a.connor  a.doyle  a.lindsey  a.oz  a.spike  a.wesley  a.xander  a.other  three.somes  het.fic  character.study           
Title: Nightlife 
Author: Christina Melani
Pairing: Aus/X
Rating: Very NC-17
Setting: NYC, Post BtVS 'Restless' & AtS 'Eternity'



"Why are you even leaving me alive? Why don't you just turn me, now?"

Xander grabs at Angelus, who has scoffed at the boy's words and turned to leave the living room of their apartment where the argument began only a few minutes ago.

Xander grips the vampire's upper arms with a desperation that Angelus finds both cute and annoying. Mostly pathetic. His Xander, always the one for emotional dramatics.

"Why are you doing this? Just answer me!" Xander is almost yelling, his dark mahogany eyes glittering wet as the night, but stormy and muddled with confusion. This is all beyond his reach. Angelus is beyond his reach. A black star, too far away, cold to the touch and defying all physics and he'll never understand any of this. Never understand why the vampire is just letting him keep his mortality.

Angelus angrily rips his arms out of his lover's grasp and then his fingers close around Xander's wrists, pushes the slender teen back against the peeling wallpaper of their room. He presses the sharp angle of his hip into Xander, keeping him still.

"What do you want me to say?" He says loudly, and not able to help himself with the tide of electric emotions in the room, he slips into game-face, his lips pulling back from the mouthful of sharp teeth in an unconscious snarl.

"You want me to tell you how much I love you? That I'm sorry you have to take so much of my shit?"

Xander sobs once, trembling against Angelus as the vampire raises his captive wrists over his head.

"You honestly think I can say that? When I've never loved anything in my life?" Angelus' face is close to Xander's now, and the teen feels the same terrible vertigo he always does, staring deep into those yellow eyes, falling from endless heights, always with Angelus whenever he hits.

"Why haven't you killed me then?" Xander hisses back, surprising himself with his venom.

Angelus gives him a fleeting smile that is as faint and dark as a whisper, and speaks again, his voice maddeningly savage.

"Because I've forgotten how good it is to fuck something warm."

And Xander flinches at this, as jerkily as if he'd been slapped, and he has to look away, so the vampire won't be able to revel at the pain in his eyes.

"I don't believe that.." He says, although the slightness of his voice suggests otherwise.

"You should. It would save you the trouble of mistaking all this for something else."

There is a moment of black silence, filled thickly with too many faceless emotions. Xander feels a need to scream; to scream out these tears that are burning the back of his throat. He swallows salt and blood, falling into his memories, into the yellow and red his life has become. He gave up so much for Angelus. He had already left Sunnydale by the time they met, on his much deserved road trip. Which had also doubled as a way to escape from his friends, still mourning Cordelia and Wesley. Their deaths had signaled the return of a threat no one felt like facing again. And Buffy had been vacationing in Maui. No excuse, no excuse, but he didn't care. He'd left. Crept away in the night like the criminal in a noir film, only a shadow on the wall, away from Willow and Giles.. Taking with him the knowledge of Anya's secret return to vengeance, mentioned in passing after Cordelia's funeral, and his own betrayals.

Maybe the trip was just him running away. Not as if it mattered. The need to get away had taken root under his skin and he had to listen. Taking to the roads as if they were the answers. Even though they only led to more problems.

Like in Nevada, hanging out in a dusty neon-bright motel with a couple of scraggly squatters. Punked-out, completely clueless, but too worldly for their ages. They gave Xander a little bit of their disease, where it festered and recreated itself inside his cells until he was ill with the realization that he could never be Xander Harris of the Scooby Gang again. Not the Xander they'd all known, anywise. And not one they'd particularly welcome back.

Cities and towns sped by and he worked in dank rooms, in concrete boxes, as a cook, as a photographer's model in dry cemeteries, as a one-time hustler, all to pay for his self-revelatory drift across the country.

And that responsibility he said he was running from? The reason he told himself he was running?

Angelus found him, of all places, in one of the back rooms of an underground S&M club with a pretentious french name. It'd been a spur of the moment act to go into the place, and it led to Xander being bound with leather straps and being 'punished' by a pale Elvira-lookalike in a vinyl corset and crotchless fishnet tights, wielding a thick leather whip. He didn't mind the atmosphere of the place; especially didn't mind being whipped, or the kinkiness of being called 'my little boy', but it was still a little too intense for him. And he'd been on the verge of calling out his safe word when his Mistress announced she was letting someone else take over. Maybe not the most canon thing to do, but Xander had wanted unpredictability.

He remembered the sharp cracks of the whip, hitting carefully and with the precision of a practiced hand. Not just meeting its objective, but almost playfully, teasing out the brunt of the pain. The sound, loud fleshy smacks, echoing in the cold concrete room. And the tightness of the leather restraints digging into his wrists as he tried not to squirm, crying with half-agony, half- pleasure.

Remembers the blows began to taper off, letting him wind down from his euphoric storm. Adrenaline still sparking under his skin, but calm like. Meditative frame of mind. Completely out of it, but he noticed the cold hands that suddenly situated themselves around his waist, toying with the elastic hem of his black underwear. He'd been about to ask who it was that had commanded the whip with such professionalism, but not in so many words, when one of the hands pressed tight over his mouth. And a voice he vaguely recognized told him not to struggle, and then there were wet lips searching over the sensitive space of skin between his neck and his shoulder, accompanied with a feeling of fear that hit him so fast he felt dizzy.

And when the fangs sank into his neck, he tried not to swoon, tried to do what the man had told him. If he was going to be drained by a vampire in the dungeons of Club Douleur, then there was nothing he could do about it. He kinda sensed that this club catered to hungry vampires wandering around the dirty subcultures of New York at night, sharing their bloody kisses almost casually. Maybe the whole fucking club was run by vampires and he'd been doomed the moment he set foot inside it.

But he wasn't really thinking about all that. It was just there underneath his stream of coherency, because for the first time in his life, he was being killed. He was still too diaphanous, too diffused to really know it, to actually fear it. But he was dying and he needed that. Wanted that despair and that end to hope. The suckling and the hands touching him and the wet juicy noises and he could see why people eroticized the moment. Once the blood loss hits, you just floated and the mouth burrowing into your neck, sucking with predatory abandon, was somehow so intimate that it became the deepest kiss you'd ever had, all pain, all pleasure.

Yet, when he'd begun to slide inside a death faint, the vampire released him, and since he lacked the strength to support himself, he just hung limply from the wall where he'd been tied, panting softly. Mewling like a half-dead kitten.

The vampire then untied him from his bonds and Xander slumped to the floor, infinitely weary with the loss of blood.

And as he lay on the freezing cement, fighting against the gaping jaw of unconsciousness, the person who'd bit him knelt into view, leaning his face over him.

Even upside-down, Xander recognized Angelus, grinning broadly in his human face, lips still smeared red.

