Fic Bits!
That meme about posting lines from your fic--lostakasha twisted it and posted lines from fic she hasn't posted, and I thought it was a cool idea.
So, here goes. I picked bits from *all* the fics currently going on on my computer, because I'm thorough like that and apparently have the pomposity to think random people might be interested. But these days I'm noticing I like kicking around ideas and dreaming up fics I'll write better than writing. Also, better than working. I left off my IWRY fic 'cause I know it'll be out in Nov, but hopefully the War Stories fic'll get posted soon too. And one day Best Souvenir. *crosses fingers* Anyway, here goes, if anyone wants to see my fic-knickers.
WARNING: Some of these are rated NC 17. Please don't read if you're underaged or not into it.
1. next War Stories fic
*
“We trusted you. Larry was going to talk to you. He’s been trying to find you and you’re not here? You don’t care? My son is out there fighting, or . . . Or he could be hurt. God, Connor could be hurt, and you’re just-”
Angel quickly turned away, unclenching the fist by his side. He looked at his hand. It was shaking. He tried to breathe. He didn’t need it, but it helped. Dorky Tai Chi, Spike had said. Mind over beefy matter. Why did Spike have to be so . . .
Colleen was choking back sobs. She jerked him around, the better to accuse him to his face. “He could be dying-”
Angel’s big hand settled on her shoulder. “Please,” he said, and squeezed. “Please.”
“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t know what it’s like. To have a son. To love someone that much and not be able to-”
Angel’s hand slid away. “No. I can’t.”
*
2. from chapter 22 or 23 of Best Souvenir. Really random bit.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded. She repeated it, just for good measure. “We don’t need enemies; we need the Immortal. And don’t give me some crap about how this is how Angelus does things. There was a better way. Do you realize the position you put me in? How I couldn’t-God, couldn’t even fight to protect myself? Do you realize what that . . .” does to me?
“Buffy-”
She grit her teeth, and ground him harder into the wall. He was making a feeble efforts to struggle against her, air coming from his mouth hard, hips wiggling. She pulled his arm up farther behind his back. “There was a better way. You knew it. You were just-just getting your rocks off while I-and that vampire? That boy? How could you for a minute think I would accept that? That that was okay? What do you do, just-just fuck the first monster you see that puffs you up, in front of-of me and God and everybody and just think it’s-”
“Buffy, please-”
“No! No ‘please’! Stop breathing like that! I’m not hurting you. Stop pretending! Stop acting like you’re a man because you’re not. You think a soul gives you that? You think you’re any kind of good? You’re worse than the rest of them because you have one and you still-I said stop breathing!”
There was a sudden loud suck of air, and Angel stopped panting. His body was strained against her, as if his every effort was focussed on remaining completely still. After his noisy air sounds-like a person in pain-up against the wall, it felt very quiet.
Buffy stared at his taut back in angry confusion, and jerked on his arm again.
A small woosh of air. “Buffy. Stop. My arm is broken.”
Buffy let go. His arm came down slowly, sickeningly limp, to his side. Buffy turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
*
3. A/B/F/S piece, I dunno
If you want to know how Buffy got on her backside with Faith at her cunt and Angel and Spike kissing each other across her breasts, this dark apartment in Cleveland is probably the wrong place for you.
For one thing, this can’t be happening (it’s a dream). For Faith, a second chance is rare, not unheard of-Angel, no surprise. A third chance is impossible-Buffy, what the fuck is going on? Fourth chance and you’re just plain shitting yourself-that’d be Spike.
If you’re wondering where Spike came into Faith’s life to fail her, there might be a story about Buffy giving Faith the “you’re beneath me” one-two and Faith high-tailing it back to Cleveland. Because you know, there’s a Hellmouth there-always a chance that someone in an alley might kill her. That’s what vampires are for: the biting and giving you a chance to crawl up from beneath again and walk on solid ground. Now, whether you’re undead or half hooked on Orpheus, doesn’t matter. Because remember, that’s not unheard of for someone like Faith: those second chances.
*
4. Angel/Cordelia and Connor, something about kings, with Trinity stuff fic
“They forced Connor’s blood down your throat.” Her hand flows down over his. “But they didn’t run you. You held against the rush. You tried.”
