New World, Old Ways, Angel/Connor
so I was watching that episode in Angel season 3 where Connor is newly returned and after ripping off some dude’s ear to save a junkie, Angel tracks Connor to an abandoned hotel where he is trying to revive said junkie from a fatal OD. and I blame sickchicks for infecting me with the daddy!kink, but my brain took that episode in a whole new direction.
all told I don’t think it’s that extreme, a lot more thinking than actual doing, but read the warnings and don’t come crying to me. he’s a vampire and he didn’t raise the kid, and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
Title: New World, Old Ways
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Angel/Connor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, incest, underage sexual acts, I think it’s consensual but I could see an argument for noncon
Summary: so, I was watching As3’s A New World and I started thinking, what if that scene in the motel had gone differently? it's pretty, if I may say so myself.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please, I am a fan of the constructive criticism!
unbeta’d cuz I’m impatient
Few humans realized just how much information could be gained from their scent, or how long their scent lingered in the air once they were gone. Angel, at his age and bloodline, could glean emotion, state of wellness, gender, even age due to the blend of hormones, still clearly half an hour after someone had left a room. Outside was trickier, depending on wind and weather. But their signature scent, their uniqueness, lingered far longer than that…especially if they had touched anything, depositing oil residues on stationary objects as they passed.
Now Angel was tracking Connor, still buzzing from their fight earlier. His boy was a skilled fighter and the challenge of a worthy opponent roused the animal in him from its forced dormancy. He’d long since sent Fred and Gunn home. He could move more quickly without them, and their scents didn’t mask the trail. And though they never said it, his tracking ability disturbed them. Reminded them that he was a predator and that they were prey.
Connor’s trail reeked of rage at first but the emotion faded as he followed the scent path tinged with someone else’s blood (ripping off an adversary’s ear, a true son of Aurelius). Here and there the cloying scent of arousal seemed to punctuate the path in waves. Interesting. His son was walking with someone, a young female who didn’t quite smell healthy, though not sick either.
Connor smelled human. Who would guess that he had a human son? The fact was still new and astonishing, even if the son himself was now an angry teenage boy. Connor smelled human. Smelled of food and pain and…other things that humans were useful for. But he also smelled faintly of the line of Aurelius and the scent made Angel-acutely aware-of Angelus in the back of his mind. And it confused him, a strange signal of food and family that left him instinctually unsure of the proper conduct.
Angel tracked Connor and the girl to an abandoned motel. A heady cocktail of scents lingered in the room, and above it all, he smelled death. Connor was leaning over a girl, calling her Sunny and trying to shake her awake, but Angel could tell from the needle and the sickenly sweet scent of the drug in her veins and the lacking heartbeat that it was too late. Fuck. He roughly checked Connor but the boy’s arms were clean. He smelled like rage and pain and bloodlust…a palatable combination that made Angelus scream for blood somewhere inside. Blood that he has tasted before, succulent with the flavor of Aurelius, sweet with human youth. Now too, he knew it would be potent as aged scotch with the thrum of anger-the rage of the young was always so pure.
He shook off the thoughts. He had to keep Connor from doing something the boy would regret. The thought was mildly ridiculous, the boy having just arrived from a hell dimension, but the urge to protect was strong and brooked no logic. He argued with words, and when that failed, with fists. Pinned the small body against the wall.
He was wiry for all his petiteness and put up a good struggle, but it was no match for vampire strength. He realized, from this closeness, how very like his childer this boy was. Built so much like William and Penn, small and slender and dark-haired, light-eyed and full of delicious rage. Stubborn. Head-strong. And maybe there really was no changing his course, because this scene was starting to feel achingly familiar. Boy against the wall, and Angelus irritated by his lack of obedience and aroused by his fear. Two hundred and seventy some years and still only one way to deal with his offspring: fight and fuck them into submission.
Fuck. He was aroused. What was wrong with him? It must be the memories of his childer in this position. God knows where those confrontations had ended up more often than not. Especially with William, who always liked to distract him from a proper punishment with coy innuendo. And this boy, his son, was so like them, that was all. He wasn’t depraved enough to want his own genetic son.
But he let the boy go, just in case.
Connor was still lashing out, still full of sorrow and anger on behalf of the little addict, who he couldn’t have known long, and Angel wondered why. Why the attachment. The boy kept attacking him, probably just wanted to attack something, and he was clumsy in his grief, easy to fend off as a pup. None of the skill of their earlier skirmish. He would have to teach him about controlling the rage, keeping it locked down until your opponent was defeated. There was a lot he could teach this Connor, he realized, the angry fighter. As though the time in the hell dimension had made this boy his son in spirit, as well as blood.
