The Void, dark Angel/Xander (part 2 of 3)
Mar. 2nd, 2007 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thatotherpervWarnings: Angel/Xander is the pairing, but it’s not shippy *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 (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
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.
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.
previous parts here
~*~*~*~*~
Xander awoke to a muted but insistent buzzing sound. It took him a few groggy moments to become aware of it, and then he strained upward so hard in an effort to locate the source of the noise that he nearly dislocated his shoulder.
His cell phone. It was set to vibrate, no doubt buried in the folded stack of his clothing in the far corner.
Angel was such an anal-retentive headcase.
Xander collapsed against the bed, listening to the futile sound that called to him. He guessed by the light coming in the heavily curtained windows that it was midday. It had been late afternoon when he’d arrived in LA, the shadows drawing long. That meant he had been chained to this bed for almost a day.
They must be wondering what had happened to him, in Sunnydale. He wondered who was calling…Anya, or Willow, or Buffy, or Giles. As time wore on and the buzzing stopped and started in fits, he realized it could be any of them. Likely, all of them.
He hadn’t been meant to stay in LA more than a few hours, and they were in a desperate state of affairs with Glory. Time was drawing short, and the bitch had them always on the run. They couldn’t spare anyone else, no matter how much they needed that device. They’d be forced to make due without it, to change tactics.
Which probably meant no one else was coming for him, even though they’d worry.
~*~*~*~
“Honey, I’m home.”
Xander must have dozed again, after his morose discovery that he was on his own…because the smart slamming of the bedroom door brought him to with a jolt.
Angel was studying him with detachment, in the process of stripping his button-down off of his body.
“Had a hard day at the office, and you know how I get when things aren’t going my way at work. It makes me cranky.” Angel dropped his pants, laying the slacks neatly over one armchair and crawling onto the bed so that he straddled Xander’s chest. His cock waved obscenely in Xander’s face, and damned if his own didn’t get interested.
Traitor. Kinky traitor.
“One sure-fire way to cure me from feeling all grumpy,” Angel sing-songed. He rubbed the head of his cock coyly against Xander’s lips, smearing pre-come there.
Xander hated him.
“You bast—aghn!” Xander’s mouth was stretched around Angel’s dick before he could even complete an insult and his outrage didn’t matter, because Angel just smiled and held his cock at a downward angle, thrusting carefully down into Xander’s mouth.
“Thanks. You’re a real pal.”
~*~*~*~
Angel never touched him when they fucked.
Well, he touched Xander, but not where it counted. Not where it would have given Xander an excuse for the way he came every damn time. The old ‘every man would come eventually with a tight fist wrapped around his cock’ was not a valid excuse he could comfort himself with in the dark, when Angel had gone away and left him alone with his thoughts.
No, Xander came just from being fucked. He understood, abstractly, the wonders of the prostate gland. God knew he understood it by experience, now. The way that Angel would ram his cock up against it with speeding strokes until Xander was shouting and squirming, until he was numb with the pleasure of it, until he was hitting it so fast that it became one long, plateauing sensation that blended so seamlessly with his orgasm that sometimes Xander wasn’t even cognizant of where one ended and the other began, until he came to, sticky with sweat and blood and come.
But it was more than just that—this high that he got from being used by Angel. More than physiology, or his apparent (and very disturbing!) kink for masochism.
It was Russian Roulette. It made everything sharper. The icy, slick fear of never knowing who he was gonna be looking at when he was fully conscious again, even though Xander had sincere doubts that he could give Angel a real happy. Not from the sex, at least. But Xander was afraid that one of these times, he’d do the unthinkable and let the tears slip that sometimes wanted to come, not from pain but from the humiliation of liking it, of liking the way that Angel pressed him down and took him hard and called him names, and Angel would take a little too much sadistic pleasure in that, and pop goes the weasel, Xander gets his throat ripped out.
