Tell the End 2
"Oh God..."
"Not here."
And it´s almost a relief to have Angel pressed so close, if only because he´s less likely to wind up on the floor, but then he starts...
It´s not really thrusting. More of a slow, purposeful grind against his ass, and blushing just makes him feel more faint.
"Don´t lose it now, Xander. We´re just getting started..." Harder bite this time, and the back of his neck is getting as wet as the side.
"I´m blaming blood–loss." And is that really his voice?
A laugh. "Don´t think of it as loss. Think of it as a kind a redivision..."
"I knew there was a reason Anya hated Commies."
Another laugh, and there´s something bright and stinging inside Xander that feels a little like hope. Right up until Angel´s hands settle on his hips and *hold*.
And that´s definitely a thrust. Another.
Another, and a gasp that sounds just as painful as it should for someone who doesn´t breathe on a regular basis, and Angel is the one shuddering.
"You´re like therapy, Xander. Only without the crying. Don´t..." And Angel tears the collar of his t–shirt with his teeth before ripping it down the back. "... start crying, now..."
"That´s me, good for what ails ya –– fuck, what ––"
Tongue pressed to the hollow of his spine, licking its way up, down, and all around, and Xander´s knees try to give out on him again, wobbling and weak and he´s not feeling this, he´s not, he´s just...
He´s just going to stoically *DIE* here thanks to the Suddenly Psycho: The Vampire Years, and that´s final.
This isn´t sex.
This isn´t...
Angel´s hands tight on his hips and Angel´s mouth making him shudder and twitch. Big, bad vampire behind him and if anyone ever had a reason to moan ––
"Yeah, just like that."
And Angel bites him again, before he can so much as think of anything to say. Hard and deep and just over his ass, where the skin is thin and more sensitive than he´d ever even considered. Where the blood is apparently right there for the taking. "Oh fuck ––"
"Exactly." And Angel yanks his pants down around his knees without so much of a thought for the zipper and button.
A moment to be glad he´s wearing boxers, and then he´s just... not.
Pants and shorts around his ankles, then torn off with one well–placed kick. Cool, cool porcelain against his dick and Angel, god, dirty bad Angel using his tongue like it´s nothing at all. Like this is something...
There aren´t *words* for this, and Xander catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror looking shockier than ever. More helpless. Demon magnet apparently in full effect, at least where his ass is concerned, because...
And he has to look away, because no one should be forced to watch their mouth fall open in a groan. Not when it´s Angel.
Not when it´s *this*.
Tongue in his cleft, hard and strong and so fucking wicked, pushing and searching and ––
"*Angel* ––"
*Inside*, oh God, inside and fucking him and it´s worse to know that Angel is grinning while he does this, that he knows exactly...
That he knew exactly what this would do to Xander and he´s enjoying every minute of it and Xander... Oh God, the sink´s not getting any colder, so he´s just getting hotter.
Getting hard for this, getting needy, and staring down the black hole of the drain isn´t any better than staring at his own fuck–and–blood–loss– stupid face in the mirror, but at least he doesn´t have to *see*.
At least he doesn´t have to watch the pull and flex of his muscles, everything in motion to match his traitor hips, push–pushing back against Angel´s face, as if it wasn´t the most dangerous part of his body.
And the sound he makes when Angel stops is just as humiliating as everything else.
"I don´t think you´ll be able to stand when I fuck you, Xander..."
"Then, you know, maybe ––"
"Let´s go."
And it´s not a request. What with the dragging Xander through the hotel and everything. Angel pauses in front of the couch, long enough for Xander to really focus on just how *weak* he feels at the moment, and then they´re heading up the stairs, Angel lifting him so his feet barely brush the risers, occasionally *nuzzling* him like an animal.
Face pressed close for just long enough for Xander to wonder if he´s considering another bite, or sniffing him, or just... rubbing. Skin to skin.
He doesn´t say a word until they reach a door that looks like any other, until he hauls Xander inside and drops him on the bed like a ragdoll.
And then he just stares. Eyeing Xander up and down like a particularly fascinating project that he´s not sure where to start.
