ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Reconfiguration III
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: Joss made it up, too bad he is an incompetent ninny. Mutant Enemy and others own the rights. No suing please.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Epiphany, The Body
Notes: See us obliterate Lindsey from our minds by returning to the well worn path of Angel and Xander and their issues.
Dedication: To Aimee who issued the challenge, are you scared yet?

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"Wow, Xander, you know, those holes in your neck aren't healing at all. Isn't that weird or something? All your other wounds are gone, aren't they?" Alone with her, so no obvious way to pretend he can't hear her. The men out killing and saving the victims of the earth, him back at the pad with Cordelia who smells far too complex, the scent falling and rising with her movements, musk, floral, talc, leather, and under it all her blood thump-thump from her heart. //"Stay here, Xander, don't go anywhere while we're gone." 'Why can't I come along, I've fought a few demons in my time." "Because I said so, you're still getting your sea legs, give it a few days."//

"Hello, earth to Angel junior." Waving her invoices in the air above her head to grab his attention, tank top exposing the wandering, blue artery next to her armpit.

"Could I vote on that nickname?" Drops her arm and smiles, teeth gleaming white, lips tight from enthusiasm for the chance at mirth.

"No, nicknames don't work that way, as a matter of fact, since you hate it so much, Junior it is." Finds herself so amusing, whisper of a laugh escaping, but Xander isn't laughing along. Has to suppress a sudden violent impulse to slap the grin from her face //She's belittling your dignity, just a human, she thinks she's your companion, not your next meal// As soon as it arises, shock forces it out. Looks over at Cordelia, who's too busy doing her paperwork now to see the stricken expression on his face.

"Cordy, do you think I'm evil now?" Doesn't know why he asks beyond the fact that he feels he might be, maybe not evil, but certainly not as good as he used to strive to be.

"Evil? As in straight from hell? No, I guess you're just kind of like Angel, except Angel was really evil, more than evil, Anti-Christ, and killing and maiming and lovin' every minute of it, and I know he still wants to, I mean look how nuts he just went..."

Her words fading to a buzzing drone, pressure washed in shades of garnet as the irritation of her ever-present attitude is bumped up by rage. Demon roaring through him as she impugns the Bloodline, the Sire. Pride and something else, some baser instinct that was never present before demands he stop the lowing of the cattle, that's what she is, she's lesser, she's other, she's *blood* in a skinsack. Urge to reach out and just devour her so strong that his canines throb in his gums, the skin of his forehead prickles, demon surging to the fore.

"Shut up!" Turns away from her, hides the ridges and fangs and tries to suppress them.

"What did you say?" Abrupt kick of alkaline anger/fear in her scent, and all hope of quashing the beast is rapidly fading. Anger whipping through him, at her for the belittling of who he is now, at himself for the lack of control, boiling together and raising the darker side of his faceted nature.

"I told you to shut the fuck up." Rumble in his chest and he knows she can't hear that, but it's there all the same.

"I don't know who you think you're talking to, Alexander, but you better get it together." On her feet and around the desk towards him, his desire is to beat her until she screams her apologies through ruptured lips, instead turns on his heel and runs out the new front doors of the Hyperion.

Her startled shout follows him out into the street, and he's a block away before the smell of her is out of his nose. Beast subsiding to a controllable degree, but he's still keyed up. Fight and feed are out of the question right now, so his senses clamor for the other release, the one least likely to end in the spilling of anything other than his seed.

=====

As soon as he's in the door, he knows this is a bad idea. Maybe on some other night when he's not already in a furor from Cordelia's unknowingly baiting him this could be entertaining, so much to take in, be turned over and stroked in his mind, but his apprehension has no place when the crowd shoves in the door behind him, loud and bright, blood thinned with alcohol. Xander prowls past the inebriated twenty-somethings to the relative shelter of the end of the bar, lets his fingers run over the wood, feel of the grain well defined, familiar and grounding. Buffeted on all sides by the sound of a hundred heartbeats, the sight of bare necks and pulsing carotids, the odor of sex and desperation clinging to everything in here.

Squirming warmth against him, jet black curtain of hair, perfume and perspiration equally strong. The girl's eyes bright and unnaturally blue, Xander can see the rim of the colored contacts floating on the surface of her eyes, sees the brown irises behind them, and he realizes she's smiling at him. Giggled apology for her jostling belied by the way she rubs herself against him again even though the crowd has surged into another area, and there's all kinds of room for her to step away.

