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ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel
Reconfiguration IV
by Lar and ethrosdemon
EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: All we own are ourselves and our warped sense of humor. Xander, Angel and the other hangers on are owned by Joss, David, and Mutant Enemy. If you sue us, maybe we will get to see DB in court.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Epiphany, The Body
Notes: There is an arc, you just gotta hang on to your britches.
Dedication: To Aimee who issued the challenge, are you out there? To Donna and Te, whom we adore. To Shelly oh Goddess of feedback and Home Depot, we are your * fans*.
===================
The sun barely gone from the sky, still pink across the edges, and Cordelia is finishing the filing. She considered not coming in at all today, hurt feelings over Xander's complete mental breakdown and Angel's dismissal still slightly tender. She decided coming in late is repayment enough, but ends up evening it out by working until Angel wakes and comes downstairs.
Jacket over his arm, he heads over to her. Not really expecting an apology for his attitude last night, and not disappointed when he doesn't even mention the whole ordeal, she watches his studied, blank expression.
"Cordelia, I need to go out for a while. When Xander gets up, will you give him this?" He lays his credit card on the counter; she eyes it and him.
"That's an American Express." Arms crossed, one delicate eyebrow arched.
"Yes, and?" Utterly clueless as to what the issue might be regarding the card. Knowing Cordelia, it could be anything from the wrong color to the wrong lender to possibly him being wrong in even possessing one.
"You're giving him your credit card?" Eyebrow threatening to disappear into her hairline now, and she leans against the desk in almost the exact same pose she was in the night before. Tries to shake off the superimposed image of her standing at the counter repeated over and over in different outfits, different hair colors and styles, echoing her own movements and terse speech.
"Loaning."
"That card has no limit."
"I know how the system works." Exasperation, constant companion these days, especially when Cordelia is part of the mix. Angel has a sudden whistfulness for the solitude he had weeks ago, although not for the circumstances surrounding it.
"He could run away to Tahiti."
He wonders if she keeps a running list of absurdities to throw at him any time he does something the slightest bit out of his well-worn rut. Thinks briefly of what her reaction might be if he came downstairs someday in a white suit and panama hat, just for the shock value. "Not enough shade, and I'm not too worried about it."
"Whatever, I'm not gonna mention how I haven't had a raise, and you're obviously way more flush than you let on." She strolls casually over to him, picks up the card and taps the edge of it on the countertop, quick staccato rhythm. Like her fingers are burning from being around the little piece of plastic, and she can't quite hold it but won't let it go either.
"Good, I wouldn't want you to bring that up again. I'll be back in a few hours." He's half turned away from her already and shrugging into the duster, sweeping out the door and leaving her looking at the card with a mixture of envy and annoyance.
Finally, she gives a long, heartfelt sigh, lays the card back down on the counter and returns to her filing. She, Wesley and Gunn have been struggling to go on as usual since Xander came to be with them, but like any new partnership there's still some kinks in the system. Gunn's apparently having some issues with 'the new vamp on the block,' as he insists on referring to Xander, although Cordelia has seen them talking a few times, and she knows Gunn will come around. Still burnt from Angel and his Darla hijinks, and the added bonus of another half light/half dark individual in their midst is unsettling, worrisome, Xander unknown more even than Angel.
Idle thoughts occupy her while her hands do the shuffle and push of paperwork, and she's almost relieved to hear Xander come down the steps. She looks up, wondering whether he's going to be back in Psycho Boy mode right away, or if it's all forgotten on his part. She wants to be mad at him still, but she admits to herself that she could've done *something* to set him off, even if she has no idea what it was, and that's enough to make her hold her temper on it. For now.
All thoughts of the fight forgotten when she sees him, though, and shock is evident in her voice when she nearly yelps at him. "What the hell happened to you? Did you get hit by a bus?"
Xander smiles at her sheepishly, puts his hand up to touch the faded bruises on his face. "Something like that."
"Did you get in a fight?" She's around the counter, eyes scanning him for further damage. Second nature to her now, find the wound and fix it up, that's her job, or the part of it that doesn't include teeth-rattling Omni-max films in her brain.
"Yeah, a bar fight, it was insane." He looks away, shifts his eyes as he lets the lie drop out casually, wonders if the ability to tell the complete truth has gone the way of sunrises for him
"You're lucky no one accidentally impaled you with a chair leg." She peers at him for a few more seconds, seems satisfied that there's no major damage, and backs up a little, personal space defined in a different way now that there's no need to be up-close.