Connor came at him again and he shoved the boy away again and the boy fell, sprawled on the ground. Angel dropped his weight and pinned Connor, weary of fending off his attacks. If he could just hold him still, he’d make him listen. Spoke to him in his softest spooked-horse voice. Spoke of regret and shame at his inability to prevent the kidnapping. Spoke to him of lost years and grief and the desire to know this man-boy his son had become.
Connor struggled at first. Angel gritted his teeth against the growing erection(sickwrong) from having a squirming, struggling, warm body beneath him for the first time in a long time. A resistant body. Which he didn’t like to admit, called to his demon and aroused him a hell of a lot more than he’d like. Gradually, the boy stilled and as Angel spoke he could smell the growing scent of entwined confusion and despair like seductive perfume. And there was something else…
Their faces were so close already that Connor hardly needed to crane his neck at all to close the distance, warm lips pressed against his. Angel was shocked into stillness, paralyzed with uncertainty even as Angelus crowed in victory somewhere inside him. The boy’s lips were warm and moist and eager, clumsy and slightly papery. More blood shot to his groin and he groaned. On instinct, began to kiss back.
Wrong. wrongwrongwrong, wrongwrong, wrongwrongwrong, the word playing over and over in his mind like an engine trying to turn over on a cold morning. Except he was hot, furnace-like heat radiating off of this boy, his son, pressed beneath him. This was Wolfram & Hart’s fault, for feeding him the boy’s blood, associating the boy forever with food and pain and yes, the arousal that came with it, the fucking, the rutting. This was Holtz’s fault for stealing his baby boy, making him a stranger, a stranger it was ok to caress tongue to tongue. If he had raised this boy from birth, he would never have found himself thrusting against him, erection deriving lovely friction from rubbing against the boy’s. He never would have, right?
He released the boy’s mouth to let him breath. “Connor…”
The boy was pink, flushed and panting. “Sunny put her mouth on mine like this, and it felt good. It’s a gesture of comfort in this world, I think.” Flushed and panting and so beautiful in his naïveté. “But I feel…stranger than I did with her. My penis throbs.”
Christ. The kid was what, 16 in earth years? And clueless about his erection. Guess there was no masturbation in the hell dimension. Was it possible he had never had an orgasm? His cock twitched at the thought. He could be the first. wrongwrong-wrongwrongwrong. He was a sick bastard and this was why the Shanshu prophecy was wrong, why he’d never earn his redemption and become human again. Because even as a human, he’d have these wrongbad feelings. He was screwed in the cosmic karma game, screwed long ago beyond all repair.
Fuck it.
“Connor…my sweet boy.” He petted him soothingly, kissed him, gave him tenderness and sweetness and gentle hands, things not found in hell. Sixteen years worth of missing paternal love. Spoke close against the boy’s ear as he shifted and unfastened Connor’s pants. “I’m going to make you feel good.”
At the first touch of Angel’s hand on his cock, Connor cried out, voice cracking in surprise. He was trembling a little as Angel began to pump tightly. Squirming and bucking and making little whimpering sounds that awakened the predatory beast in Angel. This wasn’t going to last long. The boy was gasping and grasping at the filthy carpet, gulping in air. His arousal was so thick that Angel could almost taste it and he clamped down on his control, focusing on Connor.
“…Dad?” a small voice, reed thin and pitched high, scared and lost and overwhelmed. He brushed feathery light kisses along the soft lower abdomen, feeling the boy shudder in response.
“Shhh, Connor, don’t be scared. Only gonna make you feel good. Daddy’s got you.” The phrase, unbidden, harkened him back to the days of a bouncing baby on his knee. He squelched the thought down, pumping rapidly now. The boy was close, so close. His blood rushed hot just beneath the surface and called to Angel. He needed to get closer.
He swallowed the long thick cock down, all the way down to the root, and Connor cried out in shock, fisting his awkwardly large hand in Angel’s hair and shouting “Dad!” Coming and shaking, and that too tasted of Aurelius, of William and Penn and family he might never touch again. Angel swallowed it all, licked Connor clean, and calmly refastened his pants. Kissed the dazed boy on the cheek. He was still painfully hard, but he wasn’t important. It was about his boy.
“What was that?” Connor asked, sounding stupefied and in awe.