Drive to mate stronger now than any other, the musk of her arousal riding on the wave of drunken abandon, and Xander has no trouble convincing her to step outside so they can talk. Hands on the swell of her hip, curve of her tight little ass, pressing her against him so she's absolutely aware of the discussion they're going to have. More giggles from her, murmur of acceptance, and she lets him slide a hand under her skirt right there at the bar before grabbing it and leading him off.

Outside, down the block to the alley between the bar they just left and some dark and shabby looking drycleaners. She's tripping along in heels that look too delicate to support even her small frame, and she turns to face him once they're in the shadows. Licks her lips and squeals like a piglet when he picks her up by her waist and shoves her against the rough brick of the building. His mouth on hers cutting off the indignant protest, and it was all a game anyway. He can tell by the way her legs come up around his hips, grinding her pelvis against the hard ridge of his cock through the jeans he wears. Tongue meeting his, her mouth sucking and wet, little sighs of pleasure as he nibbles along her lower lip.

He lets her slide down the wall, gain her footing so he can pop the button on his jeans. Grabs her hand and presses it against his cock as he tugs her skirt up and uncovers the scrap of fabric she's claiming as panties. Her fingers close over him tentatively, then with more enthusiasm as he pulls the neckline of her shirt down and tumbles her breasts out, kneads them roughly, thumbs flicking over the hard buds of her nipples.

One arm around her waist again, new strength making her feather-light as he shifts her weight up against his hipbone, free hand tearing apart the silky thong to bare her wetness to the night air and his cold hard length. She gasps as his fingers stroke her, part the plump wet lips and slip inside, gather the slick moisture. Twists them a little, pulls out and teases the pouting rise of her clit, brush brush rub, and while she's still whimpering against his shoulder as he adjusts the position of their bodies, pushes her down on him.

Short, wailing cry from her and it goes right through him, tightens every muscle, makes his skin creep and gather. Leans forward so she's back against the wall, leverage for his need to slam into the tight, wet, heat of her. First time inside a mortal since the turning, and it's like fucking liquid fire. Her gasping moans urge him on, the scent of her arousal climbs to a jagged clear note in his head. She wiggles again, grinds her hips into his pubic bone, straining for the friction. Clasps her hands around his neck, shimmies up his body, moist mouth on his neck muffling the noises she makes.

Xander buries his face in the blue-black fall of her hair. The thudding of her heart deafening and quick, he finds himself pounding into her in time to the beating. Realizes he's caught on the edge of climax, groans wildly into her neck, bites down. She clenches her internal muscles around him, no sound, but her body goes rigid as her blood fills his mouth, and he comes inside of her, violent and mind numbingly intense. Tingle of the fresh blood like electric sparks inside of him, tongue pressing the flesh and urging fresh gouts over his lips. The taste of fresh blood on his tongue overwhelming and rightrightright. Her heart flutters, he can feel it, rabbit-fast then staggering to a slow thump...thump... The silence between beats growing, and he can taste the difference in her blood. Less rich, like wine diluted with melted ice, and he senses she's dying.

He's killing her.

Tears himself away and she slumps back awkwardly in his arms, and legs dropping from his body like a rag doll's limbs. Hears a keening sound, realizes he's the one making it, whining like a beaten dog, and he crashes to his knees on the slime and muck covered concrete of the alleyway. Feels his dick slip from her as they fall, and her weight hits the pavement. Literally frozen in place, terrified, sure that she's dead, but she makes a dry clicking sound in the back of her throat. Hands shaking raggedly, Xander puts them over her chest, tries to reign his thoughts in enough to concentrate on the girl's heartbeat, and finds it there, thready but not stopping.

Pulls his hands back from her as if stung and tugs at her clothing to cover her nudity. Stands up, tucks himself in and zips up as he backs away from her. Pause at the opening of the alley and there's no one in site, so he shoves his hands deep in the pockets of Angel's borrowed jacket and walks with his head down past the bar, around the corner and breaks into a run. Scared witless that someone's seen him, someone who can identify his face later. In police reports, in artist's sketches on the news for Cordelia or Wesley or Gunn to see "Blood crazed rapist" news at 11.

It's not them he fears, not the humans back home, those aware of his altered life, those blithely or not so blithely unaware. It's his Sire he fears, his hatred and his disapproval. Falling short in the eyes of his maker, and he runs faster, no shortening of breath to slow him down. Stops when he loses his way to duck into yet another bar to attempt to cover the smell of human blood from his mouth with alcohol and to wash his hands and the knees of his pants over and over again with anti-bacterial soap.