She’s right. He hadn’t washed his hands of it.
“They won’t ever be clean,” he says, and raises their wrists.
Cordelia’s soft finger tips slip-stream up between the knobs of his knuckles. “You’re right,” she says, cinching lips. “But I have salt scrub.” Flash of teeth. “You’re still the hero. Still wars to fight, people to deliver.” Nose wrinkles. “Moisture to apply. I also got oil of Olay.”
His skin was always so dry.
First born sons, rivers of blood, and letting his people go. Hands tighten. Weight lifts from Angel’s eyes, not enough to make them light, but enough, for now. She is bathed in the lime of a lemon moon, and out of a pool of bright, her arm lifts to his face, to gives him this. A lady in a lake gave divine kingship, birthright.
They look up, buoyed. The stars are floating in the sky like rain rescued on spiders’ webs.
*
5. Angel and Connor phone conversation
Angel swallowed. "You don't like hockey?"
"I like to watch it, but playing? Dude, I can't even ice skate."
He was tapping his fingers absently now, watching the long white digits depress leather. Suddenly he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, hunching his shoulders over. "I can. Maybe . . . sometime when you're in town, we could . . . go."
"You? Go . . . ice skating? With me?"
"It was just a suggestion."
"Sure. Okay. When?"
Tuesday, he wanted to say, just for the deja vu of it, for the way Buffy's face had lit up, for the way there had still been child-chub on her cheeks, dimpling, glowing, as if already on the ice, the cold reflecting up from below--from everywhere around--but for the warmth in her eyes, her body, her sex, oh god, her love for him. He had wanted to burn himself, so often, into non-existence in the sun of that smile, that light, love, acceptance.
"Uh," he said instead. "Whenever's good."
"This weekend?"
Yes. Yes, yes, please yes. As soon as possible, make it tomorrow, make it tonight, Connor, Connor. "Don't you have school?"
"Angel. Weekend. College student. Complete slacker?"
And for a moment it was all gone again, everything but the, "Connor," baby, "I thought you said you studied hard;" don't lie to me, now; I'm your father . . .
Angel could practically hear the eye roll, again . . . so strangely like talking to Buffy, and was that wrong?
*
6. Really really really long B/A fic
Looking at her, Angel felt a familiar concentration settle in. It was like looking art. He drew from it and made it his own, studying where to make his mark. As a boy in Galway he’d used worn-out sails and half-used coal to draw the pictures in his head-his father wouldn’t let him have real materials. As a vampire in Europe he’d used the bodies of innocents and blood. He saw it everywhere-creation in the old used up things, beauty in the dead things-and death in the living things. It was there in Buffy, settled into the scar on her neck, stuck there like wax-white over a tube of paint, waiting to gush out again and birth new art out of death.
Buffy moved, and he flinched, jerking his eyes away from her scar. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet hers. He left her standing there, shivering.
He wanted rope. So tight it burned. So tight it cut his circulation, so he would remember: his blood flowed, his heart beat, he was a human now and couldn’t wouldn’t do those things he longed to do to her. He grabbed the lengths of heavy rope mixed in with the chains and manacles and nylon cords at the bottom of his weapons chest. When he gave them to Buffy, he still didn’t look at her. He thrust the bundle of it against her chest, felt the brush of her breast, grit his teeth and looked away.
He undressed, and sat on the bed. When she finally came to stand in front of him, still holding the rope where he had pressed it to her, he saw that she was trembling. He sighed, and pulled her to stand between his legs. His hands rested on her hips as if they fit there. At last he looked up. “I’m not going to hurt you, Buffy,” he said finally.
She put the rope on the bed beside him, and then her hands sank into his hair. “I know that.”
He rested there for a moment, his brow pressed into her sternum, feeling the comforting touch of her, feeling his heart slow to beat in sync with hers. Then he pulled away and handed her the rope again. “Tie it tight.”
She fingered a frayed end. “Angel. What’s wrong?”
Making his hands into fists, he held them up, the insides of his wrists together. “This is right. This is who I am.”
Buffy hesitated, then separated the lengths of rope. Pulling a cord of it once around his wrists, she tied a shallow knot to lock his hands together. “Like this?”
