”
And apparently they were done with the speaking portion of the evening, because Angel’s mouth was now latched over Xander’s scar-to-be, and Xander hated that his heartbeat picked up pace out of something other than sheer terror, that his neck stretched of its own accord, opening under the soft, dry lips.
He felt Angel smile against his neck, and he tried withdrawing the invitation, turning his face back towards the ceiling to cut off access to his neck, but Angel simply shifted to suck on Xander’s adam’s apple. A fingernail, a short, edgy crescent, drew sharply from Xander’s nipple over his abdomen before slicing slyly into the curly hair at the base of Xander’s cock—not drawing blood, just scratching the surface. Xander hated his own shiver from the sharp caress, almost as much as he hated his gratitude.
Gratitude that it was Angel that had him chained. If it were Angelus, he would have been feeling a knife.
Or a fang. A slice so precise and sharp that it was hardly felt at all, till you were hemorrhaging blood, open wide. Xander shuddered at the ghost of the torture, and knew that’s what Angel wanted.
Angel nuzzled breathlessly against Xander’s ear, making quicksilver pool hot in his belly, and Xander couldn’t pretend this was Anya, even when he closed his eyes and tried. Angel was too big, too male, too darkly calculating where Anya was frank and eager. She would have been panting in that ear and clutching at his dick already, but Angel just nudged and nibbled, inexorable, and Xander was strung tight with expectation.
Strung so tight that when Angel finally did touch his dick, a single light fingertip doing something suspiciously like tickling, Xander gasped a breath that stuck in his throat, body vibrating in a tight shudder.
Angel laughed quietly in his ear, the sudden expelling of breath shocking after none. “Somebody’s hot for it.”
Xander felt his whole face turn red, and for a second, he was so pissed off he forgot to be turned on, thrashing his weight upwards futilely, in an effort to dislodge Angel, spitting mad, literally spitting. Angel was still laughing, the prick, and—
All of that momentum, emotional and physical, died suddenly when Angel caught his hips and ground Xander up against the hard cock covered in soft designer slacks. Angel knelt there, clutching his ass so that Xander’s body was bowed off the bed, helpless to gain any movement other than the humping Angel was forcing his body into, though his body tried to assist, in jerky little thrusts. Xander bit his lip hard to keep from crying out as the thrusting grew faster and those eyes bore into him, and he was leaving dark wet trails all over Angel’s pants and he was so close so close and Xander would have had to bite clean through his lip to contain the word “Fuck!” that tore from him when he dangled right on the edge and Angel
Dropped his body abruptly onto the bed and got up.
And Xander wanted to…cry or rage at him or tell him to get the fuck over here and finish what he started, but he shouldn’t want that, and anyway, Angel was undressing now methodically, and Xander realized he was going to.
Finish what he started.
And the realization made Xander’s lower body twist defensively, curling his ass away from Angel and bringing his knees up to shield his swollen sex. Angel merely lifted an eyebrow at the shift, and it did nothing to soothe the aching vulnerability of his position.
Especially when Angel dropped those slacks and Xander found he couldn’t stop staring. At that. That, which was going to go in there, whether Xander wanted it to or not. And it was probably pretty average, for all Xander knew, but right now it was growing before him to epic proportions. The cock that took Tokyo and survived for the death match with King Kong.
Now was the time for panicking and B-movie references.
When Angel knee-walked onto the bed, stroking Godzilla, Xander’s hips awkwardly scuttled away of their own volition, making for the headboard as though twisting himself into a pretzel could improve their predicament. Angel seized them with one big hand, incongruously gentle, and twisted them back around to their rightful place.
“Not gonna hurt you.” Angel’s voice was oddly calming, like someone speaking to a madman. And just now he felt mad so that might be why the tone actually worked, soothed him a little, until Angel rolled Xander’s legs upward, exposing him. His panic level shot back into the stratosphere then, and his body jerked spasmodically when Angel’s finger whispered, feather-light, over Xander’s no-go zone. His body clutched shut in response, a wary little anemone, and Angel grinned smugly.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm. Look at that. God, Xander, you might just make me happy enough after all.”
Xander gritted his teeth against the squirm he felt brought on by the finger lightly ringing his hole. “Short trip, turning one rapist into another.”
Angel looked momentarily annoyed at the implication, but it was a mere flicker in his composure. “Not rape.”
Xander was incredulous. “It’s not.”
Angel shook his head, a dark half-smile playing at his mouth. “Nope. Your body wants it, Xander.”
Xander stared, ridiculously mired in every Lifetime movie the girls had ever forced him to watch, then exploded with fury—not a little bit because he wasn’t really fighting it, was he? Not that it would have done any good. Had his knees pulled up like a good little boy and—“That’s BULLSHIT. You have me chained to your bed, you sick FUCK! ”
When Angel uncoiled lazily on top of him and pressed him into the mattress, Xander’s lungs felt flattened for reasons beyond the obvious. Angel’s cock was rubbing against his own, and his jaw was gripped in a big hand, face pulled to the side so Angel could breath lies…truths…facts…something, into his ear.
“I know you, Xander. I see you. I’ve been you. Now, Liam, he was a party boy and he liked to think he did every deviant thing under the sun to anger his da, but there was one line he never crossed—until he died—though he wanted to. He had no hypothetical objection to the love between men, as long as it wasn’t him getting buggered. However you take your pleasure, but it wasn’t for him. Or so he said. But—”
The tip of a cold tongue flickered against Xander’s ear like an accident, and his hips jerked up against the pelvis grinding subtly into his own. Angel wasn’t forcing Xander’s face aside any longer…there was no need, because Xander wasn’t struggling. He lay frozen with his ear turned up to listen and his eyes squeezed shut to pretend he wasn’t. He wasn’t breathing quite right, and Angel’s fingers were tracing soft patterns over his cheek, nose, eyes, mouth. The touch was hypnotic. The cadence. The words….
