Thank you to my betas, TABAQUI and LADYCAT
Xander can't remember a time when he didn't hate Angel. Not one moment. Not one, single, solitary second has he ever stopped thinking vampire, evil, murderer, bad, hatehatehate.
But it's never stopped this . Doesn't stop him from looking for trouble. Home is too loud, so thick with tension it hurts his chest. His friends are too cheerful, even in light of everything they face every day, and sometimes it just gets to be too much, and his face feels like it's about to crack from the fake, brittle smiles. Sometimes the air seems too still, and things just don't feel right , like he's about to break out of his skin at any moment, just pop right up and scream until he can't anymore.
So this is what he does. Goes out walking late at night, stake in hand, holy water in his pocket. Looking for trouble.
Finds it, too, on Crawford. Dark figure lurking just there, Xander sees him in the corner of his eye, and he just keeps walking, guilt and fear heavy in his mind. Waits for it to happen.
And there it is, arm stealing around him so fast he forgets to breathe, hand pressing painfully against his mouth so he can't scream.
"What are you doing?" the voice asks low in his ear. Angry voice. Pissed off, but maybe more at himself than Xander.
Xander can't say anything of course, can't do anything more than give a muffled moan and lean back, just a little, into the solid body behind him.
"Stupid little fuck," Angel growls, then lets go of Xander's mouth to pull him inside.
There's nothing gentle about it at all, the way Angel has the back of his neck, like he's a puppy and he's pulling him around by the scruff. Pushing him, now, into the dark mansion, and Xander shivers. There's this bubble of fear inside him, because vampire, bad, evil, hatehatehate , and Angel is unpredictable. It's not the first time, not the second, and it's actually been more times than Xander can count. So many long nights spent on his knees or his back, screaming until his throat is so raw he thinks he can taste blood there. Ever since that first time, with Angel looking mournfully after Buffy and Xander thought, He can't be with her, and she can't have him, but I can, I can. Xander still remembers the look of surprise on Angel's face that was quickly masked with anger and so much control , until Xander pushed him to get a reaction. And then Angel pushed back, growling, saying how stupid and dangerous it was, and Xander was so afraid it would stop, but then Angel kept pushing.
But even after it's been this many times, it never seems familiar. Never feels real, or safe, it just is . He tries not to think what Angel's motivations might be other than a mediocre fuck, or how he catches little glimpses of guilt whenever they aren't here , Angel looking at Buffy with longing and self loathing. Doesn't think about Angel at all outside of the never ceasing mantra in his mind. Hatehatehate .
"One night I'm not going to be out there," Angel says. "You're going to lose your miserable little life pulling this shit." He pushes Xander over to the couch.
Xander rights himself, sits on the edge. "What the fuck do you care?" he asks. Feels a lump in his throat and no, that's not right, he needs to keep that down where it belongs.
"I didn't say I did," Angel tells him. And that's right, Angel doesn't care, just wants to tell him in one more way how stupid he is, how incompetent, how low and weak and ...
Xander loses that thought in Angel's eyes. It's dark in the mansion, almost too dark to see, but Angel's eyes are even darker. So heavy with something they make Xander think of science class, about black holes and gravity and the whole fucked up universe bending and being pulled toward them.
He's got things like just say no! and let's just get the fuck out of here! going through his mind, running around in circles like scared little animals, hurt and trapped and frantic. And then Angel smiles, dark and cruel, and fuck if that doesn't just make Xander's cock so hard it throbs.
"Are you afraid?" Angel asks mildly.
"Fuck you," Xander spits out, shaking inside, either from want or fear now he doesn't know. His hands grip the edge of the sofa as Angel walks slowly forward, deliberate steps that don't scream 'predator' the way they ought to, but somehow that makes it worse. Like Xander isn't even worth a proper stalking.
"You never shut up."
Xander clenches his jaw, keeps his eyes on Angel in some kind of bizarre attempt at bravery. Watches as Angel comes even closer, until all he can see is broad shoulders and solid chest and those eyes on him, full of contempt and loathing and everything Xander feels toward himself.
"Why do you keep coming here, Xander?" Angel asks, and Xander has to bite his tongue to keep the little dismayed sound from escaping. He swallows it down and looks away, bravery gone.
"Don't what?" Angel says, running a finger down the side of Xander's face. It isn't caring, because it's never about that.
"Don't ask that," Xander says with a voice just a little higher than he wants it to be.
"You know why."
"Tell me." Angel's voice loses that edge of hostility and Xander blinks.
Fuck that . There's another flare of anger hatehatehate and Xander looks back up, meeting Angel's eyes with a glare. "You bastard. Don't ask me that, don't fucking talk to me like you give a shit. Just get it over with."
Angel drops his hand, steps back, and narrows his eyes. Xander swallows and lets uneasiness clench his gut.
"Go home, boy." The words are quiet and unmistakably an order.
Panic slams into Xander like a head on collison. "What? No I ..."
"Then tell me."
Xander swallows and the anger slips right out of his grasp. "I want it."
Angel's looking down at him patiently, like he knows what's going to come out of Xander's mouth but he has to hear it anyway. Xander takes another breath.
"And you. I want you."
That makes Angel nod, but he doesn't come back. Just stands there with that same unfathomable gaze like one of those black holes. Dense and weighty and drawing Xander in no matter how much he tries to fight it.