“No. Tighter. Wrap it around more times.”
“That’s right.” She untied the rope and fixed it the way he had told her, fastening his wrists more tightly together. “Don’t want you to escape, you naughty boy.”
“Tighter. And don’t talk like that.”
“I was just-just-okay. Alright. Is that good?”
“There’s a hook above the headboard. Tie the end through that.”
Buffy frowned, then did what he said, drawing him down to the bed and his arms up over his head. “Why is this here?” she asked the hook, concentrating on the knot.
“Now the rest.”
Please note, this other two are crack. I mean crack of the REALLY cracktastic variety. It's kind of like doodling--you're not really thinking about it and your hands just move; you don't mean to make a work of art or even a finished sketch and there's no "whole" there.
7. A/S long, multi-chaptered, CRACK, human, AU, backstory, which actually means William/Liam. With like, poetry reading.
“I can,” Liam said, locking his fingers tight around the base of William’s cock. “Watch me.” William groaned. “But only if you’re reading.”
William looked down at his poetry, then down at his lap, and then down at Liam. “But,” he said.
“I wanna hear them,” Liam said.
“But,” William repeated, “there’s only one left.”
Just for the barest moment, Liam looked thrown off. “Oh. Then read that one. Then do this again.” He leaned over to the table and grabbed the pamphlet William had written.
“I already read this twice.” William looked to the pamphlet in one hand to the poetry in the other. With everything in his head, it was difficult to keep track of the fact that between the two, Liam was holding his cock, until Liam gave it a squeeze, and pulled.
“You want me to suck you off. Trust me on this, you really want it.” Liam slithered up between the papers and nipped William’s neck, while the hard hand pulled again at the taut skin, a long, heated stroke. “So read it. Again. I’ll make you last the whole time. Whole time, Will.” He licked the shell of William’s ear, nibbling the lobe. “Whole time with my tongue wrapped around your cock. You want it. You want it so bad. You’re gonna love it.”
William shuffled the papers. Liam smirked, and sank back down again, pulling William’s knees even farther apart. “In this time of troubled conscience,” William began, and gasped as Liam’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock, a gentle ring of wet. “I can’t,” he stuttered. “I can’t read this while you’re-”
“Read it,” Liam said. “Whole time. You love it. Now. Do it.”
*
WARNING: please don't read if it squicks you. Please defriend or go the hell away if it offends you.
8. For Kita and Stoney: a part of some Connor/Angel I'm never going to do anything with.
Angel snapped up Connor's wrist before Connor’s hand even got there. Angel's eyes were flat and lifeless as he bent Connor’s arm over at an uncomfortable angle. “Hands off,” he said.
Connor looked pointedly at Angel’s large hand wrapped around his wrist. “Not so much.”
Angel let go, and he turned away again.
“What, going to go all vestal virigin?” Connor didn’t reach for him again, too pissed off now to tempt him. “What is this? You only phone fuck your kid, is that it? Does that make it less bad somehow?”
Angel’s hand twitched by his side.
Connor waited, then pressed on. “Pretending it was you, was that nothing? You telling me you wanted me, gonna make it right for me, nice for me, that was a bit of fun, no consequences? What about the love part? What was that? Something that just gets you off, like you like me to call you Daddy? What about that, huh? Dad, daddy, father, I’m your good little boy, and you just-”
Angel whirled, caught him up. He was like a reed, hard and slender in his hands, a weapon, and then Connor was melting, all big warm hands and thumping heart in a narrow chest, soft, messy lips against his own and a thin hard thigh trying to wedge its way between Angel’s legs. “I didn’t want it,” Angel breathed, as Connor bit the corner of Angel’s jaw and planted nails in Angel’s back, sharp, stinging. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he finished, guttering.
Both Connor’s hands were at his belt now, on either side of the buckle, fingers tucking behind the pant rims and tugging slim hips against each other, forcing their cocks into covered contact. “How’d you think it’d be,” Connor said, jerking, then moving his hands against Angel's chest to pull up his shirt.
Angel’s hands loosely circled his wrists, halting the movement with a gentle touch. Connor looked up, confused, frustrated, blue eyes liquid light. “I wanted it to be-I didn’t want to do this to you.”