“At night, you see, it was a different matter altogether. Or I should say, in the early morning hours, after he’d been in his cups. He’d touch himself, which was sin enough to be sure, but his thoughts…well, they weren’t of the barmaid, you understand. No, at those times, it was animal rutting between hard bodies. Jamming his cock into dirty places and taking what he wanted…men were supposed to do that….”
Angel’s hand left his face and his body shifted slightly to the right as Xander’s leg was hitched over his waist. This time, when the fingertip traced his hole, it didn’t clench. It quivered, and Xander felt his whole body do the same, a tight vibration of emotion…scared and horny and angry and freaked out, because how did Angel know what was in his head? And since when did he have anything in common with this asshole?
“But that wasn’t his dirtiest secret. Are you paying attention, Xander? Because I think you’ll really like this part. Sometimes, those drunken nights, he wasn’t the one doing the taking. Sometimes, it was he that was helpless, letting another man push into his body and use him like a woman until his eyes rolled back in his head. He wasn’t supposed to want that, but those nights, he came so hard in his own hand that it felt like dying.” A smile crept into the rumbling voice. “Which is ironic, if you think about it.”
Xander’s heart was pounding. He stared at the wallpaper that was peeling away in the corner. It was all so terribly true, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He felt stripped bare and so desperate for…fuck, he hated that he was angry now at the way Angel’s finger teased, and he had the insane urge to beg for more, but…he wouldn’t. But he could tell by the smile against his ear that his body was betraying itself in the way it rocked back into the large hand. Inviting. He wanted to cry, or…something.
“I knew this boy, when I’d lived another century and nothing seemed like too much of a sin. Well, I knew a lot of boys, back then, but this one in particular. He was just like us, Xander. So in denial, clinging to his weak, human notions of perversion, but Christ, he wanted it. I had to tie him down, too, the first time. Spat and scratched like a wild cat, but it wasn’t all anger. Never seen a man so made to take cock, and he thanked me. Repeatedly. For decades. So, you can be angry, but in the end, I know. All I’m doing is giving you what you’re too ashamed to ask for. Isn’t that right?”
Xander was about to set Angel straight. It couldn’t be true, that wasn’t quite right, even though he worried sickly that maybe it was more accurate than he’d ever want to admit. His mind flickered to all those dreams, so much like this. But he hadn’t wanted what happened in those dreams, they’d just been….
So Xander was about to tell him he was wrong, but suddenly that thick, circling finger pressed into his flesh. It slid through just a little before Xander could clench against the dry friction. Xander’s eyes glazed and the argument fell away because his thoughts were riveted on the…sudden and unexpected discomfort, and the sensitivity. Not pain and not pleasure, precisely, but it was strange and…actually, kind of good and…. “Oh.”
Angel wore a self-satisfied look that Xander wanted to punch off his face but then he applied something from a tube to his still embedded finger, and there was a little less friction and more of a sliding-filling, and Xander’s whole body was held rigid against the feeling.
“Relaaaxx,” Angel drawled, and even in his strange stunned numbness, Xander was annoyed.
“You relax, I’ve got a finger up my—Oh. God.” Xander gasped and began to pant a little, body suddenly and unexpectedly pulsing with pleasure and his hips convulsed upwards, driven by a sudden compulsion to fuck himself up into something that wasn’t there. Or back onto Angel’s finger, which most definitely was there…riiiight there, at the spot he’d read about but never…understood.
And Xander was still pulsing, and thrusting, and sweating, through the slow burn and stretch of another finger, deeper, wider, until Angel was fucking two thick digits into him while he moaned helplessly and tried not to look at Angel’s face…hiding from what was happening.
But that wasn’t allowed. Xander understood that he wasn’t allowed to forget, to simply feel, when Angel was finally hovering over him, slick cock pressing insistently against Xander’s body. Because Angel started talking.
“Wanted to do this for so long,” Angel groaned, and even though the head of his cock was burning its way into Xander’s body, that statement had his attention.
“Whaaa—Ahh!” And there it was, Angel’s cock pushed through some resistance and slid into Xander’s body in a way that simultaneously felt Oh god, wrongwaywrongwaywrongway and Jeeeeezus Christ yes, because unlike Angel’s fingers that only hit his prostate with probing, the thickness of his cock pressed firmly against it consistently as he slid through.
Angel hissed in a sucking breath. “Ah. Yeah. Wanted to climb on top of you every time you taunted me, Xander.”
Xander’s head spun with the slow withdrawal of Angel’s cock and the implication of what Angel was saying. Did Angel—?
“Every time you made some smart-assed crack about my hair or my age or my lack of a pulse, I just wanted to fuck the respect right back into you.” Angel slammed roughly back into Xander, and Xander cried out, because ahh! and because he got it, and he was red-faced that he’d thought for a moment….
Angel had a grip now on his hips, driving his cock into Xander like he meant to compress things inside…and god help him, it was so good, and he actually wanted more, faster harder, hurtier. But that was awful and wrong so he tried his best to block that out, to smudge that wrong desire like graphite under the near-pain of his coming orgasm.
Angel was far more dignified than he should be, collected and breathless despite the growing heaviness of his expression. So collected, he hadn’t lost the thread of conversation.
“Because you don’t think I’m such a pansy now, do you?” When Xander didn’t respond, a hand tightened on his face enough to break through the steady pounding against his prostate, and Xander gasped and shook his head no, because a negative answer of some sort was required.