Because this Angel wasn’t the Angel he’d known and resented (but never really feared) in Sunnydale. And it wasn’t quite Angelus either, although he was trying his damndest to be. This Angel was off his nut, and a little unpredictable, and a lot mean. Xander had no idea how he got this way, but he wouldn’t stick around to find out if given the chance to cut and run.
But somehow none of that stopped Xander from getting pleasure from it. He came harder with Angel than he ever had in his life. And he sincerely wished he could blame that on the treacherous little lump of flesh up his butt.
~*~*~*~
Xander was just starting to feel a little reprieve from his constant soreness when Angel opened the door to the suite. He was pretty sure he’d been left alone all night, and he wasn’t so raw anymore, but he could have done with a few days—hell, millennia—without Angel’s particular brand of fun.
More wary-making was the fact that the guy looked…different. More sober, not chatty and taunting, as he had been. Xander was still trying to gauge what this meant when Angel pulled a key out of his pocket and casually flicked the cuffs off of Xander’s wrists.
Xander drew a complete and total blank for sixty long seconds.
And then he was scrambling up, ignoring the fiery pain of his body in a surge to go-run-live before Angel changed his mind. He hadn’t even made it out of the bed before Angel clamped a big hand down on his shoulder and held him back.
“Not so fast. We’re not done yet. But you’re starting to get a little rank.”
Rage geysered faithfully. “Yeah, well if you didn’t keep me chained to your goddamn bed for—” How long had he been here? Two weeks? Three?
Angel looked strangely tired—defeated and irritable, and wasn’t that supposed to be Xander’s gig right now? “Five days.”
Five days. Five days? That was it? It had felt like an eternity. The strong emotion pumping through him crumpled a little in the face of that shock.
“Come on.”
Angel guided him into the bathroom, and Xander didn’t put up a fuss. Scared to, even though Angel seemed almost down-trodden today. The bastard could turn on a dime, as he’d found out the hard way, and he’d learned he had to expect anything.
Xander was surprised, however, when Angel just gave him a little shove into the small bathroom and closed the door between them. He hadn’t expected to be left alone. Uncuffed. Upright.
Xander stood for a moment, dazed and achy, before he got some sense and moved over to the shower, stepping carefully into bathtub because as loathsome as his manly bits were these days, he’d rather not smush them, thanks. Fifty percent of all accidents happened in the home, especially when it was the home of a lunatic vampire that was keeping you prisoner.
He showered hot, massaging some of Angel’s fruity shampoo into his grease-tangled hair, and leaving the conditioner sit like Anya had taught him. Anya…the image of her that popped into his head sliced him open in a way that he couldn’t afford right now, so he shoved it back down. Ruthlessly strangled the thoughts of engagement rings and happily-ever-afters that he’d probably never see. He washed himself clinically with a soapy cloth, not pausing to jack off, like he normally would at home.
Xander thought there was a good chance he’d never be horny again. But then Angel would touch him and….
He shuddered. Shoved that thought aside as well.
Xander turned into the spray to wash away the cream rinse, prolonging the bliss of hot water and solitude, and a moment of dignity where he could almost pretend he was home, and not stuck in this nightmare where the punchline was probably his corpse on Buffy’s doorstep.
When he opened his eyes, he screamed. Because Angel was in the shower with him. And he had a big-ass blade.
Xander didn’t even have time to scramble backwards before Angel was grabbing his face in one large hand and considering it critically. Xander just blinked when he was slathered with something thick and foamy, and Angel brought the blade up to his face.
Angel was shaving him. With a straight razor.
He would have laughed at the insanity, if a blood-hungry demon hadn’t been holding a very sharp implement to his throat.
When he was done, Angel pulled back and set the razor behind him. “Better,” he appraised. Today he seemed a little more…dare Xander say sane? It threw him off balance. He seemed almost normal if a little sad. If you could ever consider it normal for Xander to be naked in the shower with Angel.
But Xander was no longer fully on board the sane train himself, so yeah…it felt kind of normal.