“So far, I’m the one doing to you, and you’re just standing there.”
“But I didn’t want-”
Connor moved his arms, and Angel resisted, but Connor’s hands were just coming to link behind Angel’s neck, a sweet pose, Connor’s lithe body hard against him and hugging, a simple embrace. Connor’s cheek was soft against his, powder and fruit flesh, and the whisper was wet at Angel’s ear. “Daddy, please.”
Angel shuddered. “Connor. I can’t-”
“Daddy,” Connor whispered, hot voice petaling in his ear, “You said. You said you were gonna love me. Want you to show me.”
“Baby,” Angel breathed, hands coming up to Connor’s shoulders to draw him gently away, and instead pulling him closer. “Love you. Love you so much. Always. But this isn’t the way to-”
“Should’ve thought of that.” Connor’s lips were trailing down from Angel’s ear, barely touching cold now with the wet and air, lack of direct contact. Then a sudden brand of hot, a pad of tongue, burning like a lick of flame. “Should’ve thought, Angel, because now you’re in it good.”
Angel looked at the narrowed eyes helplessly. “Connor,” he guttered, but didn’t move, didn’t try to take the hand from his cock. “I wanted--I want you to have the kind of life I could never give you.” Connor tugged impatiently at his cock. “I love you. That's the one right thing,” he said, voice hard, sudden hand on Connor’s wrist bruising, stilling the pull on his cock. “But the rest is all wrong. This is what I am, Connor. It's all I am.”
“You don't get to choose best or worse,” Connor said. "I want it all. That's love. That's proof."
Their eyes held each other, as if in battle.
There was a long pause. And then, no other muscle moving but his mouth, Angel said, “I said, hands off.”
Connor’s face fell, the defeat imperceptible, but there. He looked all at once scared and confused and vulnerable, younger than seemed right for his age--as if he wasn't young enough already to be wrong. His hands fell away, firm, strong man’s hands, looking strangely useless now.
“Good boy,” Angel told him quietly. “Now, undress.”
*
eta: I'm a dumbass and posted the wrong versions of some of these. So, sudden editing. Oops.
So, here goes. I picked bits from *all* the fics currently going on on my computer, because I'm thorough like that and apparently have the pomposity to think random people might be interested. But these days I'm noticing I like kicking around ideas and dreaming up fics I'll write better than writing. Also, better than working. I left off my IWRY fic 'cause I know it'll be out in Nov, but hopefully the War Stories fic'll get posted soon too. And one day Best Souvenir. *crosses fingers* Anyway, here goes, if anyone wants to see my fic-knickers.
WARNING: Some of these are rated NC 17. Please don't read if you're underaged or not into it.
1. next War Stories fic
*
“We trusted you. Larry was going to talk to you. He’s been trying to find you and you’re not here? You don’t care? My son is out there fighting, or . . . Or he could be hurt. God, Connor could be hurt, and you’re just-”
Angel quickly turned away, unclenching the fist by his side. He looked at his hand. It was shaking. He tried to breathe. He didn’t need it, but it helped. Dorky Tai Chi, Spike had said. Mind over beefy matter. Why did Spike have to be so . . .
Colleen was choking back sobs. She jerked him around, the better to accuse him to his face. “He could be dying-”
Angel’s big hand settled on her shoulder. “Please,” he said, and squeezed. “Please.”
“You can’t,” she said. “You can’t know what it’s like. To have a son. To love someone that much and not be able to-”
Angel’s hand slid away. “No. I can’t.”
*
2. from chapter 22 or 23 of Best Souvenir. Really random bit.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she demanded. She repeated it, just for good measure. “We don’t need enemies; we need the Immortal. And don’t give me some crap about how this is how Angelus does things. There was a better way. Do you realize the position you put me in? How I couldn’t-God, couldn’t even fight to protect myself? Do you realize what that . . .” does to me?