Angel lunged forward suddenly and struck, fangs imbedding themselves into Xander’s throat and his hips were pistoning harder and the adrenaline that shot through Xander at the bite made his vision blur but Angel wasn’t feeding. He was just hanging on, hooked in, and the wash of relief Xander felt pulled his orgasm with it, and his hips jerked as he came all over himself. A few vicious thrusts later and Angel shuddered too, and Xander felt himself fill with a cool, viscous substance that he’d rather not dwell on.
Because ‘I’ve got Angel’s come up my ass’ was not the type of thought Xander Harris had ever wanted to have.
Angel’s weight was heavy on Xander’s body, but Xander had come back to himself far too quickly, and his legs were folded painfully under the vampire’s cold weight. When it became apparent that Angel had no intention of moving, Xander bucked, wincing at the pull of the fangs still buried in his throat.
Angel’s only immediate movement was to withdraw them, and to begin licking the blood that welled up with broad strokes of his tongue. It gave Xander a welcome shudder of revulsion.
“Stop licking me like a damn ice cream cone and get the fuck off me.” For the first time since he’d arrived at the Hyperion, Xander sounded as pissed off as he felt, and he was glad. Angel heaved himself off of Xander’s body. When he threw himself back onto the bed, he chuckled tiredly before rolling to stand.
“Not perfect happiness, but we can work on it. I’m afraid I’m gonna need a little more emotional investment from you, Xander. I’m disappointed. I expected more loathing.”
Xander could feel the blood sliding thickly from the twin marks on his throat…it grossly echoed the come sliding thickly from his ass. He just wanted Angel to go away and leave him alone.
He had a bitter taste in his mouth, like chalky aspirin. “I always knew you were just like Angelus. You never fooled me, you know.”
Angel laughed, low and mocking, and Xander turned his head away, angry at himself for saying anything. Big fingers were gentle when the turned his face back.
Angel was dressed now. He sighed at him in mock exasperation. “Xander, Xander, Xander. It never would have been like this with Angelus.” Angel paused, stroking one finger softly down Xander’s face. “Well, actually, it would have been a little like this. He would have tied you here like this, but…there would have been a lot more bleeding. And the removal of organs through unusual orifices.” Angel’s eyes skipped down Xander’s naked body, and Xander fought the urge to twist away modestly. Not like it had done him any good the first time. “Woulda been a shame. Your navel wouldn’t look nearly so fuckable with a loop of intestine pulled through.”
Without warning, Angel’s mouth swooped down to hoover the drying semen from Xander’s lower belly, tongue fucking the hollow of his navel, and Xander cried out and arched up into the sensation, body still humming and overly sensitive.
Xander hated himself for the reaction.
Angel stood and straightened himself, smirking down at Xander’s glittering eyes. He took a deep, showy breath and sighed happily. “God, I love the smell of self-loathing in the morning. Keep this up, you might find out all about Angelus after all.”
Angel laughed. Xander turned his head away, tucking it safely into his shoulder so that the sick fuck couldn’t derive whatever pleasure out of his misery. Angel laughed harder and gave a friendly clap-squeeze on Xander’s thigh, startlingly close to his balls. Xander was proud that he jumped only a little.
“Bye for now, lover.”
With that echo of Angelus, the door clicked closed softly, and Xander heard Angel retreat down the hall. Eventually it was so quiet in the hotel, Xander suspected he had left altogether. Xander tugged once more on his restraints for good measure, but it was no use.
He was stuck, and there was nothing he could do until Angel came back, to fuck him again. Xander closed his eyes against the wash of shameguiltpleasurefear the thought carried.
Then he left them closed and tried to get some sleep. He didn’t want to be conscious any more.
~*~*~*~
part 2 is here
A/N: before I posted this publicly, I asked a few folks to trouble-shoot with me on specific questions. so if anything seems weird about the first few comments, that's what it is.
sparrow2000, who gave me a good chunk of her time for betaing and idea-bouncing. Thanks and curses to sexymermaid who prodded me relentlessly until it was done—the whole SEVEN MONTHS that I was working on it. Haha.Please heed the warnings, so that we don’t make each other cry later. This fic has 3 parts, and is completed. my plan is to post part 2 on Saturday and part 3 on Monday, though I might stretch it out over a longer period than that if response seems slow.
Warnings: Angel/Xander is the pairing, but it’s not shippy…in other words, they are not destined for a romantic ending. *This is darkfic.* Non-con and mindfucking like woah. additionally, there are some aspects of this fic that I cannot warn you about, because they would spoil the effect.
Title: The Void
Author: Mel (
btvslover82)Pairing: Angel/Xander, Xander/other
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Xander’s in the wrong place at the wrong time again, poor schmuck.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Warnings listed above. Do I need to say it again? this is darkfic.
A/N: This fic takes place in a slightly AU Bs5/As2. In As2 Reprise, Darla does not show up at the Hyperion after Angel discovers the home office is on earth—Xander does. As2 proceeds a little differently in this ‘verse…everything is explained eventually. The biggest thing to realize is that Angel has been driven farther into his own personal darkness than he was in canon. He’s pretty bat-shit here.
~*~*~*~
The first thing that tipped Xander off to the wrongness in LA was a lack of Jimmy Choo’s.
Cordelia had a long habit of removing her shoes whenever there were books to be read. She used to do that in the library during after-school research parties, and Xander liked her feet, so sometimes they had to sneak off to the janitor’s closet. She so did that on purpose, but it took him a long time to figure that out, because women were wily, and Xander was a sucker.