Except that sort of thing is apparently just a little too much to hope for, because Angel nods at him like he´s said something particularly agreeable and... strips.
Strips entirely, never once taking his eyes off Xander, and some deeply sick and in need of help part of him is actually kind of flattered. It´s not like his limbs are working well enough for him to *go* anywhere, after all.
He´s hard. This is not a surprise to the part of Xander´s brain that´s still firing on most of its cylinders, but it´s still... "I think this is where I point out that this isn´t the best idea you´ve ever had, Angel." There. That sounded reasonable.
Rational, even.
Angel... leers at him. There´s no other word for it. And Xander is deeply, deeply aware of just how clothed he isn´t.
Of just how much noise he´d made with Angel´s tongue in his ass.
*Fuck*.
"I wonder how much blood I´ll have to take before you lose the ability to blush," Angel says, crawling up over him like some smugly predatory animal. "It´s funny the things you forget ––"
"When you have a *soul*?" "When you´re out of practice."
And that´s... skin. A lot of skin. Cool skin reminding Xander just how alive he still is. There´s something deeply unfair about that reminder, if only because he´s helpless *not* to hope. Not to remember every little thing he´s genuinely liked about being alive and human and ––
"Open your eyes."
"*Fuck* you."
"Open your eyes, or I´ll hurt you more than I already have."
Xander can´t decide if it´s better or worse that he can *hear* the hunger in Angel´s voice, the hunger that goes so far beyond blood and sex, right back to whatever the fuck it is... right. He forces his eyes open and does his best to stare Angel down.
"So who betrayed you, hunh? Why are you *doing* this?" Another facial ripple, and Xander flinches before he can stop himself, curls his lip at Angel´s mocking little smile.
"I don´t think I want to tell you... yet."
"You really think there´ll be a later?"
"Xander, Xander... where has the trust gone?"
Laughs before he can stop himself, and winds up laughing into Angel´s mouth. The kiss is hard and warmer than he expected, almost enough to make Xander relax until he remembers that the only reason Angel´s mouth is warm is because of all the *blood* he´s fed off Xander.
And just like that he can taste it. A thick, iron, *familiar* taste that has nothing to do with the thin–ness of the spit in his mouth and everything to do with the subtext he does and doesn´t want to think about, because Angel is...
A good kisser. A slow, ruthless, *implacable* kisser. It´s a convincing kind of kiss, and Xander´s pretty sure he´s the one who´s supposed to lose that morality (and mortal terror) thing and give it up.
Angel´s tongue in his mouth tasting like nothing but blood and sex, moving like everything´s already been decided and Xander´s just being uncooperative.
Is he supposed to be grateful for getting this treatment?
He supposes he is. To *something* out there.
It could be worse in a lot of ways that his brain can´t seem to stop reminding him about.
It probably will be.
Angel pulls away with one last, wet suck and grins down at him like he isn´t just lying there like the soon–to–be–dead. Like a lover, or just a confidante in this little trip down psycho lane.
"So how do you want it, Xander?"
"I *don´t*."
"Wrong answer." And the next bite is nothing but emphasis, because punishment would be redundant right about now. Teeth in his throat and hands on his wrists, and at first he wants to laugh at the utter uselessness involved in any effort at holding him down, but then he realizes that this is just more *touch*.
Thumbs pressed to the centers of his palms and rubbing soft circles, like Angel´s soothing him for his stupid mistake even while proceeding to take him a few steps closer to braindeath.
And yeah, that´s a joke he doesn´t even need a voice to make.
Angel breaks off with kisses and quick–cat licks, all in rhythm to the grind of his hips. At some point he´d kicked Xander´s thighs apart and now every thrust counts. Cock pushed up hard to cock and Angel´s little pants and grunts come just irregularly enough to *force* Xander to focus on everything.
"I´m beginning... to think you want it hard."
"Angel ––" Legs pushed up to his chest fast enough that he loses his breath.
"That´s all right with me, you know." And he sounds so *earnest*. Just like anyone you wouldn´t mind your sister dating.