“Buffy-”
She grit her teeth, and ground him harder into the wall. He was making a feeble efforts to struggle against her, air coming from his mouth hard, hips wiggling. She pulled his arm up farther behind his back. “There was a better way. You knew it. You were just-just getting your rocks off while I-and that vampire? That boy? How could you for a minute think I would accept that? That that was okay? What do you do, just-just fuck the first monster you see that puffs you up, in front of-of me and God and everybody and just think it’s-”
“Buffy, please-”
“No! No ‘please’! Stop breathing like that! I’m not hurting you. Stop pretending! Stop acting like you’re a man because you’re not. You think a soul gives you that? You think you’re any kind of good? You’re worse than the rest of them because you have one and you still-I said stop breathing!”
There was a sudden loud suck of air, and Angel stopped panting. His body was strained against her, as if his every effort was focussed on remaining completely still. After his noisy air sounds-like a person in pain-up against the wall, it felt very quiet.
Buffy stared at his taut back in angry confusion, and jerked on his arm again.
A small woosh of air. “Buffy. Stop. My arm is broken.”
Buffy let go. His arm came down slowly, sickeningly limp, to his side. Buffy turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
*
3. A/B/F/S piece, I dunno
If you want to know how Buffy got on her backside with Faith at her cunt and Angel and Spike kissing each other across her breasts, this dark apartment in Cleveland is probably the wrong place for you.
For one thing, this can’t be happening (it’s a dream). For Faith, a second chance is rare, not unheard of-Angel, no surprise. A third chance is impossible-Buffy, what the fuck is going on? Fourth chance and you’re just plain shitting yourself-that’d be Spike.
If you’re wondering where Spike came into Faith’s life to fail her, there might be a story about Buffy giving Faith the “you’re beneath me” one-two and Faith high-tailing it back to Cleveland. Because you know, there’s a Hellmouth there-always a chance that someone in an alley might kill her. That’s what vampires are for: the biting and giving you a chance to crawl up from beneath again and walk on solid ground. Now, whether you’re undead or half hooked on Orpheus, doesn’t matter. Because remember, that’s not unheard of for someone like Faith: those second chances.
*
4. Angel/Cordelia and Connor, something about kings, with Trinity stuff fic
“They forced Connor’s blood down your throat.” Her hand flows down over his. “But they didn’t run you. You held against the rush. You tried.”
She’s right. He hadn’t washed his hands of it.
“They won’t ever be clean,” he says, and raises their wrists.
Cordelia’s soft finger tips slip-stream up between the knobs of his knuckles. “You’re right,” she says, cinching lips. “But I have salt scrub.” Flash of teeth. “You’re still the hero. Still wars to fight, people to deliver.” Nose wrinkles. “Moisture to apply. I also got oil of Olay.”
His skin was always so dry.
First born sons, rivers of blood, and letting his people go. Hands tighten. Weight lifts from Angel’s eyes, not enough to make them light, but enough, for now. She is bathed in the lime of a lemon moon, and out of a pool of bright, her arm lifts to his face, to gives him this. A lady in a lake gave divine kingship, birthright.
They look up, buoyed. The stars are floating in the sky like rain rescued on spiders’ webs.
*
5. Angel and Connor phone conversation
Angel swallowed. "You don't like hockey?"
"I like to watch it, but playing? Dude, I can't even ice skate."
He was tapping his fingers absently now, watching the long white digits depress leather. Suddenly he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, hunching his shoulders over. "I can. Maybe . . . sometime when you're in town, we could . . . go."
"You? Go . . . ice skating? With me?"
"It was just a suggestion."
"Sure. Okay. When?"
Tuesday, he wanted to say, just for the deja vu of it, for the way Buffy's face had lit up, for the way there had still been child-chub on her cheeks, dimpling, glowing, as if already on the ice, the cold reflecting up from below--from everywhere around--but for the warmth in her eyes, her body, her sex, oh god, her love for him. He had wanted to burn himself, so often, into non-existence in the sun of that smile, that light, love, acceptance.
"Uh," he said instead. "Whenever's good."
"This weekend?"
Yes. Yes, yes, please yes. As soon as possible, make it tomorrow, make it tonight, Connor, Connor. "Don't you have school?"
"Angel. Weekend. College student. Complete slacker?"
And for a moment it was all gone again, everything but the, "Connor," baby, "I thought you said you studied hard;" don't lie to me, now; I'm your father . . .