These memories hit Xander fast, like a scene from a film played back at twice the speed, and he swallows loudly against the tears that are rising. Salt and blood.

"You remember when you found me? Before I knew who it was, I was thinking about how I'd finally.. discovered myself."

Angelus regards Xander impassively, his yellow eyes betraying nothing.

"I kept thinking, 'this is it.. this is what I'm supposed to feel like', and I didn't care who it was because it felt so horrible.. So horrible that it I just.. I loved it. Even when you bit me.. I didn't care.. I'd never been bit before, and it all just ran together."

"And now?" The vampire asks, his voice flat and emotionless as granite.

"I don't know.." Xander swallows again, wresting the words from his mind slowly, hazily.

"I'm wondering why I feel so in love with you.. The best thing about this whole situation is that you like to hurt as much I like being hurt."

"Not as much.. I could do a lot worse."

"You know what I mean," Xander says frustratedly, trying to shove Angelus away. The vampire lets him go, releasing his death-grip on the youth's wrists and backing away from him.

Xander rubs his arms, looks with surprise at the livid purple bruises encircling the flesh of his wrists; dulls and aches such as these seemed to be passing him by now.

"I just.. I want you to want me. Even if you can't love me.. Can you at least want me? Enough to care about me?" Xander looks back at the vampire plaintively, doing his best not to sound too weak or too desperate.

Angelus sighs, rubs the back of his hand over his ridged brow until he's shifted back to his human visage.

"You should be grateful I've kept you around this long.."

"You can't say it, can you?"

"I just did." Angelus snaps, though his voice is barely a whisper, and his cold midnight eyes meet Xander's for a moment before he looks away. And the youth is left almost speechless at the vampire's uncharacteristic discomfort.

Neither say anything for a long moment, in which Angelus walks to the apartment's bar and shakes out a cigarette from the pack on the counter. He lights it with the silver skull lighter Xander said he got from a quiet girl in black shades somewhere along the empty highways, and tries not to think about what he's just said. Or how about how it's made Xander feel.

Focuses on his resentment and his anger. Why is Xander able to do this to him? He's completely fucking torn. He can't be himself when the teen is around. Can't be the murderous demon he's been towards all his other lovers, because Xander doesn't care about his friends or his family anymore, and besides that, even if the naive teen doesn't know it, he stirs up the last vestiges of human weaknesses in Angelus' psyche. Whatever love a demon is capable of feeling, then that's how Angelus feels. And it's nauseating how strong it could be. How the fuck could Spike have been love's bitch for so long and lived with himself? Then again, both of his Childes had no problem vocalizing love.. And neither had weakened for it. They'd been a murderous duo, all lace and spikes. Love was human, but it didn't have to be a weakness. Maybe if you let it tear you down, get under your skin, like Spike had after Dru left. Maybe then it was something to be hated.

So what, should he embrace Xander, give him a kiss, rip out his throat and then feed him back to the nightlife? He didn't want to do that, because he hadn't been lying before, when he said he missed something warm to fuck.

Is it more than that?

And he resents Xander for all this confusion; for being the perfect victim.

So perfect he can't bring himself to go through with the deed.

Xander's hands on his shoulders interrupt whatever thoughts Angelus is fighting with, and the youth ignores the vampire's warning growl.

"It's not so hard, Deadboy. Just say it. And I won't leave or kill myself or anything..."

Angelus feels his jaw clench, his eyes fixed on the mirror behind the little bar. Xan's watching him with sad eyes.

He doesn't have have to let Xander leave. Could grab him, lock him in the bathroom again until all this passes.

"Do you really want me to lie to you?"

There is a pause. Or he could let him leave.. Let him find worse things out on the dark streets.

"I thought so.. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?"

Xander steps away from his lover, and heads towards the front door.

"I think maybe I've been overestimating you, Angelus--"

"Where are you going?" Angelus interrupts, turning around, forcing his voice to be cold when all he wants to do is call Xander back.

Not for anything so romantic as a kiss and an apology, but for something that will make the boy know he wants him, without actually saying it. Could whip him. Hang him again. Anything painful. But I can't do it. He's nothing; I can't let him win--

"To a bar, I don't know--" Xander says without looking over his shoulder, grasping the knob of the door and swinging it open.

But Angelus is there in an instant, and he slams the door shut, holding his outstretched palm against it, glaring down at Xander.

"You think you can just walk away from me? That I'd even let you?"

"Well, gee, I didn't think you cared, Deadboy."

"What would show you I cared? If I shoved you up against the door and fucked you hard enough? Would that be good, Harris?"

Xander shakes his head bitterly, the sting of tears no longer out of grief, but out of anger.

"I hate you." He says simply, flatly, but all his rage is so fiercely coiled in the words that Angelus can feel how much the boy wants to hurt him.

"That's not what you said before."

"Yeah, well, I've had a moment to think about it.. And yeah, I do hate you."

Angelus laughs at this, pokes Xander hard in the shoulder. The boy stumbles, the fear he thinks he's hiding flashing across his eyes, because what if this is too far? If saying he hated him crossed some line and now the vampire will have no hesitations about killing him.

"You expect me to believe you?" Is what Angelus says, and he doesn't move in for the kill.

"You're shaking all over.. You're about to cry.. You expect me to fall for this little head-game?"

"Fuck you!" Xander shouts before he can stop himself. "This is your game, Angelus. And I don't need it anymore. I don't." He reiterates this as the vampire rolls his eyes.

"There's plenty of fucked-up people out there, you know, Deadboy? I'm pretty sure I can find one who has a soul.. Who can actually say, 'Gee, I love you too, Xander.'"

Angelus grins cockily, tilting his face down ever so slightly. Gives Xander a look between gleeful and psychopathic.

"You really think anyone could ever love something like you?"

He catches Xander's hand before it connects with his face, and they stare at each other for a moment, Xander breathing heavily, fighting to keep from lashing out again.

"I hate you, Angelus. And I'm leaving," he emphasizes the last word by jerking his hand out of the vampire's grip.

"Fine.. but you'll be back." Angelus says, moving away from the cherry-wood door, letting Xander out.

"Fuck you!" Xander calls, stalking angrily down the hallway, wiping the tears out of his eyes before they can fall.

"You're going to regret this," is the last thing Xander hears as he steps inside the elevator, and stabs the button for lobby.

In the elevator, he lets himself go, lets the tears run, burning down the sides of his cheeks. Just salt and blood.

You're going to regret this.

*

Xander stands on the street corner, leaning pitifully against the lamp post, his hands buried deep in his pockets. His gaze is downward, ignoring the neon blur of headlights as the cars speed by, ignoring the few happy clubbers stumble out onto the sidewalks, making the night's rounds in different raves.

And he ignores the fact that it's almost 1 A.M and he's standing outside in downtown New York. Who would mug a sad little wretch like him?