But there were no shoes under Cordelia’s desk at the Hyperion, as there had been all the other times Xander had visited her in LA, between apocalypses. And if there were no shoes, that meant there was no Cordelia. And it was business hours. If Cordelia Chase were not steadfastly awaiting money, or potential money, that was a bad bad thing. Xander had always been pussy-whipped for a good little capitalist.
Now that he noticed the absence of footwear, Xander noticed that the lobby of the hotel was stiflingly quiet. Eerie quiet. Hellmouthy quiet, and if Xander’d had any survival instinct at all, he would have hightailed it out of there.
But Buffy really needed that thingamajig to fight off a skanky hellgod, and really, there was a reason Xander was the Zeppo.
So instead of running away as fast as his little legs would carry him, he called out to Angel, and wandered further into the hotel.
His voice echoed off the parquet. The hotel felt empty, but Deadboy was one creepy-stealthy dude, so you never knew, with him. One thing was sure, though. Cordy and Wes and that other guy, Gunn, had left abruptly. Their desks were in disarray, as though interrupted from a normal day’s work, with no time or opportunity to straighten up before closing time. Wes’s workspace was littered with old tomes as carelessly as the pile of Penthouse next to Xander’s toilet, and the day he did that on purpose was the day Xander ate the guy’s old tweed suit. He seemed to have loosened up fractionally since his stick-in-the-ass Watcher days, but…he wasn’t that loose.
The badness amplified when Xander approached the bathroom, intent on relieving himself of the Big Gulp he’d sucked down on the way here. The carpet squished under his shoes where it met bathroom tile, and a nudge on the door revealed a layer of water covering the floor. The toilet was overflowing, unheeded.
Xander’s skin crawled. Queen C? She didn’t tolerate malfunction in her throne. Xander felt extremely unsettled now, and kept a nervous eye on the door as he shut off the steady stream from the toilet tank.
He peed in the small cubicle shower, which…rude and slightly unsanitary, but desperate times, and not even his growing heeby-jeebies could eclipse the ache in his bladder. But he was almost too nervous to release a stream, and as soon as nature was done with its social call, he was getting the hell out of here. He’d search the kitchen for uh…bodies, or something, and then he’d run on back to Sunnydale. They could do without the whatchamacallit. Or better yet, he’d go to Cordy’s apartment, and in a good world he’d find her there, and they’d hunt down the thing themselves.
But the thing was, Xander just wasn’t sure it was a good world. In fact, he knew it wasn’t.
So, body-checking in the kitchen, it was.
There were no bodies in the kitchen (including the food pantry, which he checked, because Angelus had a sick sense of humor, and Angel was a remarkably tidy man). However, there was a visible layer of dust on everything other than the fridge handle and the microwave. The significance of that didn’t escape him.
There was something wrong here. Very wrong.
“Hey, Xander.”
The voice was startlingly casual in the midst of all the Friday the Thirteenth creepiness, and if Xander jumped three feet and squeaked, it was just between him and the fridge and Angel’s smirk. Speaking of which….
Xander turned to see smirking Angel, as expected. Maybe. It had to be Angel. But Angel hardly ever had a facial expression, much less one that was so sharp and smug. So maybe this wasn’t Angel. Maybe this was….
“Angel!” Xander cleared his throat and tried for a manlier pitch. “Angel. You look uh….” Scary as hell. Kinda pissed off. Really evil. Like you’re playing with your food. “Hey, so I’m just going to cut to the chase, as they say here in Hollywood. Are you Angelus? Because you seem to be short a few humans.”
And Angel(us?) smiled this flinty little smile that made Xander’s balls try to crawl right into his pelvic cavity, because it wasn’t looking so safe on the outside. Angel was blocking the only exit. Fuck. Xander was an idiot.
“Where’s the trust, Xander? If I were Angelus, wouldn’t you be dead right now?”
His tone was lilting, like a mockery of Angelus, but the body language was all soully—intimidating, but stiff. Houston, we have mixed signals.
“See, I’m not so sure about that. Because from what I remember, Angelus likes to take his time and fuck with people for a while before he rips their entrails out.”
And wow, Xander needed to invest in some duct tape for his big fat mouth, because something about that sentence made Angel(us?)’s eyes light up, and when faced with a choice between the two happy-making options there, Xander voted for ‘entrails.’ Not a classic preference, sure, but Angelus? Probably not a considerate lover. Any fucking with people would probably involve the ripping of entrails anyway and….
Woah. So not thinking about that. Metaphorical fucking. As in, head games. No need to jump to the Big Gay Sex. Angelus would be a lot more likely to chain him up in the basement to toy with the Scoobies than to bend him over the counter and….
Holy crap, definitely no need for blood to rush in that direction. It was a known fact of the universe that penises had no common sense, but this was really not the time for secret man-lusting. Mortal danger. Do you hear that down there? Mortal. Danger.
The source of penile confusion was probably that Xander used to have dreams…very disturbing, unwanted dreams that started out just like this. His penis apparently did not understand that this particular scenario was unlikely to end with fuzzy handcuffs and Cool Whip, and was doing its best to cheerlead them to that end.
His penis was an idiot.
Angel(us?) smirked at Xander in a knowing way, dark eyes sliding slickly down Xander’s body until they rested on the treacherous, disobeying bulge in his pants. His hands flew over his crotch, as if that did any good, and Angel(us?) laughed, and the sound made a shiver zing up Xander’s spine, because Angel had never made a sound like that before.
When he had a soul, that is.
“So uh…” Xander cleared his throat. Dammit, he was a man now, not a nervous little boy but goddonthurtmeplease. “Where is everybody? Cordy? Wes?”
Way to sound authoritative. As authoritative as a hall monitor about to get a wedgie.