Angel could practically hear the eye roll, again . . . so strangely like talking to Buffy, and was that wrong?
*
6. Really really really long B/A fic
Looking at her, Angel felt a familiar concentration settle in. It was like looking art. He drew from it and made it his own, studying where to make his mark. As a boy in Galway he’d used worn-out sails and half-used coal to draw the pictures in his head-his father wouldn’t let him have real materials. As a vampire in Europe he’d used the bodies of innocents and blood. He saw it everywhere-creation in the old used up things, beauty in the dead things-and death in the living things. It was there in Buffy, settled into the scar on her neck, stuck there like wax-white over a tube of paint, waiting to gush out again and birth new art out of death.
Buffy moved, and he flinched, jerking his eyes away from her scar. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet hers. He left her standing there, shivering.
He wanted rope. So tight it burned. So tight it cut his circulation, so he would remember: his blood flowed, his heart beat, he was a human now and couldn’t wouldn’t do those things he longed to do to her. He grabbed the lengths of heavy rope mixed in with the chains and manacles and nylon cords at the bottom of his weapons chest. When he gave them to Buffy, he still didn’t look at her. He thrust the bundle of it against her chest, felt the brush of her breast, grit his teeth and looked away.
He undressed, and sat on the bed. When she finally came to stand in front of him, still holding the rope where he had pressed it to her, he saw that she was trembling. He sighed, and pulled her to stand between his legs. His hands rested on her hips as if they fit there. At last he looked up. “I’m not going to hurt you, Buffy,” he said finally.
She put the rope on the bed beside him, and then her hands sank into his hair. “I know that.”
He rested there for a moment, his brow pressed into her sternum, feeling the comforting touch of her, feeling his heart slow to beat in sync with hers. Then he pulled away and handed her the rope again. “Tie it tight.”
She fingered a frayed end. “Angel. What’s wrong?”
Making his hands into fists, he held them up, the insides of his wrists together. “This is right. This is who I am.”
Buffy hesitated, then separated the lengths of rope. Pulling a cord of it once around his wrists, she tied a shallow knot to lock his hands together. “Like this?”
“No. Tighter. Wrap it around more times.”
“That’s right.” She untied the rope and fixed it the way he had told her, fastening his wrists more tightly together. “Don’t want you to escape, you naughty boy.”
“Tighter. And don’t talk like that.”
“I was just-just-okay. Alright. Is that good?”
“There’s a hook above the headboard. Tie the end through that.”
Buffy frowned, then did what he said, drawing him down to the bed and his arms up over his head. “Why is this here?” she asked the hook, concentrating on the knot.
“Now the rest.”
Please note, this other two are crack. I mean crack of the REALLY cracktastic variety. It's kind of like doodling--you're not really thinking about it and your hands just move; you don't mean to make a work of art or even a finished sketch and there's no "whole" there.
7. A/S long, multi-chaptered, CRACK, human, AU, backstory, which actually means William/Liam. With like, poetry reading.
“I can,” Liam said, locking his fingers tight around the base of William’s cock. “Watch me.” William groaned. “But only if you’re reading.”
William looked down at his poetry, then down at his lap, and then down at Liam. “But,” he said.
“I wanna hear them,” Liam said.
“But,” William repeated, “there’s only one left.”
Just for the barest moment, Liam looked thrown off. “Oh. Then read that one. Then do this again.” He leaned over to the table and grabbed the pamphlet William had written.
“I already read this twice.” William looked to the pamphlet in one hand to the poetry in the other. With everything in his head, it was difficult to keep track of the fact that between the two, Liam was holding his cock, until Liam gave it a squeeze, and pulled.
“You want me to suck you off. Trust me on this, you really want it.” Liam slithered up between the papers and nipped William’s neck, while the hard hand pulled again at the taut skin, a long, heated stroke. “So read it. Again. I’ll make you last the whole time. Whole time, Will.” He licked the shell of William’s ear, nibbling the lobe. “Whole time with my tongue wrapped around your cock. You want it. You want it so bad. You’re gonna love it.”
William shuffled the papers. Liam smirked, and sank back down again, pulling William’s knees even farther apart. “In this time of troubled conscience,” William began, and gasped as Liam’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock, a gentle ring of wet. “I can’t,” he stuttered. “I can’t read this while you’re-”
“Read it,” Liam said. “Whole time. You love it. Now. Do it.”