Right up until you got a look at his eyes.
Or, alternately, wound up flat on your back with your ass exposed.
"Christ, *please* ––" And he bites it off, because it isn´t what he thought he was going to say at all, nothing like it. He knows from vampires, after all, and begging...
"Mmm... what are you going to do when I´m inside you? What are you going to say?" Naked curiosity, all the more awful for being so fucking *sincere*.
Xander bites his lip, starts to turn his head away and gets a flash of himself exposing his neck. Forces himself to just look up, instead, even though ´up´ is just Angel´s face, Angel´s naked body, Angel´s smirking, lunatic hunger bearing down on him like somebody´s nightmare of a freight train.
"You liked the way I touched you."
"No..."
"My tongue inside you... yeah, blush just like that. It makes you hotter. Literally." Angel licks his lips, lets go of Xander´s left leg long enough to reach for the bedside table and Xander *has* to turn away, unwilling invitation or not, because he doesn´t want to see ––
"Oh God no ––"
Cold and slick and wet, all over his ass. Messy as hell and Xander clenches up, tries to close his legs and ends up only wrapping them around Angel´s body.
Angel slides a finger in like it´s nothing at all, like no amount of clenching would do any good, and it probably wouldn´t. Because now all Xander´s doing is forcing himself to feel every inch of Angel´s finger.
Inside and moving, slicking him up, getting him wet and ––
"You might as well get ready for this..."
Xander gasps out a breath he didn´t know he was holding, feeling the wounds on his throat leak, feeling his back start to stick and tack to the sheets, and Angel slides in even farther, pushing and pushing and God, *crooking* ––
"You wanted to know about the First Evil? Is that what´s causing trouble back in Sunnydale these days?"
"Wh–what?"
"That´s why you came, right? Or was it just to see me?" Vicious little twist and Xander jerks helplessly.
"I... I..."
"There´s not much I can tell you, Xander. Nothing you haven´t probably already *guessed*." The last word emphasized with another finger, and now Angel is fucking him steadily, thrusting in and twisting around and hitting that awful do–me spot inside that Xander honestly used to appreciate.
"Don´t... Jesus, don´t ––"
"Don´t what? Make you like this? I don´t think you really mean *that*, Xander..." Smile in his voice and this time Angel crooks with both fingers, much too hard. Just a few ounces of pressure away from tearing him up and yeah, it´s funny how the sound of your own screams can seem so *distant*.
"*Please*..."
"Shhh... Daddy´s talking now."
"Oh, you *fucker* ––"
The only warning is that flatly echoing snarl. The explosion in his thigh is just a little too close to the source to count, close to the bite, close to his fucking *cock*, and Xander doesn´t know if it´s the suction, the brush of that hard mouth on his skin, or just the feel of even more blood rushing to that part of his body that´s driving him nuts. All he knows is that he can feel himself arching off the bed, hear himself begging and tearing at the sheets, trying to do anything but *feel*.
Angel pulls off with a wet, dangerous sound and licks a long, bloody stripe over Xander´s balls and up his cock before swallowing him whole. Still in full demon–face and watching him with yellow–eyed amusement as Xander gets harder and hotter and needier and ––
"Now, where was I?"
Xander can´t describe the noise he makes and doesn´t want to try. He can´t take his eyes away from the blood–streaked head of his cock, and Angel´s still *talking*. Still fucking him with those two vicious fingers and talking to him like a particularly slow child. Which almost makes sense, considering the fact that Xander´s pretty sure he´s only getting half of what he´s saying.
"... make you believe anything, Xander. Show you whatever you most –– or least –– want to see. Tell you whatever you need to hear to make you do what *it* wants..." A pause, and a nearly gentle smile. "Sound familiar yet?"
"Angel..."
"You see, in the end? It all comes back to trust." Angel pulls out, and Xander can hear the unmistakable sound of him slicking his cock. "Some people," he says, lifting Xander´s thigh again, forcing the bite–wounds to bleed a little faster, "go their entire lives without trusting a soul."