He grins at her, easy smile, notes that she seems perfectly willing to let things be OK with them, unaware that he came pretty damn close to putting her in the hospital not so many hours ago. "I hear that happens all the time. Where's Angel?"
"He left. You know how he is, didn't say where he was going or when he'll be back, but he left this for you." She waves the card. "You must have really sucked up when you came home."
Xander laughs out loud at her choice of words, says, "Major sucking."
"So, what're you gonna do with this baby?" She hands it over to him, and he takes it casually, stuffs in into the pocket of Angel's jeans held up by a wide belt.
"Go shopping for some new clothes."
"Someone just said the magic word." His gaze fixed on her as he takes in the flush of her cheeks, the shine in her eye, and feels like the world's biggest jerk for the way he lost his temper at her for just being herself. She had way to know that her off-hand remarks were taboo, and neither did he until he was caught up in the reaction.
"You wanna go with?"
Mile wide smile and she looks like she's ready to bounce. "I thought you'd never ask. You don't have a reflection to know what looks good, so I'll be your reflection."
"I have to eat first."
She follows him to the kitchen. "What are you gonna buy?"
He pulls two bags of blood from the fridge, pauses and pulls out two more. Nicks the top of them with a fork and stacks them in the microwave, pushes the buttons.
Turns to see her staring at him. "What?"
"Um, hungry?"
"Yes." Sound of the bell and he grabs the bags, tears them open, upends them into the plastic container on the counter and begins to feast.
"You're gonna get a blood belly." Unexpected to have her joking about something that he himself used to find repulsive and he laughs, sprays the blood a little, not quite the old milk-out-your-nose routine but close enough.
She turns away, hand up to block the sight of him wiping his chin, smear of pink left behind. "Oh, that's so sick. I'm gonna gag."
"Maybe you'll shut up a minute then." Finishes the blood quickly, hopes it's enough to settle him down and carry him through the shopping spree. It fills his belly, but he knows it's not what he needs. It's missing the richness of live, human blood, and now that he's tasted the difference his demon refuses to let him settle for anything less. He could stand here and drink all the blood in the fridge, and he'd be no more satisfied than if he'd taken gulp after gulp of red-colored water.
"Watch it, Junior. Back to the shopping, going for the full vampy-makeover?"
He shrugs, tosses the empty container towards the sink. "Sure, why the hell not."
"You think Angel would notice if a couple charges on his card were for pants slightly smaller than yours?" She's literally on tip-toe as she asks him, and when he turns to her he finds himself eyeing the side of her neck, newly exposed by her haircut and looking tender and vulnerable. Appearing like the perfect place to get his dessert, frankly, and he shivers.
"Get whatever you want, I won't tell the master. Let's break the bank." Guilt is a wonderful motivation for generosity. Angel already knows this and Xander is offering it up to her by proxy, guilt at the thoughts from last night and the throbbing desire to suckle her neck currently.
He laid awake most of the day, listening to the sounds of the hotel around him, the noises on the street. Cordelia and Wesley chatting downstairs, the click of her hands on the keyboard. Smell of tea and coffee mingling and drifting, and later something heavier when Cordelia returned with lunch for them both. By then he was starting to fall into the unforgiving need to sleep, but the whole time he'd been unable to stop thinking about the night before.
The girl's blood running through his veins, wild and hot and just *so right.*
He tries to forget it as they walk out the door, Cordelia chattering about the best places to find the kinds of things she swears he needs to have.
= = = = =
Angel's attempting to appear engrossed in "In Style" magazine when Cordelia returns to the Hyperion laden with shopping bags bulging in her hands and under her arms. He doesn't flinch. Expected nothing less, passive aggression through twisting the offered gift into a shopping spree appropriate for the spoiled brat he had treated Xander as.
"Where's Xander?" Forces himself to keep reading the same paragraph he's been staring at for the last 45 minutes, doesn't want Cordelia to know how disappointed he is that Xander isn't tagging right behind her.
"Ditched me. Said he wanted some time alone. I told him not to, that you might get all bent out of shape again. You know, he said he was in a fight, yeah right." She drops the bags, shakes her hands to restore circulation, pointedly doesn't look at him.