+++

Half-step in the door of the building, and Angel *knows* Xander's not here. Gunn and Wes limping in behind him can't see his face, the snarl wanting to break out. Cordelia peaks over the check-in desk at him.

"Where's Xander?" Voice steady and low. Drops his weapon on the settee, fingers itching to keep the axe in his grip.

"How the hell would I know? He flipped his lid out of nowhere and ran off." As pissed as Angel, and he knows there's more to this story. Either protecting herself or Xander, and he doesn't really care which.

"Did he hurt you?"

She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, "Do you see a pile of dust anywhere?" and turns back to the desk to answer the phone. The three men listen to her side of the conversation.

"Hello? Oh, hi Willow. No, he's not here...I have no idea, he ran off."

Exasperated sigh from Wesley and he hurries over to grab the receiver, annoyance plain on his face. "Cordelia, give me the phone." Turns to look at Angel as he calms the frantic young woman on the other end of the line, speaking distractedly as he reads the tension apparent in the way Angel's holding himself perfectly still. "Yes, Willow, he left, but certainly did not run away. He just went out for a bit. He'll be back shortly. Naturally, we'll be happy to tell him you called..." Brief exchange of pleasant good-night's, and he replaces the receiver gently on the base.

"You think he's gonna head home? Where should we start looking, A?" Gunn hefts the axe he carries, up to his shoulder with the easy grace of familiar movement.

Angel forces himself to speak lightly, turns away from Wesley's intense gaze. "Nowhere, he'll come back. Why don't you guys go home? I can deal with this."

"Whatever..." Snort from Cordelia, and he knows she's standing there with her arms crossed, hip cocked, one foot in front of the other. Has an inkling that she might have been the thing to drive Xander out of the hotel, knows he's felt the urge to walk away from her on more than one occasion.

"Cordelia, this is between Xander and me. Let me handle it." No discussion in the tone, and he knows she's pissed about it. Her eyes narrow the tiniest bit as she considers making an issue of it, then the fine lines in her forehead even out as she comes to some decision.

"If you're certain..." Wesley, more familiar with the underlying power play at work here than anyone else present could begin to guess at. He seems to have no scholarly interest in seeing the things he's doubtless read of in countless books displayed in a flesh and blood tableau.

"I don't get all up in family business, I'm outta here." Gunn shrugs, turns and walks out, arm upraised in parting. Wesley gathers Cordelia and ushers her out, stammering words of farewell, anxiousness to be gone evident in the way his movements have gone graceless and jerky. Cordelia's goodbye is cool, aloof, normally cause for some concern on Angel's part but tonight utterly insignificant.

Tonight Angel's emotions are knotted up in a ball, frustration, fear, rage. His boy, his childe, disobeying his word so flagrantly. Wandering off when he was told to stay put. Couldn't realize how unacceptable that is, how it would set off a reaction in Angel that even his soul can't quiet. The fear clamping on like a rider to the anger, petrified that he'll meet his end, again, this time permanently. Out of the shower, and he feels the pull, the disquiet that announces Xander's return. In the elevator, and striding through the lobby before he can get a hold on his temper.

"What did I tell you when I left?" Sounds as pissed as he is, knows this is not the tact to take but long past the point of dealing with this in any semblance of reason. Worry maxing out the gut-level reaction to disobedience, he walks right up on Xander and slams the front door shut behind him.

"Not to go anywhere." As Xander turns, Angel's brain explodes, the smell greeting him is not the boy's but another's, cloying female odor smothering the comforting smell of family.

Flare of hysteria washing over his vision and he asks, "You want to tell me where you've been?"

"Why don't you put one of those house arrest anklets on me, then you would know at all hours." Xander smells the anger, the rage, and worse than that is knowing he's in the wrong. Knowing it beyond the level of intellectual comprehension, knowing in his flesh that the Sire is not to be disobeyed in anything he commands. Brushes past Angel, puts some distance between them, something to still the quivering apprehension that punishment will be meted out, and rightly so. The girl's blood coursing through his body as a constant reminder of how much he deserves whatever Angel can hand out.

Sudden blur of movement, the room moving impossibly fast as it rushes past him, and Angel's pinning him to the desk. "I don't need one to know you've been out fucking some girl."