I hate you, he hears the words echo over and over in his head, like some sample of a techno song gone wrong. He's wanted to say it for so long, but he hadn't been able to decide whether it was true or not. There were only two reasons he could think of to hate him. And he knew Angelus hurt him; scars and bruises were testament to that. And he knew the vampire could mindfuck him; late night bouts with the toilet were testament to *that*.

But, those reasons were bullshit, because he liked being hurt didn't he? That was how Angelus fucking found him, in the back of Club Douleur, being whipped by some buxom dominatrix.

He feels a blush creep over him at the memory. It was the first time he'd done anything remotely like that, and it wasn't anything he really wanted to do again.

He'd decided hard-core kink was just a little too.. kinky.

And you don't consider yourself kinky, Xander 'please rape me' Harris?

Xander cringes inwardly at the thought. Feels his stomach twist.

Jesus, what was happening to him?

I'm supposed to be somewhere with Anya, in some nice little apartment, earning a nice little salary at a nice little job and having a nice fucking life. I'm supposed to be sitting in an easy chair, drinking beer, watching the game, and not wondering if you have to disinfect a vampire's bite.

(Eh, well that whole plan went to hell, didn't it?)

And I don't hate him. This thought cuts through all the others, and Xander wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking with the sudden clarity.

I'm supposed to hate him.

Why can't I hate him?

"Uh, excuse me?"

Xander looks up, startled, to see an attractive middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a dinner jacket watching him with the analytical eyes of an art critic, except more insidious, more intimate.

Xander knows that look too well.

"Yeah?" he asks, licking his lips nervously, now feeling a warmth play anxiously in his stomach, swirling his head. His heart has begun to beat faster; he knows what this guy wants. Can smell it a mile away.

(you're not a mile away)

"I don't normally do this--"

(that's a good one buddy)

"-- but you're just so attractive, and I was wondering if you.." The man clears his throat, as if he were the nervous one.

Xander forces a coy smile, although he wants to turn away, run back up to the apartment, to Angelus. And with that thought, he glances up briefly.

Their bedroom's balcony faces this side of the street. Although it's too shadowed on that side to make out much, he sees with an odd sense of satisfaction, a glowing red cigarette tip, burning like a beacon.

He turns his attentions back to the man, sidles up to his side, and leans close, playing the innocently seductive nymph he knows this man wants.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks, in a sweetly husky voice, his pulse racing, feeling Angelus' eyes burning into his back .

The man looks overwhelmed, smiles giddily.

"How much?"

Xander gives another flirtatious smile, looks away shyly, then back again. It's amazing how this all comes back to him, as if he's always been a vulnerable call boy.

(i don't know about call boy, but you've always been a whore)

"Well, it's usually fifty, but for you, I could go thirty."

The man grins, bright-eyed and with a faint gleam of something Xander also knows well.

(you could go back to Angelus for this--)

But Xander silences his inner monologue. Angelus doesn't fucking care about him, so why should he amuse the vampire, by running back to his cold arms?

"That is terrific.. Listen, I have a hotel room around here. We could.. go back there."

Xander has to fight back the urge to shiver. But, he can't stop himself from doing this. And with a sick fascination, he realizes he doesn't want to stop.

"Okay, I'm game," he says softly, licking his lips again, wondering if this man can see how terrified he is. Chances are he can; he's probably done this so many times that he can even sense Xander is completely faking this routine.

But neither one of them is going to end it.

And Xander finds himself walking around the corner, out of the sight of the balcony, where he glances back to see the red dot disappearing, presumably inside the apartment.

(think he'll follow you?)

*

"Hey, I forgot, uh, I have a few friends over--"

"Plural?" Xander asks quickly, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. They're right outside the guy's hotel room now, although that too was an intentional misleading because it seems more like a shitty motel. And it hits him, that the people in this place are probably used to screams.

"Yeah, but they're cool guys. They can all chip in; regular price." The guy smiles and Xander is struck by how close a resemblance to Mickey Rourke he bears. Like this was Xander Harris' own private 9 1/2 Weeks, except that's not right, 'cause then Angelus would be Mickey and Xan would be Kim Basinger and the guy is staring at him--

"I.." he swallows, real anxiety shining through now. "I don't know.."

"It's alright, they don't bite."

Oh, that's a comfort. Fucker.

But Xander feels his lips curling upwards, even as his mind is screaming at him in disgust.

"Okay; shouldn't pass up at a chance for more money."

The man smiles, opens the door.

"You'll be paid in full, I assure you."

(youaregoingtoregretthisyouaregoingtoregretthis--)

*

The guy leads him into the main room, where three other younger men sit, playing poker without shirts. The tv is on to staticky fuzz, and the volume is off. The surreality of the situation hits Xander, and he begins to feel a sweat-inducing nausea.

I can't do this. Why am I doing this?

Another man comes in from a bedroom off to Xander's left, and gestures at the guy standing behind Xander with a vodka bottle.

"Where the bloody 'ell 'ave you been, Nick?" he asks, slurring slightly.

He would be British, Xander thinks. Now I get to be reminded of Spike and Giles and Wesley.

Ooh. Disconcerting thought. Being raped by Wesley.

The guy, Nick, claps Xander on the shoulder. Doesn't seem to care about the flinch he recieves.

"I wanted a nice one," he answers, before walking away to a suitcase in the center of the room next to the three men on the floor, who have stopped their game and are beginning to rise.

"Well, he is that," the vodka-bottle guy says, walking to Xander, inspecting him.

Xander gives a half-smile.

"Thanks." He doesn't even try to hide the sarcasm.

"Oh, and he's got a sense of humour. I like this one." This one?

How many ones have they gone through?

Well, time to add one more, and Xander's mind gives a sarcastic drum roll to that last clever thought.

"What's your name, mate?" The guy asks.

"Um.. Xander." He has no reason to lie, and he doesn't feel like it anyways. These people are going to know every inch of his body soon, why bother with a fake name?

"Alec," the guy points at himself, then gestures around the room with his bottle of Stolichnaya, tersely introducing Xander's soon-to-be clients.

'Vince' had a skinhead haircut, 'Sean' was kinda cute in a disheveled way, and 'Jordan' had a barbed tattoo encircling his upper arm. Xander noted these things all briefly, wondering what else he could tell the police after they found him half-dead on the street.

"So, whatcha doin'?" He finds himself asking Sean, who was stepping over a jumble of beer bottles on his way to Xander.

"Anything we can," the man responds, smiling slyly.

Xander scratches his wrist nervously, wanting to keep playing the hustler, but too overwhelmed by his sense of unease. Oh jesus, what am I doing? His whole body is kinda floating in a cloud of complete anxiety, more nervous here in this hotel room than he has ever been. This sickening air of wrongness, waiting for the real show to start.