And that’s when Angel kissed him.
Xander froze, brain blinking a big neon ‘what the fuck??’ insistently as Angel explored his mouth. All the shit that Angel had forced him to do over the last five days, and not once had his lips touched Xander’s. But now he was holding Xander’s face like they were lovers, and that gave Xander the wiggins almost as much as the mouth that was moving firmly but gently against his.
Freaked as he was about this turn of events, Xander was scared to startle Angel out of his moment. He flashed back hysterically to a paunchy Cub Scout leader lecturing that it was best to freeze in the face of a large predator. He’d been six, and there had been twinkies and soda and a sugar high that had his mother cussing the Boy Scouts later. Those were the good old days—back when he’d thought the biggest predator he was ever going to come up against was a stray dog. Somehow he didn’t think this was what the guy had been preparing him for. What with the Boy Scouts’ stance on the Big Gay Sex.
So in the interest of appeasing the wolf at his throat, Xander let the guy back him against the shower wall, and then Angel’s body was pressing and sliding against his wetly, and Angel was moaning, and the whole thing was surreal. Surreal, but not a physical deterrent, apparently. Because his dick was getting a little excited by all the rubbing and the happy noises, and the fact that for once, it didn’t seem like he was going to die anytime soon.
And that’s when Angel shocked the shit out of him again, by dropping to his knees in the swirling soapy water and licking Xander’s cock.
Xander flailed, finally finding a grip on the little soap rack. Angel wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing his face against Xander’s crotch like it was so much catnip, and the tiny nip he gave Xander’s lower belly had him jumping nearly out of his skin. That made Angel chuckle, in a not-homicidal way, and Xander had a serious case of the creeps.
Or he would, if Angel’s lips weren’t wrapping around his cock, sucking him off like an expert. And Xander could vouch now that Angel was.
Fuck. Fucking…shit, what the hell was this. Angel still wasn’t looking at him, just concentrating on his cock, and all that focus was paying off, because Xander was really desperately close to blowing his load, and he had no idea what was going to happen when he did.
Maybe he had been a little hasty on the whole ‘not dying anytime soon’ thing.
But before Xander could royally piss Angel off by coming down his throat, or—oh god—all over his face, Angel pulled away and stood smoothly, nudging Xander around to brace himself against the wall without ever looking at his face. And then he was stretching Xander open with care, and sliding inside.
They stood there for a moment, unmoving. Xander was trembling a little, and Angel was leaning into him, hips molded flush to Xander’s ass, groaning and burying his face in Xander’s squeaky clean hair. Xander’s heart was beating hard, and he felt like someone was standing on his chest. Forcing his breath to be painfully shallow.
Angel’s lips began to brush now over his neck and his shoulders, disconcertingly intimate. Xander had no idea what game they were playing, but when Angel pulled back and stroked into him, his movements were made with care. It was unlike anything he’d ever done to Xander. It felt good. His legs were shaking.
And his throat was a little tight. He would not go all Stockholm over a little softness. Fucking bastard. Undead asshole.
When a shower-warmed hand closed over Xander’s cock, he cried out in surprise. It felt like he hadn’t been touched in so long. So much neglect of that part of him, these last few days.
Xander’s forehead dropped down against his arm, and he couldn’t prevent the pathetic little noises that were escaping him as Angel continued to fuck him and touch him and kiss his skin as if he cared. Xander’s body pushed itself back into the attention, and he didn’t understand—
“Oh god, that’s right, boy,” a deep voice moaned in his ear. And before Xander could even think to object to that, Angel was fucking him harder, teeth scraping over his earlobe—“Fuck. William.”
Xander froze, and he swore that his heart stopped beating. William. As in—?
Angel was impatient with Xander’s hesitation, and took control of his hips, moving them back to crash into Angel’s as things became more intense. Ok, so this must be some kind of weird flashback thingie…somehow that was more bearable to Xander than the thought that Angel was fucking him this way, after everything.