“It was a private moment, between us. Don’t tell anyone about this, they might not understand. It’s just for you and me, just this once.” He smoothed back the long dark hair from the forehead, feeling echoes of the past. He should feel more guilty, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
And then the moment was broken, strange men bursting into the room intent on violence. Like the survivor he was, Connor snapped back to alertness at the first sign of danger (made him proud, so proud), and they fought, side by side.
all told I don’t think it’s that extreme, a lot more thinking than actual doing, but read the warnings and don’t come crying to me. he’s a vampire and he didn’t raise the kid, and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
Title: New World, Old Ways
Author: Mel (btvslover82)
Pairing: Angel/Connor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, incest, underage sexual acts, I think it’s consensual but I could see an argument for noncon
Summary: so, I was watching As3’s A New World and I started thinking, what if that scene in the motel had gone differently? it's pretty, if I may say so myself.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss and ME...alas, alack.
Feedback: please, I am a fan of the constructive criticism!
unbeta’d cuz I’m impatient
Few humans realized just how much information could be gained from their scent, or how long their scent lingered in the air once they were gone. Angel, at his age and bloodline, could glean emotion, state of wellness, gender, even age due to the blend of hormones, still clearly half an hour after someone had left a room. Outside was trickier, depending on wind and weather. But their signature scent, their uniqueness, lingered far longer than that…especially if they had touched anything, depositing oil residues on stationary objects as they passed.
Now Angel was tracking Connor, still buzzing from their fight earlier. His boy was a skilled fighter and the challenge of a worthy opponent roused the animal in him from its forced dormancy. He’d long since sent Fred and Gunn home. He could move more quickly without them, and their scents didn’t mask the trail. And though they never said it, his tracking ability disturbed them. Reminded them that he was a predator and that they were prey.
Connor’s trail reeked of rage at first but the emotion faded as he followed the scent path tinged with someone else’s blood (ripping off an adversary’s ear, a true son of Aurelius). Here and there the cloying scent of arousal seemed to punctuate the path in waves. Interesting. His son was walking with someone, a young female who didn’t quite smell healthy, though not sick either.
Connor smelled human. Who would guess that he had a human son? The fact was still new and astonishing, even if the son himself was now an angry teenage boy. Connor smelled human. Smelled of food and pain and…other things that humans were useful for. But he also smelled faintly of the line of Aurelius and the scent made Angel-acutely aware-of Angelus in the back of his mind. And it confused him, a strange signal of food and family that left him instinctually unsure of the proper conduct.
Angel tracked Connor and the girl to an abandoned motel. A heady cocktail of scents lingered in the room, and above it all, he smelled death. Connor was leaning over a girl, calling her Sunny and trying to shake her awake, but Angel could tell from the needle and the sickenly sweet scent of the drug in her veins and the lacking heartbeat that it was too late. Fuck. He roughly checked Connor but the boy’s arms were clean. He smelled like rage and pain and bloodlust…a palatable combination that made Angelus scream for blood somewhere inside. Blood that he has tasted before, succulent with the flavor of Aurelius, sweet with human youth. Now too, he knew it would be potent as aged scotch with the thrum of anger-the rage of the young was always so pure.
He shook off the thoughts. He had to keep Connor from doing something the boy would regret. The thought was mildly ridiculous, the boy having just arrived from a hell dimension, but the urge to protect was strong and brooked no logic. He argued with words, and when that failed, with fists. Pinned the small body against the wall.
He was wiry for all his petiteness and put up a good struggle, but it was no match for vampire strength. He realized, from this closeness, how very like his childer this boy was. Built so much like William and Penn, small and slender and dark-haired, light-eyed and full of delicious rage. Stubborn. Head-strong. And maybe there really was no changing his course, because this scene was starting to feel achingly familiar. Boy against the wall, and Angelus irritated by his lack of obedience and aroused by his fear. Two hundred and seventy some years and still only one way to deal with his offspring: fight and fuck them into submission.
Fuck. He was aroused. What was wrong with him? It must be the memories of his childer in this position. God knows where those confrontations had ended up more often than not. Especially with William, who always liked to distract him from a proper punishment with coy innuendo. And this boy, his son, was so like them, that was all. He wasn’t depraved enough to want his own genetic son.
But he let the boy go, just in case.
Connor was still lashing out, still full of sorrow and anger on behalf of the little addict, who he couldn’t have known long, and Angel wondered why. Why the attachment. The boy kept attacking him, probably just wanted to attack something, and he was clumsy in his grief, easy to fend off as a pup. None of the skill of their earlier skirmish. He would have to teach him about controlling the rage, keeping it locked down until your opponent was defeated. There was a lot he could teach this Connor, he realized, the angry fighter. As though the time in the hell dimension had made this boy his son in spirit, as well as blood.