Sean touches his face, and Xander can't look up, can only stare at Sean's chest, noticing the faint swell of strong muscles stretching beneath the skin. Well, at least the guys are cute.

(oh, nothing beats being raped by cuties, eh Xander?)

"You've never done this before, have you?" Sean asks softly, his fingers gently grazing Xander's cheek, running down, over his lips, thumbs them soothingly.

"I-- No.." Xander admits, finally looking up, wondering if maybe this one will end it before it all gets out of hand. Wondering if this one will save him.

"Hmm.. That's okay." Sean's expression is inscrutable, but Xander's sinking feeling of foreboding doesn't ease any.

Sean's hair reaches his ears in a rock-n-roll kinda look, and that's all Xander can see as the man leans in to kiss him, sees the few locks of hair dangling forward, and then his mouth is enveloped in that too familiar velvet sea of warmth.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the way he always does with Angelus

(thought about him lately?)

and Sean apparently likes that, because he deepens the kiss, putting his hands around Xander and holding him tightly. Now this is what Xander knows; action. Not waiting for some terrible unknown.

This is the game he can play. Every alert in his mind on full-blast, streaming adrenaline through him, aching for the pain and the tears, wanting to feel used and dirty.

I'm so sick, he thinks fleetingly, letting Sean push him up against the wall, soft hands crawling over his hips and his thighs. Spreading spider-like, to massage the now tight area of jean covering his crotch. And Xander moans into Sean's mouth, arching himself against the other man, disappointed when the hands leave, then realizes they're going to unzip his jeans.

Another rush of adrenaline stirs Xander; he has no idea who these men are, what they've done in the past. What they're planning for him. And he's still hard as a rock, resisting the urge to beg for Sean.

(you're sick, Xander)

Probably true. Hey, I'll go get some fucking therapy as soon as I'm done being gang-banged, how's that for you?

(what happened to you?)

"Hey, hey, Sean. Easy mate, he's not going anywhere." Alec slurs loudly, startling Xander.

Sean breaks the kiss reluctantly, smiling down at the youth in his arms.

"What are they going to do?" Xander asks quietly before he can stop himself. He hopes he doesn't upset Sean; he doesn't want to lose his only friendly touch, not in this room.

And Sean's brow creases in conflict. He looks uneasy, and his eyes dart around to the rest of the room before he answers in a hushed breath, leaning close to Xander's ear.

"Just play along and it won't be too bad."

"Please--"

"Sshh.. I'll try to help you. I only do this shit for the money--"

How can they get money for this?

And then Sean pulls away, a fixed smile on his face, letting Nick grab Xander's wrist, and pull him unceremoniously over to the center of the room, where a camera perches on a professional-looking tripod..

"You're taping this?" Xander asks, feigning the call-boy role again, even though he's trembling imperceptibly, his heart pounding dully in his chest.

"We always tape them," Vince says, grinning lasciviously, looking for all intents and purposes like Brad Pitt in Fight Club turned into a twisted pervert.

(is that making it easier?)

"Oh.. Cool." Xander tries to say casually. "What is 'them'?"

And Vince laughs with Jordan, ignoring his question. Nick stands behind the camera, his eye squinted as he peers into the sight.

"We make these things, then sell 'em to Velvet Core.. Ever heard of 'em?" Alec says, settling down on the sofa, a lit cigarette dangling precariously from his lip.

"No.." Xander says hesitantly.

"That's good."

Why is that good? You think I don't know what type of shit they peddle? What you're going to do? Christ, I was born for these fucking moments. Sliding on my own downward spiral, like the fucking masochist I am.

What happened to me?

*

Xander's brain only realizes everything dimly, as Vince and Jordan sit him on the sofa, offer him a bottle of vodka, laugh when he refuses it. He's floating, waiting for them to get down to business.

Then Vince and Jordan are kissing him, and he's trying to pretend he likes it, but they're nowhere near Sean. Or Angelus.

(you think he'll want you after this?)

He doesn't want me! Xander screams internally. I love him, and he doesn't care! Do you think I give a fuck whether he'll want me after this?

(yes)

It disgusts him; repulses him; and he hates himself for it, but of course he fucking cares about Angelus.

Because even when the vampire put on his coldest demonic air, Xan knew the older man would always want him. They played these love/hate games, sure, but it didn't change their mutual obsession.

When did this happen to me? It wasn't Anya leaving; it wasn't the road trip; it wasn't even Cordelia dying. I can't use them as excuses anymore. I don't want there to be something wrong with me.. I just want Angelus back.

Xander turns his face away from Vince, tries to put his hands up. He wants out of this room, wants out of this life; he wants to go back to Sunnydale with Angelus, to his apartment, where everything is bland and reassuring.

But Vince is grabbing him, and Xander knows this too, fighting uselessly, trying not to scream.

(just play along)

Now his mind clicks back into reality and he slaps at Vince, tries to crawl off the sofa.

"Where are you going?" Jordan throws him onto the floor, standing over him, and Xander feels himself mumbling half-coherent pleas, hoping they can't see how hard he is. Jesus, why am I like this?

It's like some shitty rape porno, although Xan's never watched any of them, so he wouldn't actually know how it's supposed to go.

But it's surprising how easy it was for all this turn violent. Like this was waiting for him as soon as he stepped outside the apartment.

Jordan straddles him, and Xander's hitting at him with balled fists, trying to buck him off.

"Someone hold him," Jordan says, and Vince is there, pinning Xander's wrists to the floor above his head, and he can feel someone, Alec, sitting on his legs.

"Please, please, don't--"

"Shut up," Jordan hisses, sitting on his stomach, his rough hands tearing open Xander's favorite shirt.

(that was Angelus')

And then Jordan slides forward, unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock, so hard it almost looks swollen, and Xander knows this too. The mushroom head, with veins bulging lazily, deep blushing red, exuding a spicy heat.

He feels a tremor that is not unlike a nervous thrill, but refuses to open his mouth.

(play along)

Jordan grabs his mouth, says "open up" and Vince echoes the statement, staring upside down at Xander.

Xan can see Nick bringing the camera off it's tripod, bringing it closer to the action, and he wonders faintly how much this will sell for. How much he's worth.

And he opens his mouth, tears streaming down his face.

(If you survive this, you'll probably get AIDS, wouldn't that be a fucking riot--)

Jordan pumps once slowly, then abandons his caution and fucks Xander's mouth recklessly, making the youth grunt in pain at the thick member stretching his jaw muscles. Jordan is huge; bigger than Angelus even, and Xander still hadn't gotten a handle on his lover's cock.

He is aware of Alec, fiddling with his half-open pants, and Xander realizes with a deep fear that they're going to see how hard he is, how aroused this whole fucking mess is making him.

(They're probably used to it)

Vince groans loudly, mumbling short sentences in a heady bliss as he thrusts himself into Xander's wet mouth. Nick encourages him, zooming closer, and Xander has to shut his eyes in embarassment. Someone's going to watch this and jerk off to it and the thought makes him more sick than excited.