Angel was moving frantically like he was getting close, and he clutched Xander closer, really throwing himself into the world’s best handjob, and when Angel gave a particularly rough twist, Xander let himself tip over the edge he’d been trembling on, convulsing and coming as silently as he could. Unobtrusive. Ashamed.
Angel was still going, faster and harder, squeezing Xander’s ribs so tight he could hardly breath. He buried his face in the crook of Xander’s throat. “Fuck, Wil—” the name was choked off. The body behind him shuddered and sniffed and corrected, “Xander. Xander,” and so Xander was feeling a little ill when Angel finally ground into him and he experienced that squishy feeling that he wished to god wasn’t familiar by now.
Xander collapsed forward against the shower wall, breathing hard. Didn’t have much choice about either of those things, now that Angel had slumped into him like a big dead weight, and released his body so that his lungs could pull in air greedily.
Xander had a strange feeling that Angel was looking at him, but it was his turn not to open his eyes, to be somewhere else in his head, and Angel could fuck off. He just left his cheek pressed into the tile and breathed for a minute. Or two.
“Why the hell are you doing this to me.”
Ok, so he hadn’t really meant to say that out loud. And no, those weren’t tears in his voice, because he was not a woman. Yet.
Angel pulled away, pulled out, and Xander heard the water hitting his body for a moment of sluicing before it was suddenly shut off. He finally opened his eyes and turned around.
Angel was pulling back the shower curtain with a metallic zing, and drying himself off, back to Xander. Xander stared blankly at that stupid tattoo the girls used to giggle over. When Angel finally turned back, his face was as cold and closed off as it had been before. Before he’d made love to Xander while moaning someone else’s name.
Angel tossed a towel at Xander, who felt naked, for more than the obvious reason.
“Dry off. Playtime’s over.”
Xander clutched the towel to him, feeling just a little batshit. He laughed. “Oh, so it’s back to the coal mines now.”
Angel shot him a reproachful little ha-ha look over his shoulder as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
Here’s to hoping the asshole had at least changed the sheets.
part 3 here
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.
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.
previous parts here
~*~*~*~*~
Xander awoke to a muted but insistent buzzing sound. It took him a few groggy moments to become aware of it, and then he strained upward so hard in an effort to locate the source of the noise that he nearly dislocated his shoulder.
His cell phone. It was set to vibrate, no doubt buried in the folded stack of his clothing in the far corner.
Angel was such an anal-retentive headcase.
Xander collapsed against the bed, listening to the futile sound that called to him. He guessed by the light coming in the heavily curtained windows that it was midday. It had been late afternoon when he’d arrived in LA, the shadows drawing long. That meant he had been chained to this bed for almost a day.
They must be wondering what had happened to him, in Sunnydale. He wondered who was calling…Anya, or Willow, or Buffy, or Giles. As time wore on and the buzzing stopped and started in fits, he realized it could be any of them. Likely, all of them.
He hadn’t been meant to stay in LA more than a few hours, and they were in a desperate state of affairs with Glory. Time was drawing short, and the bitch had them always on the run. They couldn’t spare anyone else, no matter how much they needed that device. They’d be forced to make due without it, to change tactics.
Which probably meant no one else was coming for him, even though they’d worry.
~*~*~*~
“Honey, I’m home.”
Xander must have dozed again, after his morose discovery that he was on his own…because the smart slamming of the bedroom door brought him to with a jolt.
Angel was studying him with detachment, in the process of stripping his button-down off of his body.
“Had a hard day at the office, and you know how I get when things aren’t going my way at work. It makes me cranky.” Angel dropped his pants, laying the slacks neatly over one armchair and crawling onto the bed so that he straddled Xander’s chest. His cock waved obscenely in Xander’s face, and damned if his own didn’t get interested.
Traitor. Kinky traitor.
“One sure-fire way to cure me from feeling all grumpy,” Angel sing-songed. He rubbed the head of his cock coyly against Xander’s lips, smearing pre-come there.