"What are you talking about?" Closes the magazine, no pretense at nonchalance now, and he wonders what the boy told her, really. //fishing, maybe she's just fishing, waiting for me to trip up. he wouldn't tell her...would he?//
"The bruises, and don't even try to say 'What bruises?' I'm not gonna call the child abuse hotline, but you better not lift a hand to him when I'm anywhere around to see it." Sits down on the couch across from him, and he notes that her eyes look dark, shadowed. He imagines she feels a large amount of guilt for what's happened. Not the type to come in and cry on anyone's shoulder, not her style; she deals much the way he does - in solitude. He knows her facade of breezy empty-headedness is hiding a keen perception and a greater intelligence than she cares to allow anyone to see until she's ready for them to do so.
"Cordelia." Arranges his words in preparation for what he sees as a losing battle, and she cuts him off before he can begin.
"Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it, and unless your gonna start beating the help, shut it." She snatches the magazine from his hands and leans back, legs crossed at the knee, foot swinging to her own internal music. Ignoring him.
Angel looks at her, opens his mouth several times and each thinks the better of it and says nothing. Not a fight he cares to take on, and not one he can win at any rate. Looks at the pile of shopping bags and clears his throat. "What's in the bags?"
"Xander's clothes. Wanna see?" Peeks over the top of the magazine at him, foot still bouncing.
"Do you think he would mind?" Brow wrinkling in concern. Still trying to be sure the bribe to be forgiven has really been accepted, not wanting to topple whatever delicate balance might have been achieved by Xander's acceptance.
"You're a freak." Growl of disgust and she tosses the magazine aside, swings her leg over, stands.
"Does that mean yes or no?"
Pushes the pyramid of bags over in front of him and glances at her watch. "If you're thinking of stealing any of them, I think they're too small. I have to go meet Wes for darts. See you tomorrow."
"I don't think Xander and I have the same taste in clothes." Mumbled words that she snickers at as she shuts the door and leaves him alone.
Curiosity overcoming him, sure he's about to find bags full of clothes that will scar his retinas with their brilliant hues, Angel pulls them over closer and begins to peer inside. The first bag yields several long sleeved cotton t-shirts, black, navy, burgundy. Not what he was expecting, but better than what he'd expected. The next bag is heavy, the plastic handles stretched out from the weight, and inside are black boots, Doc Martens, and a box that contained another pair at one point and now holds Xander's sneakers. He lays them out on the couch and continues to dig. Fifteen minutes later, he looks at the wardrobe spread out before him.
Three pair of leather pants, two black, one dark brown. One black leather jacket, soft and supple under his fingers. Ten lycra-blend shirts, black and deep red, navy and the same brown as the pants. Two belts in black and brown, and the clothing Xander had borrowed tonight when he got dressed folded neatly inside the bag that had tags for whatever he was wearing right now.
Angel makes a mental note that while there are several pairs of socks, there is no sign of any underwear at all. Thinks of the boxers he gave Xander to wear, and the ones he himself wears, and then thinks of Xander out somewhere alone. In an outfit he bought today. Doubtless an outfit looking much like the clothing he's staring at now. Ponders leather pants and form-fitting black lycra molded to the long lines of his childe's body.
The scent of some nameless and faceless girl all over him last night, the things he had done out of rage and possessiveness. Xander on his hands and knees bleeding, mouth wrapped around him. Doesn't like the desire creeping up on him to go out and find his boy this instant, bring him home and chain him up. Likes even less the pang he feels when he considers gentler treatment and Xander's needs met with his own body. Knows himself well enough to see the transference of so many of his longings and never-spoken needs onto Xander. But simple clarity of psychological motivations doesn't bring with it the method of halting it.
Angel begins to pace the lobby.
=========
So much time alone with Cordelia and while he knows it's all the blood he downed before they went out, he felt comfortable with her again. Was able to see her as a person, as a friend, not just as someone who needs to be more aware of her environment or a tantalizing meal. Xander stands against the railing of the club and watches the youth of LA shake their groove thangs in tune to the latest ambient house mix, and knows she wanted him to invite her along with him. Watched the hurt flutter over her features when he ended the shopping trip by asking her to dump his new things and the borrowed Angel threads back at the hotel on her way home. She didn't ask him where he was going dressed in tight leather pants and possibly too snug shirt, just let him hop out on the curb and waved after warning him that Angel might be upset.