"So? I didn't know we were in a monogamous relationship." Won't look up, lowered eyes signifying equal parts guilt and terror. Doesn't see the open hand when it swings through the air to come flashing down and across his face, bruising backhanded blow that heats his skin and knocks his head onto the desktop.

"You will not speak to me like that." Gathers the jacket and shirt, pulls Xander to his feet and up another inch or so, face to face. "You disobeyed me tonight"

"Well you just hit me, so we're even." Wrong thing to say, he knows it even as it spills out of his mouth, but Xander has never been able to control the part of himself that speaks without thinking. He has a split second to consider the implications before he hits the wall, and another before Angel is on him again, knuckles of his hand making Xander's jawbone ache.

Angel picks him up, shakes him like a puppy. "We are not *even*, there is no even. You walked out of this building when I specifically told you not to and ran off to fuck some whore without my leave, then you come back here unrepentant and run your mouth in my face."

"Reverting to your old ways?" Xander spits the words out like they taste bad in his mouth. "I'm not Spike, you can't beat me into submission just because I do something you don't want."

Roar of rage, and Xander's world narrows to the blunt impact of Angel's fists on his body, skin splitting high on his cheek, lip bleeding, head snapping from side to side until he collapses under the force of it. Angel stands over him, hands hanging loosely at his sides, then backs up and leans on the desk, watches Xander swipe the back of his hand across his face, capture the blood from his lip and cheek on his jacket. "I've been too easy on you, giving more than I take and letting you believe you were anything other than alive at my whim."

"You want me to be your slave? Is that what you want?" Xander's eyes are dark, fathomless. He rolls over, crawls with his eyes focused on the carpet until he's crouched in front of Angel on his knees. He takes in the rise in the black pants, reaches out and pops the button, peels them back and exposes the pale thickening length. Presses his face to the nest of black curls that surround the base and inhales.

Xander's voice is thick as he asks, "Does it get you off to hit people? Turn you on to see me bleeding at your feet?"

Angel's hand slips into Xander's hair, tugs roughly so that he face is upturned. "It used to, looks like you bring it out in me." He watches Xander's tongue flicker out to taste the blood drying on his lips before releasing his grip.

Hands tugging the pants from Angel's hips, letting them puddle at his ankles. He's still leaning back against the desk, hips thrust forward from the pose, cock erect and jutting. Xander's hand grasps the shaft, pulls down so the foreskin rolls back, slicks his tongue over the exposed head. Keeps his eyes trained on his hand curled around Angel's dick, the other coming up to cup the heavy sac. Mouth wide, tongue slicking the way, Xander swallows him to the root, his own hand pressed tight against Angel's belly, scratching in the wiry black hair.

Already well learned art of pleasing the Sire, and he puts himself to the task. Keeps his mouth wet, saliva drooling out around his lips as he sucks and releases. Special attention to the velvety rounded head, tongue tracing the rim before flicking across the width of it, dipping into the slit. Angel's hand at the back of his head then, pressing him forward pressing into wounded flesh making him drool more from the pain. Xander opens his jaws wide, relaxes his throat and swallows, sucks him in. Hums around him, vibrations from the purring growl in his chest, and Angel's hand tightens, clenches, hips press forward as he bucks into Xander's mouth. Comes with a low, exhaled "Yesssss" and shudders as Xander continues to suckle and lick him until there's nothing left.

Without a word, Xander pulls Angel's pants back up, tugs up the zipper, stands and walks away. Angel take a few moments to collect himself and realize what he's done. The anger bleeds away, and he's left with his constant companion, guilt. Difficult in the haze of madness and fury for Angel to remember that Xander isn't just a demon, not just his personal possession, but still invested with his soul, human emotions getting the better of him, protocol for relating to his betters not instilled. He makes his way to his bedroom ready to apologize, attempt to explain, soothe the boy and beg forgiveness with their nightly embrace.

When he gets upstairs, he feels Xander down the hall, in his own, usually abandoned room. Fills the doorway and gazes down on Xander curled in a ball on top of the covers.

"You're sleeping in here?" His voice is quiet, already at work on his apology.

"Looks like it." Shoulders hunch up even more, legs drawn up as if he's trying to disappear.

"I'm sorry, Xander." Steps into the room, closer to the bed, wants to lay gentle hands on all the places he hurt, caressing out his sorrow.

"You say that a lot. After a while people get tired of it." Xander's voice is monotone, no emotion in it at all.