Connor came at him again and he shoved the boy away again and the boy fell, sprawled on the ground. Angel dropped his weight and pinned Connor, weary of fending off his attacks. If he could just hold him still, he’d make him listen. Spoke to him in his softest spooked-horse voice. Spoke of regret and shame at his inability to prevent the kidnapping. Spoke to him of lost years and grief and the desire to know this man-boy his son had become.
Connor struggled at first. Angel gritted his teeth against the growing erection(sickwrong) from having a squirming, struggling, warm body beneath him for the first time in a long time. A resistant body. Which he didn’t like to admit, called to his demon and aroused him a hell of a lot more than he’d like. Gradually, the boy stilled and as Angel spoke he could smell the growing scent of entwined confusion and despair like seductive perfume. And there was something else…
Their faces were so close already that Connor hardly needed to crane his neck at all to close the distance, warm lips pressed against his. Angel was shocked into stillness, paralyzed with uncertainty even as Angelus crowed in victory somewhere inside him. The boy’s lips were warm and moist and eager, clumsy and slightly papery. More blood shot to his groin and he groaned. On instinct, began to kiss back.
Wrong. wrongwrongwrong, wrongwrong, wrongwrongwrong, the word playing over and over in his mind like an engine trying to turn over on a cold morning. Except he was hot, furnace-like heat radiating off of this boy, his son, pressed beneath him. This was Wolfram & Hart’s fault, for feeding him the boy’s blood, associating the boy forever with food and pain and yes, the arousal that came with it, the fucking, the rutting. This was Holtz’s fault for stealing his baby boy, making him a stranger, a stranger it was ok to caress tongue to tongue. If he had raised this boy from birth, he would never have found himself thrusting against him, erection deriving lovely friction from rubbing against the boy’s. He never would have, right?
He released the boy’s mouth to let him breath. “Connor…”
The boy was pink, flushed and panting. “Sunny put her mouth on mine like this, and it felt good. It’s a gesture of comfort in this world, I think.” Flushed and panting and so beautiful in his naïveté. “But I feel…stranger than I did with her. My penis throbs.”
Christ. The kid was what, 16 in earth years? And clueless about his erection. Guess there was no masturbation in the hell dimension. Was it possible he had never had an orgasm? His cock twitched at the thought. He could be the first. wrongwrong-wrongwrongwrong. He was a sick bastard and this was why the Shanshu prophecy was wrong, why he’d never earn his redemption and become human again. Because even as a human, he’d have these wrongbad feelings. He was screwed in the cosmic karma game, screwed long ago beyond all repair.
Fuck it.
“Connor…my sweet boy.” He petted him soothingly, kissed him, gave him tenderness and sweetness and gentle hands, things not found in hell. Sixteen years worth of missing paternal love. Spoke close against the boy’s ear as he shifted and unfastened Connor’s pants. “I’m going to make you feel good.”
At the first touch of Angel’s hand on his cock, Connor cried out, voice cracking in surprise. He was trembling a little as Angel began to pump tightly. Squirming and bucking and making little whimpering sounds that awakened the predatory beast in Angel. This wasn’t going to last long. The boy was gasping and grasping at the filthy carpet, gulping in air. His arousal was so thick that Angel could almost taste it and he clamped down on his control, focusing on Connor.
“…Dad?” a small voice, reed thin and pitched high, scared and lost and overwhelmed. He brushed feathery light kisses along the soft lower abdomen, feeling the boy shudder in response.
“Shhh, Connor, don’t be scared. Only gonna make you feel good. Daddy’s got you.” The phrase, unbidden, harkened him back to the days of a bouncing baby on his knee. He squelched the thought down, pumping rapidly now. The boy was close, so close. His blood rushed hot just beneath the surface and called to Angel. He needed to get closer.
He swallowed the long thick cock down, all the way down to the root, and Connor cried out in shock, fisting his awkwardly large hand in Angel’s hair and shouting “Dad!” Coming and shaking, and that too tasted of Aurelius, of William and Penn and family he might never touch again. Angel swallowed it all, licked Connor clean, and calmly refastened his pants. Kissed the dazed boy on the cheek. He was still painfully hard, but he wasn’t important. It was about his boy.
“What was that?” Connor asked, sounding stupefied and in awe.
“It was a private moment, between us. Don’t tell anyone about this, they might not understand. It’s just for you and me, just this once.” He smoothed back the long dark hair from the forehead, feeling echoes of the past. He should feel more guilty, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
And then the moment was broken, strange men bursting into the room intent on violence. Like the survivor he was, Connor snapped back to alertness at the first sign of danger (made him proud, so proud), and they fought, side by side.