Deadboy, in whatever form, suddenly gave him a look of extremely perverse amusement. “You know what, they’re in hell.” He started to laugh again, muttering something about a home office, and Xander’s blood ran cold.
Oh god, Cordy….
“Goddammit. Who fucked you this time?” It wasn’t quite what Xander meant to say, but…pertinent.
He regretted the question when Angel became intensely serious all of a sudden and advanced on him, quick and graceful, too close too fast. Close enough to cage Xander in against the counter. He tried to scramble backwards but only succeeded in rapping his knuckles on the flour jar and yelping.
Angel was too big, pressed right up against Xander without actually pressing, and he smelled oddly good, like expensive cologne and man. It didn’t quiet Xander’s spiking pheromones, and even though now was not the time to explore his repressed sexuality, Xander had no doubt what Angel was sensing when hard glittery eyes swept down Xander’s body and back. Was it possible that an erection was somehow an adaptive fear response? Fight, flight, or…bone?
“No one’s fucked me yet, Xander. Volunteering?” The question was oddly detached, impartial, as though Angel weren’t all over him like a polyester suit.
Xander laughed, but it sounded like hyperventilating. “I don’t really go in for necrophil—AH!”
And that time he had squeaked but you’re goddamn right he squeaked because Angel had him by the nuts—actually, the whole damn package, in that big hand of his—and if that wasn’t a cause for squeaking, then what was? Angel wasn’t squeezing, yet, but he was applying the kind of grip that suggested that squeezing might be imminent. Angel’s sharky smile was even and white and somehow just as deadly as his piranha-face would be.
Oh god.
“Silly me. Here I was, thinking that that’s exactly what you went in for.” The heel of Angel’s hand pressed and rubbed in a way that was oooohhhh god, and there was a wet spot blooming in his boxers, and Xander Harris was the easiest manwhore ever. Here in bizarro world.
Especially when Angel(us?) nuzzled his extremely lethal face into the crook of Xander’s throat and sniffed, and there was a brush of lips, and Xander’s pelvis jerked.
“Goddamn, you smell good.” And then there was a cold wet tongue, taste-testing. Exploring his flesh in a functional way that really shouldn’t make his cock throb, but Xander was never such a lucky guy. Obviously. “Terror and lust and loathing. But I always liked a little bit of….” Angel paused, brought up short by a thought. He reared back and the look on his face was sincere, and Xander recognized with utter clarity who was in there. Angelus’ attempts to be Angel had always been too contrite, unconvincing. Only the true broody one could brood that well. He was the master.
And more importantly—why would Angelus be using the microwave when he could tap his meal straight from the source?
“I still have my soul. Sorry I put you on.”
The confirming reassurance was completely non-sequitor to the sniffing and licking and grip on his manly bits, but its abruptness didn’t stop the wave of relief, and the glimmer of a feeling that he’d make it out alive, once Angel was done with whatever perverse mid-life crisis was going on at Xander’s crotch.
Angel sighed happily and leaned back into his throat. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.” And whatever Angel was smelling now, it must be like catnip for vampires, because Angel was rubbing his face on Xander’s throat, and his hand on Xander’s dick, and Xander was whimpering.
“One more thing though,” Angel murmured low, right up against his ear, and Xander could hardly concentrate now, what with the pumping and the stroking. His attention was thrown off his cock, however, by a cracking-shifting noise that was wayyyy too familiar, and made his balls tighten in the terror-shrinking way. There was more scrambling on his part, but Angel was holding him fast by the scruff. And let’s not forget, by the cock.
“A soul doesn’t mean a fucking thing. It took me more than a hundred years to realize that, Xander. I think you might have caught on quicker, but I’m not sure you have that kind of time on your hands.”
And then there was a crippling pain in his neck (ha) and the rending of flesh, and suction, and then everything got a whole lot dimmer, and Xander’s last thought was that he’d miscalculated again, but at least it would be the last time.
~*~*~*~
Xander awoke…alive. Pulse? Check. A steady need for oxygen? Check. Fledgy bloodlust? Conspicuously absent. Though why the fuck Angel would want to turn him was a mystery, so his persistent humanity made a lot of sense. Why he was waking up at all…that remained to be seen.
Of course, he could just ask Deadboy, since he was conveniently located on top of Xander. Settled in comfy, like he’d been there a while.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” Angel was sort of…smiling at him, with a kind of dry benevolence.
It wasn’t until Xander tried to move that he found his wrists strapped to the headboard. No give to them. Just the small movement of tugging sent out a spark of prickliness from his ailing circulation, and it made him wonder how long he’d been out.
“Angel, you asshole, let me—”
“Open wide!” Suddenly there was splatter of orange juice flowing down towards Xander’s mouth and he had to open or let the stuff splash sticky all over his face. He choked on the sweetness at the back of his throat, and forced himself to swallow as the stuff just kept coming.
“You know, Xander, you’re a natural at that. It’ll come in handy later. Probably isn’t going to taste as good as OJ, but if you’re polite about it, I’ll rinse your mouth out afterwards.”
“You fucking pervert I’m not going to ghehghghggh….” Here’s a fun fact—it may be hazardous to your health to attempt speech when a tasty beverage is being poured intently down your throat. Angel stopped and waited politely while he choked and coughed.
Xander decided to try a different tack, because Angel almost looked reasonable right now. In a psychotic way. And you know, he didn’t seem to want Xander dead—the life-sustaining blood sugar gave him away. Not that he’d trust the guy as far as he could throw him, but Xander did trust that the disproportionate amount of guilt Angel suffered from could be played upon.
Optimism demanded that Xander overlook the fact that he was already naked.