"Why?" Angel asks.
Fucking bastard son of a bitch, hatehatehate , but it's a detached thought, and Xander can't summon up the proper heat to put behind it.
"Because you make it better," Xander says instead of the other words, the words that might not be true, not right this second, because Angel really does make it better, and Xander ... "And I need it."
"You. Need you." You asshole.
Angel decides that's enough, thank the gods, and he's moving forward again, pulling Xander to his feet. And then there's a cool tongue invading, raping, pillaging and doing other such conquering things to his mouth. Angel's never kissed him before, not like this, not mouth against mouth and chest to chest and fuck . It's not civilized, not like lovers would kiss or how Xander would kiss a girl, this is too hard and absolute and takingtakingowning .
"Come on," Angel says when he pulls away, leads Xander with a strong hand around his wrist, up the staircase and down the hall and there, in what Xander just knows is Angel's bedroom without ever seeing it before. There's one candle lit on an ancient dresser, enough light for Xander to see.
Angel lets go and toes his shoes off, strips out of his shirt and comes right back, hands grabbing and pulling at Xander's clothes, not gentle but not quite as rough as usual either.
"I hate this," Xander whispers, even as Angel is unzipping him and running possessive fingertips over the length of Xander's cock. "Hate you."
"I know," Angel says, guiding him to sit on the bed and then pulling his pants all the way off.
Xander feels like his whole body is screaming for more. "God, I'm so fucked up."
"Shut up," Angel says, pushing him to lay back on the lone pillow.
Then Angel's hands are everywhere, all over him, pressing against him, on his arms and over his chest, down his ribs and pausing for a moment to grip his hips and run his thumbs right over the bones right there.
"Don't," Xander gasps, unable to stand the not-hate in Angel's touch. "Please, don't ..."
Angel doesn't nod, not exactly, but his hands grip him harder, fingertips digging into Xander's skin. But he does lean down for another kiss, this even more brutal than before, and Xander's stomach clenches and burns, even while his hands scramble across Angel's back to pull the vampire closer.
It isn't even a kiss, really, just mouths and tongues and teeth scraping over each other, with a few harsh pants thrown in for effect. It's instinct, devouring, or maybe just Angel's way of trying to see just how much he can take from Xander, or how much Xander is willing to give.
Xander doesn't protest once, doesn't try to push Angel away. Just opens up, lets Angel fuck his mouth and settle between his legs.
When Angel pulls back again, Xander's eyes aren't focusing, and his body feels like it isn't even attached to his mind. He watches, as if it's happening on an underwater movie screen, as Angel strips out of his trousers and gets something from the bedside table.
And then Angel is moving Xander's knees up, and thick, slippery fingers are pushing inside him.
"Oh, god," Xander says, and even though he's felt this so many times before, with Angel it always feels like the first, exhilarating, terrifying time. "Oh, fuck ."
He's stretching, opening, welcoming Angel's fingers, trying to find a little bit of leverage so he can push back, somehow pull those fingers deeper.
"Hold still, boy," Angel says with a tightly controlled voice.
Xander ignores him, tries to grind down, and Angel smacks his hip and glares.
"Bastard," Xander says, then groans when Angel removes his fingers. He watches as Angel slicks his cock and then thrusts home in one long, perfect move that Xander is sure only Angel can perform.
"Oh, god, Angel," Xander gasps out, even though he doesn't mean to, never wants to actually say the vampire's name while he's being fucked if he can help it.
Angel doesn't hold it against him, just starts fucking at a pace that isn't quite brutal but fuck does it feel good, and Xander's hips are lifting off the mattress and there's nowhere to put his hands except maybe around Angel's shoulders. But no, he's not doing that so he puts them over his head instead, flat against the wooden headboard, pushing there so he can push up and meet Angel, letting the vampire drive his cock deeper, faster, watching as Angel swivels just a little to ohgodohgod hit that sweet spot, making Xander yell out louder and louder with every perfect, fucking amazing thrust.
"Don't stop, fuck, please, yes," Xander says mindlessly, not caring about anything but more . He's lost and mindless with it, babbling words that just barely make any sense even to himself.
Angel doesn't stop, keeps going, fucking and groaning until Xander's arms do wrap around him.
Xander's body is on fire, sweating and trembling beneath Angel, and there's nothing but the two of them, two bodies and sex and nothing else, no world outside of them. It's perfect, just what Xander wants, wants more, reaches and moans and finds that one iridescent moment and just grabs it and holds on for as long as he can.
Angel reaches between them and strokes Xander's cock, fucking him harder through his orgasm, coaxing every drop out. And when Angel comes inside him, right when Xander is starting to come down, there's just this flash of contentment that makes everything else in the world meaningless.
A little later, Xander grabs his clothes and leaves the room, cleaning up on his own a little before dressing. He tries to sneak out, to avoid Angel, but Angel isn't exactly the avoidable sort if he doesn't want to be.
"You can sleep here tonight. Have the couch if you want it," Angel says, walking down the stairs.
"Gotta get home," Xander mumbles, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
Angel nods and doesn't say anything more as Xander leaves. No 'I'll see you' or 'Goodbye' or 'Was it good for you?' -- and that last thought makes Xander's blood run cold so he pushes it down with everything else.
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