Xander focuses on one heart beat at a time as he turns back to scan the bar. It's starting to come easier, to isolate one human from another, distinguish the subtle differences between people in a crowded room. Since he fed on the girl the night before, he'd felt a quelling internally he could never have imagined. The blood extinguishing an ache he couldn't name. Part of him knows how wrong it is to play this game. The risk of Angel discovering that dancing is a ploy to disguise the scent of the human he plans to feed on shortly nothing compared to the line it crosses. Feeding from humans directly is wrong even if they live, but the rationalization is right there behind the emblazed letters e-v-i-l -no one dies, they're not hurt that badly, they can make more blood to replace what I take, I NEED it.
Comes back to himself when he feels a prickling on the back of his neck, sees a blond man at the bar staring at him openly. When Xander meets his eye, the man holds up a glass and shrugs one shoulder. Wonders to himself if he was ever this stupid, this naïve, a walking meal waiting for his executioner to walk in the door a with a bright smile and languid grace. Hesitates again when he sees how easy this mark will be, his stomach tightening and the guilt of his future actions making one last go. A single image makes his decision for him: a blood bag laying on the shelf of Angel's refrigerator.
Two drinks, some small talk, and Greg is ready to head anywhere Xander suggests. The backseat of Greg's car does fine. Lets the blond man kiss him, pet him through his pants, but when he moves to lower Xander's fly, the nuzzle against raised carotid becomes a well-placed bite. Xander listens to his victim's breathing and pulse as he feeds, and the instant he hears a larger gap between beats, withdraws.
Within fifteen minutes, he's in another club offering music he finds more to his liking, and he writhes and fondles partner after partner between drinks for the better part of the night. Hopes the scent of his latest meal is drowned out by the odors of his various dance partners by the time he gets home.
++++++++
Angel's sitting on the sofa in the lobby clad in silk pajama bottoms reading a large text. His eyes leave the book and follow Xander's movements through the doors and across the room toward him. His nostrils flare at the miasma of scents that cling to Xander, his eyes take in the way he's dressed, much the way Angel pictured him.
"You find your orgy finally?" Book set aside, he indicates the seat beside him, motions Xander over to join him.
"Unfortunately no." Xander falls into the seat, looks at the tips of his new boots.
"Dancing?" Right beside him, the pull of needing to be close powerful after such a long separation. Their first for this amount of time, and the hunger it created is nearly identical to the one for blood.
"Apparently." No heart beat to speed up, but the reflex to swallow out of nervousness is still there.
"I thought you wanted to be alone." He turns to look at Angel, who has moved closer to him on the sofa without Xander being aware of it.
"Alone in a crowd." Angel traces the vague forms of the bruises on Xander's face. Hints of discoloration above one eye and along his jaw line, busted lip healed completely. Considers how rapid the healing process was, doesn't think he would have healed quite so quickly himself remembering the run-in with the business end of Lindsey's sledgehammer.
"It's late, you wait until the bars were shutting down? Don't know any after hours clubs to squirrel away in until closer to dawn?" Xander's gaze hovers in space, unfocused and distant, and Angel's fear is back. Guilt diminishing as the sharper dislocation of loss ghosts in. Millions of warm bodies and hundreds of cold ones in LA for Xander to lose himself in, and Angel doesn't know how long he'll stay in the confines of stricture and exile in his Sire's home. Pictures walking through the hotel one night to find Xander's possessions gone and a note left for him: 'Had to go'. All his own doing for not knowing how to handle what could have been a precious gift. Isn't sure why he should even care, not sure, but he does all the same.
"I got tired. Just ready to come home, I suppose." Can tell Angel's guilty for losing his mind, letting his baser nature control him. All Angel ever is is guilty or angry, and Xander can relate. Just doesn't want to show how much, betray his secret and have Angel look on him with hurt or disappointment.
"You going to sleep in your room again?" The hushed tone causes Xander to look over. Attempt to gauge his mood and meaning. Is startled when Angel darts his tongue out to moisten his lips and his scent picks up spice. Until this exchange, Xander assumed all need manifested within him, considered the sexual interludes between them comfort for him and nothing to Angel. Could still be the case, and Angel's body responds to memories the same as anyone else's, Xander knows he's young, so much younger than this person beside him, and can't find a way to pin any motivations or intentions on Angel.
"I hadn't really thought about it." Drops his eyes as he speaks, not that it helps him in this case because Angel is already calling him on it.
"That's a lie." Hand out to whisper over the marks. They'll be gone by morning, but the memory will be there much longer for them both.