“Angel. I don’t really know what’s been happening around here, but let’s not be so hasty about the uh…bondage, okay? We all have our, um…moments, but we wouldn’t want anything to happen that you might regret. Right? So why don’t you just untie me, and I promise I’ll never mention this to the Buffster. Our little…kinky…secret.”
Angel narrowed his eyes and considered Xander through the dark slits. Finally, he shook his head. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to regret this at all. Just the opposite. Thanks for your concern though.”
Xander was momentarily stunned out of quippiness. “Angel, you can’t be serious. Let me up. You have to.”
Angel studied him seriously. “I’ve come to a few conclusions about my destiny lately, Xander. Important ones, for me—and right now, for you. Do you know what they are?”
“Uh…no?” Jesus. Leave it to him to be stuck with a vampire in the middle of an existential crisis. If he weren’t currently tied to that vampire’s bed, sans clothing, he would have laughed.
“This atonement business is a total crock. I’m never going to make up for everything I’ve done, because they don’t want me to make up for it. No matter how hard I try, they’re out to screw me. The Powers, and Wolfram and Hart. The world is not a fair place, Xander—I know it, and you know it. So what I think, is that my so-called destiny can fuck right off. I don’t want to be this guy anymore. So we’re going to have a little fun, you and I. And I think that if I have enough time to make you all…conflicted and self-loathing, that might just make me happy enough that I don’t have to be this guy anymore.
“So no, Xander, I won’t be letting you up.”
….Jesus Christ. Xander really wished Angel was still laconic-guy. Because when the man talked, he had a habit of being frighteningly honest, and that had been a little piece of enlightenment that Xander really didn’t need.
“Look, Angel, it’s obvious you’re going through a…rough patch, but you shouldn’t talk like….ha. ha. Um….”
And apparently they were done with the speaking portion of the evening, because Angel’s mouth was now latched over Xander’s scar-to-be, and Xander hated that his heartbeat picked up pace out of something other than sheer terror, that his neck stretched of its own accord, opening under the soft, dry lips.
He felt Angel smile against his neck, and he tried withdrawing the invitation, turning his face back towards the ceiling to cut off access to his neck, but Angel simply shifted to suck on Xander’s adam’s apple. A fingernail, a short, edgy crescent, drew sharply from Xander’s nipple over his abdomen before slicing slyly into the curly hair at the base of Xander’s cock—not drawing blood, just scratching the surface. Xander hated his own shiver from the sharp caress, almost as much as he hated his gratitude.
Gratitude that it was Angel that had him chained. If it were Angelus, he would have been feeling a knife.
Or a fang. A slice so precise and sharp that it was hardly felt at all, till you were hemorrhaging blood, open wide. Xander shuddered at the ghost of the torture, and knew that’s what Angel wanted.
Angel nuzzled breathlessly against Xander’s ear, making quicksilver pool hot in his belly, and Xander couldn’t pretend this was Anya, even when he closed his eyes and tried. Angel was too big, too male, too darkly calculating where Anya was frank and eager. She would have been panting in that ear and clutching at his dick already, but Angel just nudged and nibbled, inexorable, and Xander was strung tight with expectation.
Strung so tight that when Angel finally did touch his dick, a single light fingertip doing something suspiciously like tickling, Xander gasped a breath that stuck in his throat, body vibrating in a tight shudder.
Angel laughed quietly in his ear, the sudden expelling of breath shocking after none. “Somebody’s hot for it.”
Xander felt his whole face turn red, and for a second, he was so pissed off he forgot to be turned on, thrashing his weight upwards futilely, in an effort to dislodge Angel, spitting mad, literally spitting. Angel was still laughing, the prick, and—
All of that momentum, emotional and physical, died suddenly when Angel caught his hips and ground Xander up against the hard cock covered in soft designer slacks. Angel knelt there, clutching his ass so that Xander’s body was bowed off the bed, helpless to gain any movement other than the humping Angel was forcing his body into, though his body tried to assist, in jerky little thrusts. Xander bit his lip hard to keep from crying out as the thrusting grew faster and those eyes bore into him, and he was leaving dark wet trails all over Angel’s pants and he was so close so close and Xander would have had to bite clean through his lip to contain the word “Fuck!” that tore from him when he dangled right on the edge and Angel
Dropped his body abruptly onto the bed and got up.
And Xander wanted to…cry or rage at him or tell him to get the fuck over here and finish what he started, but he shouldn’t want that, and anyway, Angel was undressing now methodically, and Xander realized he was going to.
Finish what he started.
And the realization made Xander’s lower body twist defensively, curling his ass away from Angel and bringing his knees up to shield his swollen sex. Angel merely lifted an eyebrow at the shift, and it did nothing to soothe the aching vulnerability of his position.
Especially when Angel dropped those slacks and Xander found he couldn’t stop staring. At that. That, which was going to go in there, whether Xander wanted it to or not. And it was probably pretty average, for all Xander knew, but right now it was growing before him to epic proportions. The cock that took Tokyo and survived for the death match with King Kong.
Now was the time for panicking and B-movie references.
When Angel knee-walked onto the bed, stroking Godzilla, Xander’s hips awkwardly scuttled away of their own volition, making for the headboard as though twisting himself into a pretzel could improve their predicament. Angel seized them with one big hand, incongruously gentle, and twisted them back around to their rightful place.
“Not gonna hurt you.” Angel’s voice was oddly calming, like someone speaking to a madman. And just now he felt mad so that might be why the tone actually worked, soothed him a little, until Angel rolled Xander’s legs upward, exposing him. His panic level shot back into the stratosphere then, and his body jerked spasmodically when Angel’s finger whispered, feather-light, over Xander’s no-go zone. His body clutched shut in response, a wary little anemone, and Angel grinned smugly.