He sucks without effort on Vince's dick, and can feel the slight tremors as orgasm hits. A spasm followed by the salty liquid, and then Nick tells Vince to pull out, and so he does, wringing the rest of his cum out onto Xander's face.

(ughh..)

Xander turns his head, but can't escape the slimy worm feeling of it snake down his cheeks.

He's never been this humiliated with Angelus; the vampire never stooped this low to abuse him.

(yeah, 'cause he respected you so much, didn't he?)

He sobs bitterly, struggling again even though he knows it won't matter. The sound of labored breathing fills his ears; he wonders if he'll ever be able to go to sleep at night again without hearing that noise.

The others step in for their close-ups, all fucking Xander's mouth, not caring that he can barely move his jaw anymore. Alec replaces Nick while the man who picked Xander up proves you should never talk to strangers. And Nick whispers things to him to that effect, to spice up the video, to further degrade Xander. Maybe because it gets him off better. Doesn't matter.

The only one who refuses is Sean. He ignores the jeers and goes into the kitchen to get a shot of whiskey from their fridge. And Xander can't see him, but he grips the bottle tightly, closes his eyes, and wonders why the fuck they ever started doing this.

*

The minutes pass with agonizing slowness, as the thick smell of sex and blood and tears grows almost unbearable to Xander. He goes from the floor to bent over the side of the sofa, finally being raped, with no prelude or prepping. And he knows all that too, but it's still never hurt as much.

The feeling of violation has never been this palpable, and the raw pain of being split open never this electric. He screams, but whoever's fucking him puts a clammy hand over his mouth, and after a while, he loses interest in it anyway. Who's going to care? Who's going to care about hearing more screams in a place like this?

He wishes he could go numb, but he feels every penetration, every thrust. Etches them into his memory. He wants to vomit, hoping it will stop them, but he can't even muster up the strength.

When they're done, they clap each other on the back, like jocks in a locker room, and go into the kitchen for a break, taking the whiskey bottle from Sean.

Xander doesn't move for a moment, terrified that if he moves they'll kill him now.

But, hearing the muted voices in the next room, he carefully pushes himself off the arm of the sofa, thinking that maybe he can get to the door before they come back. He tries to stand and feels the blood and semen running down the inside of his legs; nothing new, but so much more horrific now.

(you think he'll still want you?)

He has to, Xander breathes to himself.

He feels like he's testing out a new pair of legs, and they refuse to carry his weight. He wipes a hand through his tousled hair, closing his eyes in effort, every nerve in his body screaming to get moving.

He grabs his pants from the floor, the simple act of bending setting off fireworks in his back, and then he stumbles slowly towards the door. Not so long ago he was walking out a door like this one, full of hateful energy and haughty insousiance.

"What'd I say?" Alec laughs suddenly, and Xander throws himself at the door, fumbling with the handle. I'm so close, please, let me have this.. Please.. He begs with whomever decides these matters.

But Alec is there, grabbing his arms and pulling him back to the sofa.

"No!" Xander yells with a brief shock of strength, and Alec punches him, straight in the face, dropping him on the same spot of the floor where he once was.

"I told you he'd try to run.. Feisty, this one. Daft, but feisty."

"Fuck you," Xander hisses in pain, rolling onto his back, wiping the blood trickling out of his nose.

Jordan chuckles at him, and Vince holds up a large vodka bottle, waves it suggestively.

"Is that a promise?"

*
 

Maryhadalittlelambandthelambwasverywhiteanditfollowedhereverywhereohgod--

Xander screams into his gag, and only a muffled noise comes out. But he keeps screaming because he forgets that he is, and there's only the white-hot agony shaking him all over, ripping its claws into his body, tearing him open inside eating eating jesus christ please this isn't happening

His stomach lurches, and he has to fight back the gorge rising in his throat. Doesn't want to vomit with the gag in; doesn't want to die like that. Coroner's Report: Victim asphyxiated while being raped with an alcoholic beverage.

Angelus would never have done this he would never have done this why did I leave? why did he let me leave? please please

After the bottle, Nick zooms in with the camera, while Alec comments on how well that worked. Tells Xander that was the first time they'd tried that. But he was just so fucking cute, they had to do something special for him.

Xander looks at him through tear-filled eyes, the words being slotted away into some part of his brain that will activate only when he's dreaming. Nightmares that will haunt him the rest of his life.

He mumbles something.

Jordan asks what, and Nick tells him to take the gag out.

Xander licks his lips, his throat dry and incredibly sore, and he tries to form words.

"You're.. going.." he swallows, the guys watching him with great interest.

"to die.." he finishes tiredly, his voice a hollowed out shell of what it once was.

And Alec laughs delightedly, kneeling on the floor next to Xander and the pool of blood beneath the youth.

"That's not the way this works," he informs Xander, his Cockney voice full of amusement.

"Do we really need to kill him?" Sean asks suddenly, watching Alec worriedly.

"Oh, you want to keep him? Or do you wanna fuck him before he goes?" Vince cooes, reaching down and grabbing Xander by the hair, pulling the boy up with a mewl of pain.

"I just don't think we need to kill him."

"How much extra do you think you'd get for it? If you killed him?" A new voice breaks the atmosphere of the room, and everyone's turns to the door.

Xander's eyes widen, and he's momentarily too stunned to do anything.

Angelus rests against the closed door, in his black jeans and long black duster, holding a cigarette to his lips, looking undeniably evil.

"Who the fuck are you?" Alec asks coldly, stepping towards the intruder, and Xander begins struggling again, but Vince holds him roughly.

"Help me--" a hand clamps over his mouth, cutting off his plea.

Angelus! his mind screams, looking at the vampire with begging eyes, hoping that he was right about them. That Angelus did care. He wouldn't throw him to the wolves would he? He wouldn't he wouldn't

"No one you'll ever know," Angelus says flatly to Alec, flicking his cigarette on the floor.

No one else says anything; they're too shocked. What the hell was going on?

Jordan inches toward the bedroom, where they kept their security; a pump action shotgun.

"How'd you get in?" Alec asks, infuriated with this stranger's calm nature. "You do know you're going to be in a lot of fucking trouble?"

Angelus smiles grimly, and Xander watches this conversation with a growing relief. He knows that smile.

"Ooh.. Sounds scary."

"You bloody--"

"You didn't change the 'come in' to 'do not disturb'," Angelus says and Alec's face twists in confusion.

"Wha--"

And then Angelus punches his hand forward almost casually and when he brings it back, he is clutching a lump of red muscle, pulsating slowly, and Alec tumbles backwards, his mouth open in a silent scream, dark blood fountaining from the hole in his chest.

Nick gags, drops to his knees and vomits on the side of the room, and Sean sways disgustedly, the color draining from his face.