"I know you're upset, I was worried."

//you should be worried, angel, you should be, because i am// "Oh, those were worried punches, where have I heard that before?" Tries to cover the fear/hurt with anger and accusation.

"Xander..."And he knew that, he *knew* it all along, the half heard whispers between Buffy and Willow that he hadn't paid much attention to before falling into place now that it's all been confirmed.

"And stress usually reduces libido not send it off the chart. Stop fooling yourself, Angel -- you're in control of yourself less than I am." Flinches when he feels Angel narrow the gap between them to less than a foot. //that was a whopper//

"Please, will you let me talk?" Hand on Xander's shoulder, he can feel the tension that runs along his skin and tightens his muscles. Wants to scoop him up, carry him out of this room and back to him own bed, slip into the familiarity of what has become for him a time and place to relax.

"You're the boss, right? You can shut me up anytime." Angry shrug of his shoulder to remove Angel's contact.

Running the displaced hand through his hair, Angel bites back the impulse to make his point physically for the second time tonight. "Fuck, I get the point! Listen, I know you're restless, you can go out on your own, you're not a prisoner."

"Then why did you treat me like one?" Glance over his shoulder, eyes the color of bitter chocolate.

"Because I expressly told you..." Stops himself, then says, "Forget that, you can go out. Maybe you want to go shopping or something, I'll give you some money." Sees Xander's eyes narrow before he turns away, and he curses his own choice of words.

"Next is the part where you say it won't ever happen again, right?" The boy hasn't unclenched a micron since Angel sat down, seems determined to hold onto his wounded pride and hurt feelings.

"Actually, I can't promise that. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll try to let up. Tomorrow night, go out, do whatever you want." Might as well be honest with him now, after their first enactment of willful disobedience and the recriminations it brought. Hard lesson to learn, and one he doesn't want to have to teach over and over again.

"Fine. Whatever. Clothes would be good." Weary, resigned to saying anything to get Angel away from him so he can begin to sort out the events of the night without the disturbing niggle that draws him to Angel no matter what his feelings might be. Curled up in this tight fetal ball to keep himself from rolling over, baring his neck, begging for forgiveness. Warring waves of self hatred and self pity buffet him, and he knows that comfort is his for the asking.

It's the asking that sticks in his throat.

"You coming to bed now?" Even when the comfort is offered freely, Xander stiffens further. What he did tonight, the disobedience, the sex, and most of all the feeding weigh heavily on him in soul and demon, both condemning his actions for their own reasons. He can't go to Angel until he's made some kind of peace within himself, or until he's flagellated himself sufficiently to feel he's earned his place beside him.

"I'm already in bed." Voice low, feels tears threatening, and god, isn't he ever going to *leave*

"Xander, it doesn't have to be like this."

Summons up a spark at the sound of that soft voice, turns and faces Angel with eyes that glint golden in the darkness. "No? This is the choice you made when you beat the shit out of me for fucking someone else, don't tell me it was all about going out alone. I already blew you, get the hell out."

Turns over right away, face in the pillow and misses the guilt washing over Angel's features before he draws to his feet and walks out leaving the door open behind him. Pauses inside this own suite and hears the click of the lock when Xander closes his door himself a moment later.

In the moment when his demon took over, Angel couldn't distinguish what flavor of emotion was the predominant one. Rage at the boy for not being contrite at breaking the law of master and mastered, regret so vivid as to obliterate will at having brought him this life, fright at losing him so soon, pain that he would go to another for solace in the night, and that last emotion comes by another name, one Angel won't let himself ponder when it flits through his mind, jealousy. He strips and falls into bed, hating himself as he does every night, the wound bleeding again for the most recent crime, alienating the only other being who might ever have the chance of understanding him in any real manner. //The righteous shall walk a thorny path.// Knows he's not one of the righteous, maybe self-righteous on bad days, still questing after true righteousness. Wants to throw his hands up and proclaim himself just a man, one man in the sea of iniquity, his own included. But he's not even that, a man. A duality, two in one, also until a little over a week ago, unique. Crisis upon crisis and agony of spirit over the last couple years has left him weak, even after his bleak moment of clarity. Accidental off-spring are common to humans, but unheard of amongst vampires, and yet he has one now. Realizes as dawn pricks the sky and his thoughts bundle themselves away for the next few hours, he's barely thought of Darla since Xander came to his bed.

=end=

Part IV



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