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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Consummation Author: Criss Moody Pairing: Angel/Wes Rating: NC-17 Setting: 'Reunion' Ease into him, taste the blood, mine, maybe his, I'm not sure anymore. Feel him inside, melting into my flesh beyond any act I have ever known or contemplated. Dimly, I think of why this is perhaps not the wisest thing to do, not the smartest move I have ever made. Wisdom has nothing to do with this. Lust and fury rules this decision, uncommon for me, but there it is. I have succumbed to the too human urge for connection. I've just been so tired lately, and pardon the pun, sick to death of fighting so hard to rescue my fellow man from themselves. Ludicrous, really, struggling so for creatures that turn and spit in your face for your trouble. No more ludicrous, I suppose, then fighting to save one undead creature from the dark fate he hurtles forth to on this night. Perhaps I am a silly man, bound to the dead by a stereotypically tall, dark, and handsome hero, bound to his salvation in the hopes that I may serve the light. I hope that I may ease his pain, and in the easing, see just a glimmer of appreciation in his velvet brown eyes. That hope leaves me here tonight, shuffling through papers after Cordelia and Gunn turn away, uncharacteristically silent, into the thick darkness of the L.A. night. They know I will not follow, and so leave me to do what I feel I have to do. The silence in the menacing structure of the old hotel permeates my cells, and I tremble in the strange coolness that comes just before the dawn. Each step I took up the staircase echoes in my head, steps into a possibly deathly stupidity. I fear I have seen too many glimpses of Angelus this past year and I have no guarantee that I will not meet a grisly end here tonight. Some part of me screams to turn, run to safety, run to somewhere neither Angel nor Angelus can follow. But I have forsaken wisdom, and my thudding heart accompanies my footfalls over the threshold. The single lamp in the corner of the room casts a warm golden glow over Angel's body, nude to the waist, stretched out on the huge, spartan bed. "Go." The single word reverberates in the stillness, halting my movements instantly. I fight the urge to obey, stifling it with the rebelliousness born in the moment when Angel dared to fire his family. Through the riotous mess of mutiny and subjugation in my mind, my intent gleams pure. Without replying to Angel's command in any way, I strip, my crisp, clean clothing falling to the floor, settling in a heap of cotton. Within moments, my smoothly nude body stands at the foot of the bed. I hear the clock on the wall tick off the seconds as I wait, nervously waiting for a reaction. No such result is forthcoming; I make to crawl up onto the bed, crushing the soft covers beneath my knee. I barely get both legs up on the bed before I find myself flipped over, a growling, golden-eyed Angel trapping my arms with his own. Just when I think he's going to speak, utter something completely destructive and cruel, the demon slides away from his face to reveal little but sleep heavy eyes and the puzzled look he frequently gives when presented with something he's unsure about. I take a deep breath, immediately regretting the action when my raising chest brushes against his, a dizzyingly tempting feeling, an intimate brush with the dark. A frozen moment, and the kaleidoscope of fury, temptation, and blood ruling Angel flashes through the brown orbs. I am totally unsure of his thoughts, but I am familiar enough with my own. Dumbly, fatalistically, I kiss him, quickly pressing my dry, closed lips to his parted, blood moist ones. Another heartbeat, and I find my mouth invaded, wet, cold, Angel ravaging me with his tongue. Soon, accompanied by the slick, gliding sounds of lube on skin, his hands grip my hips, and he delves into me, his physical body such a small part of what he does to me. My eyes barely open to register the surprisingly unshocking cold slide of fangs into my neck, as Angel crosses one more line away from redemption. Obviously, I do not resist. Indeed, I can do nothing but accept, and accept, and whisper for mercy as he rips me open, not an entirely new experience for me. It does not last long; he hardly cares if I find pleasure. The experience has excited me no more than handling myself in the course of urinating would. What happens next does surprise me, and comforts me at the same time. Rather than toss me off the bed, Angel curls around my body, as if I were his kill and he were protecting it. A quick slice of his own fangs against his wrist and he holds the dripping flesh out to me. A moments hesitation, knowing he can not turn me unless I have been drained, and I lick at the blood, seeping out slowly. The liquid stings my tongue, and my senses scream an alarm, this is unnatural, this is wrong, this will change you. Flashes of my heat, my mortality, howl around me, begging me not to cross over with Angel, not to finish whatever wicked deed my employer has instigated. Of course, I shove them back, back behind memories of abuse and rape. This is what I want. For once, I will take it. I will let Angel consume me. E.N.D. Feedback |