“Mmm-mmm-mmm. Look at that. God, Xander, you might just make me happy enough after all.”
Xander gritted his teeth against the squirm he felt brought on by the finger lightly ringing his hole. “Short trip, turning one rapist into another.”
Angel looked momentarily annoyed at the implication, but it was a mere flicker in his composure. “Not rape.”
Xander was incredulous. “It’s not.”
Angel shook his head, a dark half-smile playing at his mouth. “Nope. Your body wants it, Xander.”
Xander stared, ridiculously mired in every Lifetime movie the girls had ever forced him to watch, then exploded with fury—not a little bit because he wasn’t really fighting it, was he? Not that it would have done any good. Had his knees pulled up like a good little boy and—“That’s BULLSHIT. You have me chained to your bed, you sick FUCK! ”
When Angel uncoiled lazily on top of him and pressed him into the mattress, Xander’s lungs felt flattened for reasons beyond the obvious. Angel’s cock was rubbing against his own, and his jaw was gripped in a big hand, face pulled to the side so Angel could breath lies…truths…facts…something, into his ear.
“I know you, Xander. I see you. I’ve been you. Now, Liam, he was a party boy and he liked to think he did every deviant thing under the sun to anger his da, but there was one line he never crossed—until he died—though he wanted to. He had no hypothetical objection to the love between men, as long as it wasn’t him getting buggered. However you take your pleasure, but it wasn’t for him. Or so he said. But—”
The tip of a cold tongue flickered against Xander’s ear like an accident, and his hips jerked up against the pelvis grinding subtly into his own. Angel wasn’t forcing Xander’s face aside any longer…there was no need, because Xander wasn’t struggling. He lay frozen with his ear turned up to listen and his eyes squeezed shut to pretend he wasn’t. He wasn’t breathing quite right, and Angel’s fingers were tracing soft patterns over his cheek, nose, eyes, mouth. The touch was hypnotic. The cadence. The words….
“At night, you see, it was a different matter altogether. Or I should say, in the early morning hours, after he’d been in his cups. He’d touch himself, which was sin enough to be sure, but his thoughts…well, they weren’t of the barmaid, you understand. No, at those times, it was animal rutting between hard bodies. Jamming his cock into dirty places and taking what he wanted…men were supposed to do that….”
Angel’s hand left his face and his body shifted slightly to the right as Xander’s leg was hitched over his waist. This time, when the fingertip traced his hole, it didn’t clench. It quivered, and Xander felt his whole body do the same, a tight vibration of emotion…scared and horny and angry and freaked out, because how did Angel know what was in his head? And since when did he have anything in common with this asshole?
“But that wasn’t his dirtiest secret. Are you paying attention, Xander? Because I think you’ll really like this part. Sometimes, those drunken nights, he wasn’t the one doing the taking. Sometimes, it was he that was helpless, letting another man push into his body and use him like a woman until his eyes rolled back in his head. He wasn’t supposed to want that, but those nights, he came so hard in his own hand that it felt like dying.” A smile crept into the rumbling voice. “Which is ironic, if you think about it.”
Xander’s heart was pounding. He stared at the wallpaper that was peeling away in the corner. It was all so terribly true, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He felt stripped bare and so desperate for…fuck, he hated that he was angry now at the way Angel’s finger teased, and he had the insane urge to beg for more, but…he wouldn’t. But he could tell by the smile against his ear that his body was betraying itself in the way it rocked back into the large hand. Inviting. He wanted to cry, or…something.
“I knew this boy, when I’d lived another century and nothing seemed like too much of a sin. Well, I knew a lot of boys, back then, but this one in particular. He was just like us, Xander. So in denial, clinging to his weak, human notions of perversion, but Christ, he wanted it. I had to tie him down, too, the first time. Spat and scratched like a wild cat, but it wasn’t all anger. Never seen a man so made to take cock, and he thanked me. Repeatedly. For decades. So, you can be angry, but in the end, I know. All I’m doing is giving you what you’re too ashamed to ask for. Isn’t that right?”
Xander was about to set Angel straight. It couldn’t be true, that wasn’t quite right, even though he worried sickly that maybe it was more accurate than he’d ever want to admit. His mind flickered to all those dreams, so much like this. But he hadn’t wanted what happened in those dreams, they’d just been….
So Xander was about to tell him he was wrong, but suddenly that thick, circling finger pressed into his flesh. It slid through just a little before Xander could clench against the dry friction. Xander’s eyes glazed and the argument fell away because his thoughts were riveted on the…sudden and unexpected discomfort, and the sensitivity. Not pain and not pleasure, precisely, but it was strange and…actually, kind of good and…. “Oh.”
Angel wore a self-satisfied look that Xander wanted to punch off his face but then he applied something from a tube to his still embedded finger, and there was a little less friction and more of a sliding-filling, and Xander’s whole body was held rigid against the feeling.
“Relaaaxx,” Angel drawled, and even in his strange stunned numbness, Xander was annoyed.
“You relax, I’ve got a finger up my—Oh. God.” Xander gasped and began to pant a little, body suddenly and unexpectedly pulsing with pleasure and his hips convulsed upwards, driven by a sudden compulsion to fuck himself up into something that wasn’t there. Or back onto Angel’s finger, which most definitely was there…riiiight there, at the spot he’d read about but never…understood.
And Xander was still pulsing, and thrusting, and sweating, through the slow burn and stretch of another finger, deeper, wider, until Angel was fucking two thick digits into him while he moaned helplessly and tried not to look at Angel’s face…hiding from what was happening.