Xander's laughing hysterically, but to the rest of the room it looks like he's having a seizure.

"Oh my god," Vince breathes, still keeping his grip on Xander. "You fucking fuck oh my god.."

"Let him go." Angelus says, perfectly imperturbed, strolling forward. He pauses to study the heart in his hand, covered in veins and dribbling juices onto the floor, and then bites it.

"Oh jesus.." Sean stumbles back against the wall, and Vince begins to retreat to the back of the room, muttering a steady mantra of ohmigod.

"Blech," the vampire tosses the heart to the side, swallows his one bite.

"Let him go, now." He repeats, and Xander's eyes are fixed on the discarded heart, still pumping faintly. He's never seen Angelus do that before.

Vince obeys automatically, releasing the boy, who turns around and without warning, brings his knee into the fucker's crotch.

Then, he picks up his clothes, walks away from the horrified stares of his rapists, and over to Angelus. Can't bring himself to meet his eyes.

"Go home." The vampire commands coldly.

And Xander doesn't argue. He looks back as he leaves, at Sean, who watches him with fear in his eyes, and then he's outside, in the hallway, taking deep breaths. Struggles into his torn clothes, and forces his feet to carry him out of the hallway before the noises start.

*

When Angelus enters the apartment, he's immediately struck by the silence. An odd panic grips him and he checks the bedroom: no Xander. The kitchen: no Xander. And underneath the dining room table: no Xander.

He's on the verge of screaming for the boy when he opens the door to the bathroom.

Xander doesn't turn his head; doesn't move at all. He's curled in the bathtub, filled with water, his chin propped on the side, arms hugging his chest. Water has splashed onto the floor, clouded with red, glittering malignly on the linoleum. Xander could care less.

He's waiting for the shock waves of pain to hit again.

Angelus doesn't say anything to break the disorienting calm. He just steps inside carefully, and sits down on the toilet seat, feeling as if he has every right to make some sort of insulting comment or some crude joke, but not doing it.

What is happening to me?

A few hours ago he would have laughed to find Xander the victim of a snuff film, but now.. He would kill anyone who even looked at the boy the wrong way. Especially anyone who tried to hurt him.. or did hurt him.

And it shouldn't be affecting him so much. The fact that is makes him feel worse. But he can't stop thinking about what would've happened if he hadn't gotten there in time. Can't stop seeing Xander's face, still beautiful, but wracked in pain, humiliation.

The vampire's narrowed eyes take in the dirty water Xan's sitting in, adulterated with diaphanous visions of red blood and the assorted stink of different semen. Should make him hungry. Should make him feel something other than angry. Possessive.

But it's not, and he can't decide what to do. So he just leans back on the toilet, crossing his legs out in front of him.

"What did you do?" Xander asks suddenly, his weak voice barely cutting through the oppressive silence. His brown eyes are lifted towards the vampire now, and the question is partly answered for him.

"Everything I could think of."

Angelus' face is streaked with dark red smears, and had he not been wearing black, his clothes would have been mostly crimson. A few sticky gobbets of fat and skin adorn his duster. His right hand is covered in crumbly red tissue, and his left covered in a thin film of gray and pink.

Xander nods carefully, circumventing the inevitable pain that will come with any real movement.

"Why aren't you teasing me, Angelus? I would if I were you."

The vampire doesn't answer for a moment, then he sighs.

"You should've been a porn star." The sentence slices coldly through whatever sympathetic aura he had been giving off, and he stands up for no reason, looking down at the exquisitely pained glare he recieves from Xander.

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry you picked the wrong guy to make me jealous with?"

Xander turns away and Angelus recognizes the gritted teeth look as the boy's 'not-gonna-cry-face'. Kinda respects that.

"If you expect me to be sorry for you, then you've got me confused with someone with a soul."

"Don't do this, Angelus--"

"Don't do what?" The vampire sits back down quickly, leaning close to the fragile mess in the tub, his eyes cold and daring Xander to be brave.

The boy's mouth quivers, his brow knitted in immense effort, fighting back tears.

"Why did you even come?" He finally whispers.

"Because you're mine," Angelus states flatly, revelling in the flitter of pain that crosses Xan's features.

"Did you think it was some other reason? Something more poetic?"

Xander doesn't answer these questions, just stares at him with those wide brown eyes that are so close to fading out.

"Do you need to go the hospital?" Angelus finally asks, ignoring his previous questions, ignoring Xander's eyes, burning into his mind. Wipes the dried blood off his face.

"I need you," Xander says softly, barely audible, appealing to Angelus' possessive nature, the part that thrives on seeing his lover hurt and vulnerable. That, unbeknownst to Xander, wants to protect him. Like how Spike felt of his troubled Drusilla.

There is a long silence, and something breaks inside Angelus' face, and the demon kicks out suddenly, at the towel rack on the wall opposite him, growling as he does it, and the steel bar snaps in two with the strength of his rage.

Xander's terrified for a second, thinking maybe Angelus is finally going to kill him, for being an idiot and leaving and letting himself get taken advantage of.

But instead, Angelus begins to shrug off his duster. Unbuttons his black silk shirt.

Xander says nothing, but he has enough mind to blink back any tears. Doesn't want Angelus to stop.

When the vampire is down to his jeans, Xander shifts in the tub, letting Angelus slide in behind him. He sits up as much as he can, the dim roar of pain in his back growing louder every moment.

Angelus helps him until he's semi-curled in his lap, leaning his cheek on the vampire's shoulder, still smelling of blood.

Water splashes haphazardly upon the floor, but it's all part of the muted background. Angelus grabs the soap from next to him calmly and he begins to clean Xander's bruised body for him, and the boy doesn't do anything to stop him.

Doesn't say anything.

His now placid lover treats him like a child, stroking his face with watery fingers everytime the throbbing pains got too bad.

And Xander wonders if this was how he treated the Drusilla after a brutal night. Wonders why Angelus is even capable of one moment of kindness. Wonders if there'll be a price for this later.

And neither of them say a word.

*

"What is the Rhineland?"

Xander squints at the quiz show on tv, vaguely recognizing the geographic term from some history class, ages ago in his now defunct high school.

They lie about needin' *that* crap for the real world, he thinks absently.

The boy is stretched out comfortably on the large bed he shares with Angelus, idly watching the uneventful daytime programs. Although by now they've begun to shift into the barely tolerable must-see tv shows that scampered out after dark.

He shifts on the bed, winces as a sharp pain lances through him. He grits his teeth to keep back a moan and stills himself. Stays completely motionless for a few minutes as his back continues to throb dimly. After the credits for Jeopardy roll, the pain is back under his finger, not gone, but distant enough so that he can control it. So he can kind of pretend it's not there, or that it doesn't belong to him. And if it's not his, then it can't swallow him up again.

Xander sighs softly into the room, and lets his heavy eyes droop shut. He's been taking copious amounts of painkillers since.. that night. But nothing can ever make it truly go away. Years from now, it'll still be there.