"Maybe it is. Why don't you ask me what you really want to know?" If lies are going to be part of the daily routine, then at least he's going to insist they be honest in other areas. No way he can stay here, give himself over to Angel and the rules required in this relationship and still have to worry that there's going to be secrets between them everywhere. He has his secret, and keeping lies straight has never been his strong suit.
"Do you intend to ever come back, or is this how it's going to continue to be?" Whole hand cupping the side of Xander's face, thumb brushing his lower lip.
"You make those kinds of decisions, and you know it." Hours of petting and fondling at the bar, the excitement of the feeding, and now Angel's hand on him is too much stimuli. He's achingly hard, and painfully aware that Angel is, too.
"I'm not interested in forcing you. But I might persuade you, if that's how you want it, prove how sorry I really am." Shock of Angel's mouth on his, light brush of his lips and flicker of his tongue as he traces Xander's with the tip. Slides his hand into Xander's hair and holds his head as he sucks and nips at his bottom lip. Wet slide of tongue again, pressing insistently, seeking entrance, sigh when Xander's mouth opens beneath his.
The room fades to a blur then darkness as Xander closes his eyes and lets Angel pull him closer, lean back and roll Xander's body on top of his Big hands on either side of his face as Angel devours his mouth with a skill that leaves Xander gasping needlessly. Angel's mouth has been intimately familiar with every part of his body except his lips, kisses not offered or taken in all the times they've been together. Fucked and fed daily, sometimes over and over again until one or both of them collapsed in exhaustion, but never once the intimacy of a kiss. Xander's learned to not even try anymore, just avoid Angel's face in a general way.
It's as if Angel's trying to make up for lost opportunities. His tongue sweeps over Xander's, licks the roof of his mouth. He turns his head to the side and plunders it again, one leg coming up off the couch to lock behind Xander's thigh and hold him still. Thrusts his hips up against the captive weight above him, and knows this isn't what he planned. Xander biting at his lower lip, sucking the freed blood into his mouth and feeding it back. Fingers dipped into the waistband of his pajamas stroking in circles and attempting to force their way between their bodies. Losing himself in Xander's gasped words against his lips "I'm so sorry, Angel, Sire, forgive...." cuts the words off with his tongue and lets them both find what they're seeking in shrieks and moans. Fleetingly thinks of his soul, but knows perfection is not what this union can ever bring, just an easing of oblivion.
++++
In the shower, blood and semen running down the drain, his new shirt in the trash in Angel's suite to hide it from one of the others finding it, Xander feels Angel approach. "Xander?" Stops at the door.
"Uh huh." Soaps himself up, wincing at the sore places on his neck and shoulder, bite marks barely closed.
"If you ever wanted company, if Cordelia didn't have a vision, I would go out with you."
Panic stricken stab of fear that he knows, that he tastes the blond guy in his blood somehow, not too crazy to believe that, he can smell everything else, why not. Freezes stock still, water running over his hair and into his eyes, mouth gaping open as he wills his brain to think, think, goddamnitallsaysomething.
Forces a chuckle into his reply. "I thought you didn't do the whole going out and partying thing." //calm, that's me, i'm calm, he doesn't have a clue//
"Not usually, but just if you wanted company, I might make an exception." //now he gets attached? now? jesus angel your timing sucks//
"Alright, when there's no vision to hinder it, and I feel lonely, we're on." Hates the way he has to blow him off, knows the offer wasn't lightly made. Tells himself that he'll bring him out one night, maybe two, and let him get a full on dose of raving humanity. No feeding, just crowds and noise and smoke, enough to make him rescind the offer to ever come out again.
"That'd be good." Angel walks away, and he's waiting there for Xander when he comes out of the shower. They slip into bed, bodies tumbling into a resumed natural pattern of rest, curved together in comfort. Falling into sleep.
+++++++++
LA is huge, never the same club twice, and no sign of running out of places to be lost in and never seen again .
On Thursday, her name was Maria, her hair was black, and she wore Creepers. He left her behind a garbage can out in back of the parking lot.
On Saturday, his name was Mike, his cologne was citrusy. Xander left him in the bathroom, propped on the toilet, pants around his ankles in case someone decided to look under the stall.
On Monday, there were two, Monica and Jim. Monica he can't remember very well because he had to drop Jim at the emergency room. Apparently Jim had a heart condition despite his age, and he'd tripped over the line into taccycardia as soon as Xander bit down. Scared the hell out of him, but didn't stop him from going out again and again.
=end=
Part V
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