But that wasn’t allowed. Xander understood that he wasn’t allowed to forget, to simply feel, when Angel was finally hovering over him, slick cock pressing insistently against Xander’s body. Because Angel started talking.
“Wanted to do this for so long,” Angel groaned, and even though the head of his cock was burning its way into Xander’s body, that statement had his attention.
“Whaaa—Ahh!” And there it was, Angel’s cock pushed through some resistance and slid into Xander’s body in a way that simultaneously felt Oh god, wrongwaywrongwaywrongway and Jeeeeezus Christ yes, because unlike Angel’s fingers that only hit his prostate with probing, the thickness of his cock pressed firmly against it consistently as he slid through.
Angel hissed in a sucking breath. “Ah. Yeah. Wanted to climb on top of you every time you taunted me, Xander.”
Xander’s head spun with the slow withdrawal of Angel’s cock and the implication of what Angel was saying. Did Angel—?
“Every time you made some smart-assed crack about my hair or my age or my lack of a pulse, I just wanted to fuck the respect right back into you.” Angel slammed roughly back into Xander, and Xander cried out, because ahh! and because he got it, and he was red-faced that he’d thought for a moment….
Angel had a grip now on his hips, driving his cock into Xander like he meant to compress things inside…and god help him, it was so good, and he actually wanted more, faster harder, hurtier. But that was awful and wrong so he tried his best to block that out, to smudge that wrong desire like graphite under the near-pain of his coming orgasm.
Angel was far more dignified than he should be, collected and breathless despite the growing heaviness of his expression. So collected, he hadn’t lost the thread of conversation.
“Because you don’t think I’m such a pansy now, do you?” When Xander didn’t respond, a hand tightened on his face enough to break through the steady pounding against his prostate, and Xander gasped and shook his head no, because a negative answer of some sort was required.
Angel lunged forward suddenly and struck, fangs imbedding themselves into Xander’s throat and his hips were pistoning harder and the adrenaline that shot through Xander at the bite made his vision blur but Angel wasn’t feeding. He was just hanging on, hooked in, and the wash of relief Xander felt pulled his orgasm with it, and his hips jerked as he came all over himself. A few vicious thrusts later and Angel shuddered too, and Xander felt himself fill with a cool, viscous substance that he’d rather not dwell on.
Because ‘I’ve got Angel’s come up my ass’ was not the type of thought Xander Harris had ever wanted to have.
Angel’s weight was heavy on Xander’s body, but Xander had come back to himself far too quickly, and his legs were folded painfully under the vampire’s cold weight. When it became apparent that Angel had no intention of moving, Xander bucked, wincing at the pull of the fangs still buried in his throat.
Angel’s only immediate movement was to withdraw them, and to begin licking the blood that welled up with broad strokes of his tongue. It gave Xander a welcome shudder of revulsion.
“Stop licking me like a damn ice cream cone and get the fuck off me.” For the first time since he’d arrived at the Hyperion, Xander sounded as pissed off as he felt, and he was glad. Angel heaved himself off of Xander’s body. When he threw himself back onto the bed, he chuckled tiredly before rolling to stand.
“Not perfect happiness, but we can work on it. I’m afraid I’m gonna need a little more emotional investment from you, Xander. I’m disappointed. I expected more loathing.”
Xander could feel the blood sliding thickly from the twin marks on his throat…it grossly echoed the come sliding thickly from his ass. He just wanted Angel to go away and leave him alone.
He had a bitter taste in his mouth, like chalky aspirin. “I always knew you were just like Angelus. You never fooled me, you know.”
Angel laughed, low and mocking, and Xander turned his head away, angry at himself for saying anything. Big fingers were gentle when the turned his face back.
Angel was dressed now. He sighed at him in mock exasperation. “Xander, Xander, Xander. It never would have been like this with Angelus.” Angel paused, stroking one finger softly down Xander’s face. “Well, actually, it would have been a little like this. He would have tied you here like this, but…there would have been a lot more bleeding. And the removal of organs through unusual orifices.” Angel’s eyes skipped down Xander’s naked body, and Xander fought the urge to twist away modestly. Not like it had done him any good the first time. “Woulda been a shame. Your navel wouldn’t look nearly so fuckable with a loop of intestine pulled through.”
Without warning, Angel’s mouth swooped down to hoover the drying semen from Xander’s lower belly, tongue fucking the hollow of his navel, and Xander cried out and arched up into the sensation, body still humming and overly sensitive.
Xander hated himself for the reaction.
Angel stood and straightened himself, smirking down at Xander’s glittering eyes. He took a deep, showy breath and sighed happily. “God, I love the smell of self-loathing in the morning. Keep this up, you might find out all about Angelus after all.”
Angel laughed. Xander turned his head away, tucking it safely into his shoulder so that the sick fuck couldn’t derive whatever pleasure out of his misery. Angel laughed harder and gave a friendly clap-squeeze on Xander’s thigh, startlingly close to his balls. Xander was proud that he jumped only a little.
“Bye for now, lover.”
With that echo of Angelus, the door clicked closed softly, and Xander heard Angel retreat down the hall. Eventually it was so quiet in the hotel, Xander suspected he had left altogether. Xander tugged once more on his restraints for good measure, but it was no use.
He was stuck, and there was nothing he could do until Angel came back, to fuck him again. Xander closed his eyes against the wash of shameguiltpleasurefear the thought carried.
Then he left them closed and tried to get some sleep. He didn’t want to be conscious any more.
~*~*~*~
part 2 is here
A/N: before I posted this publicly, I asked a few folks to trouble-shoot with me on specific questions. so if anything seems weird about the first few comments, that's what it is.