The volume on the television suddenly disappears, and the boy doesn't bother opening his eyes, but feels his heartrate speed up anyway, telling him he'll never be as calm as he feigns when the vampire's around.

"I was watchin' that," he says tiredly, holding back a yawn to emphasize this point.

"I see," Angelus answers, his voice coming from somewhere above Xander's head.

After a moment, the youth opens his eyes, and sees Angelus studying him intently, his face in ridged vampire mode only a few inches away, crouching next to the bed.

"Gah," a noise of surprise escapes Xander before he can stop it, even though he's not all that surprised. This is like, what, the third time this has happened?

"Don't do that!" He scrambles away from his lover, who is grinning wolfishly with his mouth full of jagged sharp teeth.

"Sorry.." Angelus says, with absolutely no hint of remorse. He shifts back into his human visage, his funereal eyes narrowed and cold, somehow looking even more frightening than in his demonic guise. The room has chilled palpably since he entered, and Xander has to shake off the need to wrap himself in the bed's crushed red velvet cover.

"Have you seen the news?" He asks, standing after a moment, and settling down on the bed.

Xander doesn't relax. He's scrunched back against the ornate wood headboard, legs bent in front of him and hands clutching the covers on either side. He looks so innocent and scared; Angelus swallows back the desperate craving to break the boy. Just grab him right now and rip his teeth into the pale neck--

No! He inhales an unneeded breath, trying to keep himself calm. He wouldn't usually deny himself something like this, but he has so much planned for Xander that he doesn't want to ruin it with one moment of lapsed thinking. One impulsive act.

"I.. No." Xander shakes his head, body loosening ever so slightly.

You're still fucking scared of me? I would've killed you by now if I wanted that, Angelus thinks amusedly. He twists on the bed, until he's crawling towards Xander, enjoying how the boy watches him, almost frozen.

"Well. They think there's a group of satanists on the rampage." Angelus comes to a stop in front of Xander's legs, and kneels there, placing his hands on the boy's knees.

"Why?" Xander asks, then the realization dawns on him and his mouth makes a cute little 'o' of understanding.

"Yeah.. They said it seemed--" Angelus pauses to recall the newscast, while his hands glide over Xander's calves, down to his ankles.

"--Ritualistic.. The precise and careful work of animals with a darker motive.." He smiles faintly at the memory, watching Xander's chest begin to rise and fall quicker as his heart pounded faster. The rising excitement speeding his pulse up, spicing the air with erotica and fear.

Oh, you just wait, Angelus thinks, realizing how much he wants to do this. How bone-deep the anticipation has burrowed itself. Xander had made him feel human; more than anyone ever had. Infinitely more than Buffy could have ever hoped to. In fact, the young man still continued to do so, dredging up the slivers of humanity that Angelus had gone for centuries without acknowledging. Without *feeling*. And now to be in such a half-way emotional state because of Xander. Well, it was still not something he could, or would, forgive easily.

He remembers how gentle he'd been with Xander that night; giving him the soothing caresses the boy had been craving. Love rearing its ugly head the whole time, almost turning Angelus into the one man he loathed the most. As if he were still in possession of his soul.

And with disgust, Angelus clears away the memory, pulls Xander's ankles with a sudden movement, yanking the boy's legs flat on either side of the kneeling vampire.

Xander winces as he hits the headboard with a dull thud, and he reaches up to rub his scalp, but doesn't protest what Angelus is doing.

The vampire looks down at him, sitting back on his heels to admire the flustered picture of beauty beneath him. Warm brown eyes, and the wet pink lips. Parted slightly, breaths coming quick and short.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Angelus asks quietly, eyes narrowing even more, this time in appreciation as he studies Xander's face, his body, grown leaner as their unhealthy relationship progressed.

Xander shakes his head with some amount of disbelief, always discomfitted whenever the vampire complimented him. It was rare, and any sort of positivity coming from Angelus usually meant something twice as negative was going to come.

"Well.. You are."

"Would I still be here even if I wasn't?" Xander asks suddenly, wanting to change the subject. And for some reason, wanting to prove to Angelus that he didn't have to be meek and submissive all the time, even in the bedroom. Even given what had happened.. He wanted the vampire to know that he still had the vein of Harris smugness running through him. Nothing Angelus could do would ever make it go away.

Angelus eyes the youth, almost able to feel the stream of thoughts in his mind.

"I don't know.. Maybe if you were still a good fuck."

Xander flinches and Angelus grins at him, pats the youth's thigh good-naturedly. And then he climbs off the bed, walking away to the tv set.

"What are you doing?" Xander asks, sitting up to watch his lover grab the remote, flip the tv to a different channel.

"Thought we'd watch a movie," Angelus says casually, and Xander squints in confusion.

"You? You rented a movie? I didn't think you liked movies."

Angelus chuckles without turning around, fiddling with the controls on the remote.

"I don't," is the cryptic reply.

Xander thinks about this for a moment.

"What?"

"Just wait a sec," There is a brief pause. "Okay.. I don't normally watch pornos," Angelus turns slowly, looking at Xander, his obssydian eyes glittering playfully, with their inherent black hint of cruelty.

"But you're gonna like this one," he stops, considers it. "Actually, you probably won't." He laughs again, pressing play on the remote.

Xander's heart has sped up during this whole interaction, as if deep down his body knew what it meant, even though his consciousness was yet unable to grasp it. He could feel the blood pound in his temples, pulse clamoring behind his eyes. Feels as if the room has suddenly been deprived of oxygen.

And then the tape starts, and there are no credits, just the sudden shock of the picture; the screen filled with bare flesh. The sound is sort of muted due to the quality of the videocamera, but he can hear it all the same. As crystal clear as if he were back in the sweaty motel room, surrounded by strangers, harsh lights--

"No," he chokes out, scrambles off the bed.

But Angelus is there before he can get the door open, and the vampire leans against the cherry-wood, crosses his arms casually on his chest, a picture of innocent amusement.

"I thought you'd be surprised."

Xander tries to speak, but the lump in his throat is stealing him of his words, and all he can do is let out one choked syllable. Shakes his head desperately, trying not to cry.

"I told you you should've been a porno star... You thought that was just intuition?"

And that sparks something inside Xander--

(he watched it, even before he came back)

--and the boy is able to slap Angelus. And then he does it again, until he's hitting at him in a fury, and the tears are clawing out of his throat with a raw freshness, and he keeps hitting him, until the vampire wraps one arm around his shaking frame. And then Xander falls into the embrace, still sobbing, trying to struggle away even as he lets himself be held close.

"Harris, I have to say," Angelus whispers quietly, almost soothingly, were it not for the shattering effect of his words, "that tape would've made a fortune. What do you say we sell it ourselves?"