Xander hated him.
“You bast—aghn!” Xander’s mouth was stretched around Angel’s dick before he could even complete an insult and his outrage didn’t matter, because Angel just smiled and held his cock at a downward angle, thrusting carefully down into Xander’s mouth.
“Thanks. You’re a real pal.”
~*~*~*~
Angel never touched him when they fucked.
Well, he touched Xander, but not where it counted. Not where it would have given Xander an excuse for the way he came every damn time. The old ‘every man would come eventually with a tight fist wrapped around his cock’ was not a valid excuse he could comfort himself with in the dark, when Angel had gone away and left him alone with his thoughts.
No, Xander came just from being fucked. He understood, abstractly, the wonders of the prostate gland. God knew he understood it by experience, now. The way that Angel would ram his cock up against it with speeding strokes until Xander was shouting and squirming, until he was numb with the pleasure of it, until he was hitting it so fast that it became one long, plateauing sensation that blended so seamlessly with his orgasm that sometimes Xander wasn’t even cognizant of where one ended and the other began, until he came to, sticky with sweat and blood and come.
But it was more than just that—this high that he got from being used by Angel. More than physiology, or his apparent (and very disturbing!) kink for masochism.
It was Russian Roulette. It made everything sharper. The icy, slick fear of never knowing who he was gonna be looking at when he was fully conscious again, even though Xander had sincere doubts that he could give Angel a real happy. Not from the sex, at least. But Xander was afraid that one of these times, he’d do the unthinkable and let the tears slip that sometimes wanted to come, not from pain but from the humiliation of liking it, of liking the way that Angel pressed him down and took him hard and called him names, and Angel would take a little too much sadistic pleasure in that, and pop goes the weasel, Xander gets his throat ripped out.
Because this Angel wasn’t the Angel he’d known and resented (but never really feared) in Sunnydale. And it wasn’t quite Angelus either, although he was trying his damndest to be. This Angel was off his nut, and a little unpredictable, and a lot mean. Xander had no idea how he got this way, but he wouldn’t stick around to find out if given the chance to cut and run.
But somehow none of that stopped Xander from getting pleasure from it. He came harder with Angel than he ever had in his life. And he sincerely wished he could blame that on the treacherous little lump of flesh up his butt.
~*~*~*~
Xander was just starting to feel a little reprieve from his constant soreness when Angel opened the door to the suite. He was pretty sure he’d been left alone all night, and he wasn’t so raw anymore, but he could have done with a few days—hell, millennia—without Angel’s particular brand of fun.
More wary-making was the fact that the guy looked…different. More sober, not chatty and taunting, as he had been. Xander was still trying to gauge what this meant when Angel pulled a key out of his pocket and casually flicked the cuffs off of Xander’s wrists.
Xander drew a complete and total blank for sixty long seconds.
And then he was scrambling up, ignoring the fiery pain of his body in a surge to go-run-live before Angel changed his mind. He hadn’t even made it out of the bed before Angel clamped a big hand down on his shoulder and held him back.
“Not so fast. We’re not done yet. But you’re starting to get a little rank.”
Rage geysered faithfully. “Yeah, well if you didn’t keep me chained to your goddamn bed for—” How long had he been here? Two weeks? Three?
Angel looked strangely tired—defeated and irritable, and wasn’t that supposed to be Xander’s gig right now? “Five days.”
Five days. Five days? That was it? It had felt like an eternity. The strong emotion pumping through him crumpled a little in the face of that shock.
“Come on.”
Angel guided him into the bathroom, and Xander didn’t put up a fuss. Scared to, even though Angel seemed almost down-trodden today. The bastard could turn on a dime, as he’d found out the hard way, and he’d learned he had to expect anything.
Xander was surprised, however, when Angel just gave him a little shove into the small bathroom and closed the door between them. He hadn’t expected to be left alone. Uncuffed. Upright.