*
WARNING: please don't read if it squicks you. Please defriend or go the hell away if it offends you.
8. For Kita and Stoney: a part of some Connor/Angel I'm never going to do anything with.
Angel snapped up Connor's wrist before Connor’s hand even got there. Angel's eyes were flat and lifeless as he bent Connor’s arm over at an uncomfortable angle. “Hands off,” he said.
Connor looked pointedly at Angel’s large hand wrapped around his wrist. “Not so much.”
Angel let go, and he turned away again.
“What, going to go all vestal virigin?” Connor didn’t reach for him again, too pissed off now to tempt him. “What is this? You only phone fuck your kid, is that it? Does that make it less bad somehow?”
Angel’s hand twitched by his side.
Connor waited, then pressed on. “Pretending it was you, was that nothing? You telling me you wanted me, gonna make it right for me, nice for me, that was a bit of fun, no consequences? What about the love part? What was that? Something that just gets you off, like you like me to call you Daddy? What about that, huh? Dad, daddy, father, I’m your good little boy, and you just-”
Angel whirled, caught him up. He was like a reed, hard and slender in his hands, a weapon, and then Connor was melting, all big warm hands and thumping heart in a narrow chest, soft, messy lips against his own and a thin hard thigh trying to wedge its way between Angel’s legs. “I didn’t want it,” Angel breathed, as Connor bit the corner of Angel’s jaw and planted nails in Angel’s back, sharp, stinging. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he finished, guttering.
Both Connor’s hands were at his belt now, on either side of the buckle, fingers tucking behind the pant rims and tugging slim hips against each other, forcing their cocks into covered contact. “How’d you think it’d be,” Connor said, jerking, then moving his hands against Angel's chest to pull up his shirt.
Angel’s hands loosely circled his wrists, halting the movement with a gentle touch. Connor looked up, confused, frustrated, blue eyes liquid light. “I wanted it to be-I didn’t want to do this to you.”
“So far, I’m the one doing to you, and you’re just standing there.”
“But I didn’t want-”
Connor moved his arms, and Angel resisted, but Connor’s hands were just coming to link behind Angel’s neck, a sweet pose, Connor’s lithe body hard against him and hugging, a simple embrace. Connor’s cheek was soft against his, powder and fruit flesh, and the whisper was wet at Angel’s ear. “Daddy, please.”
Angel shuddered. “Connor. I can’t-”
“Daddy,” Connor whispered, hot voice petaling in his ear, “You said. You said you were gonna love me. Want you to show me.”
“Baby,” Angel breathed, hands coming up to Connor’s shoulders to draw him gently away, and instead pulling him closer. “Love you. Love you so much. Always. But this isn’t the way to-”
“Should’ve thought of that.” Connor’s lips were trailing down from Angel’s ear, barely touching cold now with the wet and air, lack of direct contact. Then a sudden brand of hot, a pad of tongue, burning like a lick of flame. “Should’ve thought, Angel, because now you’re in it good.”
Angel looked at the narrowed eyes helplessly. “Connor,” he guttered, but didn’t move, didn’t try to take the hand from his cock. “I wanted--I want you to have the kind of life I could never give you.” Connor tugged impatiently at his cock. “I love you. That's the one right thing,” he said, voice hard, sudden hand on Connor’s wrist bruising, stilling the pull on his cock. “But the rest is all wrong. This is what I am, Connor. It's all I am.”
“You don't get to choose best or worse,” Connor said. "I want it all. That's love. That's proof."
Their eyes held each other, as if in battle.
There was a long pause. And then, no other muscle moving but his mouth, Angel said, “I said, hands off.”
Connor’s face fell, the defeat imperceptible, but there. He looked all at once scared and confused and vulnerable, younger than seemed right for his age--as if he wasn't young enough already to be wrong. His hands fell away, firm, strong man’s hands, looking strangely useless now.
“Good boy,” Angel told him quietly. “Now, undress.”
*
eta: I'm a dumbass and posted the wrong versions of some of these. So, sudden editing. Oops.