The first push is blunt, impossible and impossibly terrifying. The next is slow, hard, and feels like it goes on forever, until Angel is balls–deep inside of him and breathing like it´s something unnatural as he is.
Incongruously gentle hand on his face. "I´m beginning to think they´re the lucky ones, aren´t you?"
But really, Xander isn´t thinking much at all. Thinking requires oxygen to the brain, oxygen requires blood, and Xander´s blood is Angel´s now. Or all over Angel´s sheets. Or trapped in his idiot cock, which has chosen perhaps the world´s worst possible time to make a stand for young masculinity.
Or the best, depending on how you looked at it. There´s a definite haze over his vision, over his *mind*, and it´s probably the kindest thing that´s happened to him today. What with Angel whispering the demonic version of sweet nothings in his ear and God, Christ, *fucking* him. Slow and steady and hitting that spot with *every* thrust.
Even if he has to twist Xander into a pretzel to do it.
His body is screaming a thousand different demands and questions at him, all confusion and pleasure–blasted agony, and he doesn´t know whether to push up into the thrusts or just lay there. Which would hurt less? In the long run?
And *that* thought makes him laugh so hard he feels himself bleed just a little bit more. Because, really, this was no time to be thinking of the future.
Opening his eyes shows him Angel´s own cheerful grin, and somehow that´s funny, too. It´s all funny. Research, getting fucked up the ass, the apocalypse going on right outside the window... the world is a funny, funny place if you know how to look at it.
"I´ve always thought so," says Angel. "Well... part of me..."
"Oh... was that out... was that out loud?" And he´s laughing again, or maybe gasping, or maybe just braiding that frayed edge of sanity into something truly interesting, because Angel kisses him again.
And fucks him harder.
Faster.
Biting at Xander´s mouth with dull, human teeth and gripping his hips hard enough to leave marks and *driving* into him, taking everything and leaving nothing behind for Xander to hold onto.
Nothing to do but throw his head back and cry out loud, heedless of the vulnerability, of the helpless response of his own body, of everything but more and yes and *now*. This thing that should never have happened, but Xander´s known for years that never is a promise the universe doesn´t know how to keep.
And so this is just part of it, being fucked into an anonymous and creaking hotel mattress and bleeding out and struggling to find his way up and out of...
What?
Something.
There´s something he needs to escape here, he knows there is, but he doesn´t know what it is anymore, and he´s losing the ability to care with every drop of blood, every groan forced out of his mouth, every flash of Angel´s cheerfully ravenous grin.
And in the end, it´s all about the feeling. Riding it, using it, fearing it so much it makes his heart thump, his breath stutter at the back of his throat. The air´s so *thick*, and trying to catch it just makes him harder, makes him ache all through his body.
Makes him come, helpless and lost.
"... so warm..." Angel says, and pulls Xander´s hips in hard against his own, holds them still and loses all trace of humanity on his face.
Pulses inside him like some terrible machine, growling and coming and wild with a joy Xander almost wishes he could touch.
Consciousness is a series of flashes, all thoughtless sensation:
The bright flare of overuse in his ass.
The tickle and chafe of Angel´s tongue, licking him clean.
Cold.
Throb of his cock, oversensitized and trapped between their bodies.
Thirst.
"Of course you are..."
And something like awareness flickers up bright and insistent at the back of Xander´s mind, but he´s so *tired*. His eyes feel gummed shut with the sticky remnants of tears and sweat and every breath is thick and unbreatheable with sex and pain and ––
"I´ll take care of you."
Cool and cool against his mouth and ––
"You´re going to be so much fun to *watch*..."
Wet and inside, sliding over his tongue, thick as something... something you drank for a holiday, holy day, no more...
"... the way you thought it would go, all those years ago?"
Has to swallow before he can talk, and Angel´s laughter is so *close*. "Less... homosexuality..." More laughter, and his mouth is filling again, flooding, and he knows this taste, he does, all he has to do is make his brain *work* and it´ll all be clear.
Just one more swallow.
One more...
"... it´s okay, Xander. You can sleep now."
And really, that´s the best idea Angel´s come up with in a while.
The End
