wesleysgirl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wesleysgirl) wrote2005-08-28 09:33 pm
wesleysgirl) wrote2005-08-28 09:33 pm
Entry tags:
I don't know what this is.
Warning - this is dark fic, with the possibility to contain scenes that live up to that label. If you have concerns about what that might include, please feel free to email me and ask for more details.
Angel's back in the Hyperion, and it's dusty and broken. Cracks in the walls that weren't there before, and the thick smell of disinterest and abandonment. There's no more electricity. There's no hot water. Any shower he'd take would be cold, which would, he thinks, be okay, but he can't summon up the energy to bother.
And there are people outside. He can smell them. The day before, or maybe it was the day before that, a guy came in through the front doors, blood streaking the side of his face and a wide eyed look of panic streaking through the air like lightning, like it was something separate, disconnected. Angel couldn't be bothered to talk to him -- just sat on the couch -- and after a minute the guy went away again.
Just as well.
Sometimes there are screams. Angel's hungry and the high-pitched ones lance through him, but he doesn't get up until the doors open again.
He's on his feet without realizing it, moving toward a Xander Harris who's changed in a dozen ways and is holding the broken, lifeless body of Willow Rosenberg in his arms. Xander's panting, drawing air into his lungs with desperation. Somewhere along the way he's lost an eye, and the one that's left is frantic when it meets Angel's confused gaze.
Slowly, blood drips from Willow's fingers and spatters onto the rug with a soft sound that Angel knows only he can hear.
"She knew you'd be here," Xander says, voice cracking. "We came all this way, and..." He glances over his shoulder. "All this way."
"Give her to me," Angel says, stepping forward. Girl's already dead -- no sense in wasting the blood.
For some reason, Xander lets Angel take her, and Angel cradles her close. No heartbeat, no breathing, but still food. He slides into game face and sinks his fangs into the tender skin of her throat, ignoring Xander's outraged cries and the fact that Xander is hitting him until something tells him it's not a good idea to do that anymore. Angel lifts an arm to deflect the stake aimed toward his heart, snarling and letting Willow's body fall to the floor as the wood pierces his bicep. He grabs onto Xander's hand and squeezes, feeling the sharp snap crackle of bones.
Xander's scream is loud in the empty hotel. Echoing.
Tears streaming down his face, Xander cradles his hand to his chest and glares at Angel. "What the -- why did you -- how could -- "
"She was already dead," Angel says. "I was hungry." He's not trying to explain; he just wants Xander to shut up.
"I always knew I was right about you," Xander gasps. His pain smells delicious, and Angel swallows the taste of Willow's blood and licks his lips. "I can't believe you just -- "
Angel can't take it anymore. He won't. He's hungry, and the scent of Xander's made him hard inside his trousers.
He hits Xander, knocking him down, and flips him over onto his stomach. Can't see the look on his face, which is a shame, but the angle's better from behind and Angel wants to fuck and feed at the same time. Xander's blood is rich and hot, and his body is tight and hot, and the little mewling sounds he makes as Angel tears into him are enough to shove Angel over the edge a heck of a lot sooner than he would have expected.
Angel kicks Xander over against the bottom of the stairs and leaves him there. Tucks himself back into his pants and sprawls out on the couch again, staring at the ceiling and half listening to Xander's hitched breaths and the rapid uneven skittering of his heartbeat.
An hour later, Spike comes back and stops just inside the doorway, staring at Xander's crumpled body on the floor. "What the fuck is he doing here?" Spike asks.
Angel frowns at Spike. Shouldn't it be obvious? "Bleeding," he says disinterestedly, and licks at the dried blood on his thumb.
Angel's back in the Hyperion, and it's dusty and broken. Cracks in the walls that weren't there before, and the thick smell of disinterest and abandonment. There's no more electricity. There's no hot water. Any shower he'd take would be cold, which would, he thinks, be okay, but he can't summon up the energy to bother.
And there are people outside. He can smell them. The day before, or maybe it was the day before that, a guy came in through the front doors, blood streaking the side of his face and a wide eyed look of panic streaking through the air like lightning, like it was something separate, disconnected. Angel couldn't be bothered to talk to him -- just sat on the couch -- and after a minute the guy went away again.
Just as well.
Sometimes there are screams. Angel's hungry and the high-pitched ones lance through him, but he doesn't get up until the doors open again.
He's on his feet without realizing it, moving toward a Xander Harris who's changed in a dozen ways and is holding the broken, lifeless body of Willow Rosenberg in his arms. Xander's panting, drawing air into his lungs with desperation. Somewhere along the way he's lost an eye, and the one that's left is frantic when it meets Angel's confused gaze.
Slowly, blood drips from Willow's fingers and spatters onto the rug with a soft sound that Angel knows only he can hear.
"She knew you'd be here," Xander says, voice cracking. "We came all this way, and..." He glances over his shoulder. "All this way."
"Give her to me," Angel says, stepping forward. Girl's already dead -- no sense in wasting the blood.
For some reason, Xander lets Angel take her, and Angel cradles her close. No heartbeat, no breathing, but still food. He slides into game face and sinks his fangs into the tender skin of her throat, ignoring Xander's outraged cries and the fact that Xander is hitting him until something tells him it's not a good idea to do that anymore. Angel lifts an arm to deflect the stake aimed toward his heart, snarling and letting Willow's body fall to the floor as the wood pierces his bicep. He grabs onto Xander's hand and squeezes, feeling the sharp snap crackle of bones.
Xander's scream is loud in the empty hotel. Echoing.
Tears streaming down his face, Xander cradles his hand to his chest and glares at Angel. "What the -- why did you -- how could -- "
"She was already dead," Angel says. "I was hungry." He's not trying to explain; he just wants Xander to shut up.
"I always knew I was right about you," Xander gasps. His pain smells delicious, and Angel swallows the taste of Willow's blood and licks his lips. "I can't believe you just -- "
Angel can't take it anymore. He won't. He's hungry, and the scent of Xander's made him hard inside his trousers.
He hits Xander, knocking him down, and flips him over onto his stomach. Can't see the look on his face, which is a shame, but the angle's better from behind and Angel wants to fuck and feed at the same time. Xander's blood is rich and hot, and his body is tight and hot, and the little mewling sounds he makes as Angel tears into him are enough to shove Angel over the edge a heck of a lot sooner than he would have expected.
Angel kicks Xander over against the bottom of the stairs and leaves him there. Tucks himself back into his pants and sprawls out on the couch again, staring at the ceiling and half listening to Xander's hitched breaths and the rapid uneven skittering of his heartbeat.
An hour later, Spike comes back and stops just inside the doorway, staring at Xander's crumpled body on the floor. "What the fuck is he doing here?" Spike asks.
Angel frowns at Spike. Shouldn't it be obvious? "Bleeding," he says disinterestedly, and licks at the dried blood on his thumb.
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