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TITLE:
Dead Sea
AUTHOR: Kita
RATING: NC-17
for dreams of incest
PAIRING: Angel/Connor
Dead Sea
Sometimes, the boy comes to him. The locks fall away, and the waters
part, and Connor stands in front of Angel on dry ground. Beach sand beneath
his bare feet, drops of ocean in his hair. But he smells like dirt and places
that children should never be.
Angel thinks it’s night, though he’s long ago lost track. No way to
mark time here, beyond the pull of tide, where even the moon is just another
dead thing he can’t touch. There are tiny holes in Angel’s tongue, small
sets of two by two by two. Then the blood ran dry.
Connor’s shirt is stained and torn, he peels it away. Delicate bones
and baby soft skin. Angel used to hold him after his bath. He used to smell
of salt and sunshine.
“Connor,” Angel says.
The boy smiles. His mouth is still pink as innocence, tea roses, the
color of dawn.
Long fingers on Angel’s chest, and he jerks away.
“I’m your father,” he says. And if it sounds practiced, that’s only
because it is. Dirty secrets and nightmares that aren’t. The sea echoes
for miles.
“No, you’re not,” Connor tells him, with none of the familiar malice.
Connor has already won, and prodigies do not gloat. “Vampires can’t have
children. You know that.”
He’s right, of course. Cemetery dirt won’t grow flowers, isn’t that
why mourners bring their own? Even Darla had said this was never meant
to be. Then her dust gave birth to life. And this living water cradles
the dead.
“It’s wrong,” Angel says.
Connor rolls his eyes. Petulant child, exasperated teenager, bringer
of judgment.
“You’ve never been a moral man. Don’t start now.”
Executioner.
Connor falls to his knees in front of Angel like bells breaking, like
cathedrals crumbling. He reaches a hand out, squeezes hard, and the needs
of Angel’s dick have always outweighed those of his soul.
Then he looks up at Angel, and Angel finally sees. Demon-child-impossible
thing. A sin so original, the only prophecies that mention him are false.
Somewhere, he thinks a baby is crying.
But Connor is unzipping Angel’s jeans, and Angel is cupping the back
of Connor’s head. And over the rush of water pouring back in to fill the
empty spaces, all Angel can hear is Connor’s voice, as he whispers.
“Would it help if I call you daddy?”
-End
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-Almighty!GAH 10/05
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