Xander stood for a moment, dazed and achy, before he got some sense and moved over to the shower, stepping carefully into bathtub because as loathsome as his manly bits were these days, he’d rather not smush them, thanks. Fifty percent of all accidents happened in the home, especially when it was the home of a lunatic vampire that was keeping you prisoner.
He showered hot, massaging some of Angel’s fruity shampoo into his grease-tangled hair, and leaving the conditioner sit like Anya had taught him. Anya…the image of her that popped into his head sliced him open in a way that he couldn’t afford right now, so he shoved it back down. Ruthlessly strangled the thoughts of engagement rings and happily-ever-afters that he’d probably never see. He washed himself clinically with a soapy cloth, not pausing to jack off, like he normally would at home.
Xander thought there was a good chance he’d never be horny again. But then Angel would touch him and….
He shuddered. Shoved that thought aside as well.
Xander turned into the spray to wash away the cream rinse, prolonging the bliss of hot water and solitude, and a moment of dignity where he could almost pretend he was home, and not stuck in this nightmare where the punchline was probably his corpse on Buffy’s doorstep.
When he opened his eyes, he screamed. Because Angel was in the shower with him. And he had a big-ass blade.
Xander didn’t even have time to scramble backwards before Angel was grabbing his face in one large hand and considering it critically. Xander just blinked when he was slathered with something thick and foamy, and Angel brought the blade up to his face.
Angel was shaving him. With a straight razor.
He would have laughed at the insanity, if a blood-hungry demon hadn’t been holding a very sharp implement to his throat.
When he was done, Angel pulled back and set the razor behind him. “Better,” he appraised. Today he seemed a little more…dare Xander say sane? It threw him off balance. He seemed almost normal if a little sad. If you could ever consider it normal for Xander to be naked in the shower with Angel.
But Xander was no longer fully on board the sane train himself, so yeah…it felt kind of normal.
And that’s when Angel kissed him.
Xander froze, brain blinking a big neon ‘what the fuck??’ insistently as Angel explored his mouth. All the shit that Angel had forced him to do over the last five days, and not once had his lips touched Xander’s. But now he was holding Xander’s face like they were lovers, and that gave Xander the wiggins almost as much as the mouth that was moving firmly but gently against his.
Freaked as he was about this turn of events, Xander was scared to startle Angel out of his moment. He flashed back hysterically to a paunchy Cub Scout leader lecturing that it was best to freeze in the face of a large predator. He’d been six, and there had been twinkies and soda and a sugar high that had his mother cussing the Boy Scouts later. Those were the good old days—back when he’d thought the biggest predator he was ever going to come up against was a stray dog. Somehow he didn’t think this was what the guy had been preparing him for. What with the Boy Scouts’ stance on the Big Gay Sex.
So in the interest of appeasing the wolf at his throat, Xander let the guy back him against the shower wall, and then Angel’s body was pressing and sliding against his wetly, and Angel was moaning, and the whole thing was surreal. Surreal, but not a physical deterrent, apparently. Because his dick was getting a little excited by all the rubbing and the happy noises, and the fact that for once, it didn’t seem like he was going to die anytime soon.
And that’s when Angel shocked the shit out of him again, by dropping to his knees in the swirling soapy water and licking Xander’s cock.
Xander flailed, finally finding a grip on the little soap rack. Angel wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing his face against Xander’s crotch like it was so much catnip, and the tiny nip he gave Xander’s lower belly had him jumping nearly out of his skin. That made Angel chuckle, in a not-homicidal way, and Xander had a serious case of the creeps.
Or he would, if Angel’s lips weren’t wrapping around his cock, sucking him off like an expert. And Xander could vouch now that Angel was.
Fuck. Fucking…shit, what the hell was this. Angel still wasn’t looking at him, just concentrating on his cock, and all that focus was paying off, because Xander was really desperately close to blowing his load, and he had no idea what was going to happen when he did.
Maybe he had been a little hasty on the whole ‘not dying anytime soon’ thing.
But before Xander could royally piss Angel off by coming down his throat, or—oh god—all over his face, Angel pulled away and stood smoothly, nudging Xander around to brace himself against the wall without ever looking at his face. And then he was stretching Xander open with care, and sliding inside.
They stood there for a moment, unmoving. Xander was trembling a little, and Angel was leaning into him, hips molded flush to Xander’s ass, groaning and burying his face in Xander’s squeaky clean hair. Xander’s heart was beating hard, and he felt like someone was standing on his chest. Forcing his breath to be painfully shallow.
Angel’s lips began to brush now over his neck and his shoulders, disconcertingly intimate. Xander had no idea what game they were playing, but when Angel pulled back and stroked into him, his movements were made with care. It was unlike anything he’d ever done to Xander. It felt good. His legs were shaking.
And his throat was a little tight. He would not go all Stockholm over a little softness. Fucking bastard. Undead asshole.
When a shower-warmed hand closed over Xander’s cock, he cried out in surprise. It felt like he hadn’t been touched in so long. So much neglect of that part of him, these last few days.
Xander’s forehead dropped down against his arm, and he couldn’t prevent the pathetic little noises that were escaping him as Angel continued to fuck him and touch him and kiss his skin as if he cared. Xander’s body pushed itself back into the attention, and he didn’t understand—
“Oh god, that’s right, boy,” a deep voice moaned in his ear. And before Xander could even think to object to that, Angel was fucking him harder, teeth scraping over his earlobe—“Fuck. William.”
Xander froze, and he swore that his heart stopped beating. William. As in—?
Angel was impatient with Xander’s hesitation, and took control of his hips, moving them back to crash into Angel’s as things became more intense. Ok, so this must be some kind of weird flashback thingie…somehow that was more bearable to Xander than the thought that Angel was fucking him this way, after everything.
Angel was moving frantically like he was getting close, and he clutched Xander closer, really throwing himself into the world’s best handjob, and when Angel gave a particularly rough twist, Xander let himself tip over the edge he’d been trembling on, convulsing and coming as silently as he could. Unobtrusive. Ashamed.
Angel was still going, faster and harder, squeezing Xander’s ribs so tight he could hardly breath. He buried his face in the crook of Xander’s throat. “Fuck, Wil—” the name was choked off. The body behind him shuddered and sniffed and corrected, “Xander. Xander,” and so Xander was feeling a little ill when Angel finally ground into him and he experienced that squishy feeling that he wished to god wasn’t familiar by now.
Xander collapsed forward against the shower wall, breathing hard. Didn’t have much choice about either of those things, now that Angel had slumped into him like a big dead weight, and released his body so that his lungs could pull in air greedily.
Xander had a strange feeling that Angel was looking at him, but it was his turn not to open his eyes, to be somewhere else in his head, and Angel could fuck off. He just left his cheek pressed into the tile and breathed for a minute. Or two.
“Why the hell are you doing this to me.”
Ok, so he hadn’t really meant to say that out loud. And no, those weren’t tears in his voice, because he was not a woman. Yet.
Angel pulled away, pulled out, and Xander heard the water hitting his body for a moment of sluicing before it was suddenly shut off. He finally opened his eyes and turned around.
Angel was pulling back the shower curtain with a metallic zing, and drying himself off, back to Xander. Xander stared blankly at that stupid tattoo the girls used to giggle over. When Angel finally turned back, his face was as cold and closed off as it had been before. Before he’d made love to Xander while moaning someone else’s name.
Angel tossed a towel at Xander, who felt naked, for more than the obvious reason.
“Dry off. Playtime’s over.”
Xander clutched the towel to him, feeling just a little batshit. He laughed. “Oh, so it’s back to the coal mines now.”
Angel shot him a reproachful little ha-ha look over his shoulder as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
Here’s to hoping the asshole had at least changed the sheets.
part 3 here