And then Angelus is pushing him back to the center of the room, to the bed. Xander starts to scream, but the vampire clamps a cold hand over his lips, muffling the desperate sounds, and holds him still for a moment.

"Do you really want me to gag you? You almost choked to death the last time we did that," Angelus whispers against his ear, holding him so that Xander can see the tv. Can see himself on the tv, the focus of the camera. Like some big Hollywood star. And yeah, that's right; he's a movie star and the film is all staged, all carefully rehearsed. The grimace on his face as he sucks his co-star's cock is all deliberately planned and expertly executed.

Angelus throws him back on the bed, and even before he hits, he's trying to roll off it.

"Suck it, faggot-- Suck it--" memory-triggering sounds drift from the set, and Xander claws at Angelus as the vampire pins him back on the mattress.

"I thought you liked being raped," Angelus says, voice filled with some thick emotion. What was it? Hatred? Lust?

Or was it disgust? Was he so disgusted with Xander now that he only wanted to hurt him; to fuck him until he was broken and dead inside? Because the youth was useless now, wasn't he? Too dirty and tainted for anyone to ever want. To ever love. You could stain your hands just by touching him.

"Please," Xander whispers, eyes blurring over with stinging tears. A hand reaches up to Angelus' face, strokes it with as much affection as he can muster, and it surprises him that he can actually manage it. That there is true affection in the touch. But then again, wasn't he the hardcore masochist of this relationship? Didn't he love being abused by the vampire? Didn't he always come back, begging and prostrating himself for the same amount of pain?

Of course he still felt affection for Angelus. Of course he still loved him. He was just.. doomed that way. Doomed to this disease of a relationship, to love something that was killing him day by day.

For a moment, Angelus' face softens. Then the shadow of regret dissolves as quickly as it appeared and he growls, pinning the hand back on the mattress.

The harsh sounds of sex and pain are slowly seeping out into the room, filling the air almost thick as molasses. Flooding Xander's senses, until he can't even be sure if he's making any noise. If Angelus is making any noise.

"Do it," he feels himself say, but the words are all syrupy and quiet in his mind.

Angelus smiles and slaps him. His head whips to the side, cheek burning.

"Do it," he says again, and he still can't hear it, but Angelus must because he punches him, much harder than the slap. And then he does it again.

Xander tastes hot copper in his mouth, spits a watery mixture of saliva and blood onto the mattress. Thin strand of saliva dangles off the side of his lip and Angelus leans down, licks it off carefully.

"Fuck me," Xander whispers, pleading and resistent all at the same time, staring up into the vampire's heated eyes. Mixed with indifference and lust.

And appreciation of Xander's wanton masochism.

Angelus raises his body weight off him for a second, to flip him over, and then Xander is pressed back into the mattress. Feels the roughness of his pants being ripped down, with little concern or restraint. He struggles against this still, but now it's just part of the show. He always fights it, even though he's already resigned to the act. Already accepting it; wanting it.

On the tv, some faceless cock is coming on him, white expulsions of semen landing noiselessly on the tv Xander's face, as he tries to close his eyes against it.

Angelus swallows, throat suddenly dry in anxiety, the demon flowing through his body screaming violence and blood. It takes every bit of control he has not to just rip inside Xander right there; tunnel himself deep inside the red wetness of Xander's flesh.

He knows the weak struggles on Xander's part don't mean that the youth is an unwilling partner. On the contrary; they increase as his arousal increases. He gets more frantic, more resistent. Like he was Angelus' own fucked up Pavlovian dog, taught to struggle whenever desire hit him.

The vampire feels the hot wriggling body beneath him, the loud whimpers, just like a hungry stray, mindless and incoherent, just full of want. Makes the demon in him lick his lips in eager expectation.

On the tv, the last person has finished showering Xander's exquisite face with his cum, and Angelus waits for a moment. Waits until whoever it is picks his Xander up, throws the limp young man over the side of the sofa.

Waits until a different person steps up behind the protesting boy, holds his cock at the base, so he can push through the tight muscle of the entry point.

Waits until this same person slams into his Xander with absolutely no caution. Brings the sobbing boy into a full- fledged scream of agony.

At that moment, Angelus unbuckles his jeans. Unbuttons them, unzips them, and he's so overwrought with emotion that it seems as if he can't move fast enough. His need for Xander is told in his hurried movements, quickly sliding his pants down to free the painfully hard erection he's gained during this torment of Xander. He can't help it. Being so turned on by this; body humming with excitement, through and through. Because Xander's beautiful when he cries, and watching these hapless assholes take him so ruthlessly.. It's perfect.

Xander has turned his head and is watching the tv with tear-filled eyes. When he feels Angelus opening him up, he moans in pain. It's only been two days since the motel, and he's still as sore as when it happened; still feels scraped and raw, as if he'd been fucked with graters instead of flesh.

And then the vampire is pushing his way inside, and Xander opens his mouth to scream, but the damn hand is there again. And Xander doesn't give a shit; he clamps his teeth down on Angelus' hand hard enough to draw blood. Lots of it.

Angelus gasps, pain and pleasure mixing easily in his head, and he wonders if this is what it's like to be Xander, to be such a dedicated masochist. If pain can really feel that wonderful.

But being inside Xander feels even better. The instinctive flexing of the internal muscles as the boy protests the intrusive cock, splitting him open again. Angelus can feel Xander squirming; can feel it all the way through his body. Warm, writhing thing beneath him. The tight walls enveloping Angelus throbbing perceptibly. And he pushes deeper, making Xander scream louder into his hand, but it's muffled, and he's not worried about it. The people in the building knew not to ask questions.

"Xander," he breathes, wanting to bury his cock so far inside Xander that this repulsive feeling of guilt and anger is swept away, is lost in the warmth.

He rocks himself steadily, fucking Xander almost to the same tempo of whoever's on screen. Both are doing it hard and loud enough so that the fleshy thudding sounds are more than audible, and the mewls of pain coming from the boy are almost the exact same.

Except this time, Xander is arching backwards into the pain. Pushing Angelus further inside him, needing to be impaled on his lover. Needing to be torn right in two.

Flares of pain dazzle him, making the room swim in dizzy circles, and he bucks against the vampire, screaming as hard as he can through his mouthful of flesh.

Angelus digs Xander deeper into the mattress, and the whole bed is shaking with the force of his thrusts, and Xander is rocking back and forth, hands twisting themselves in the red velvet covers.

His mind repeats the same phrase, fast and unintelligible, but filling him with a feeling of self-hatred it's almost tangible, blocking out all other coherence:

(i'msosickwhyamisosick)

And on the tv, the first guy has finished, cumming with a loud cry inside the sobbing mess of pliant skin beneath him. This time, he doesn't let it splatter on Xander's face; this time it stays in Xander's body. Like some malevolent tumor, destined to remain within forever. And Xander can never get it out, no matter how furiously he washes himself. He'd have to cut it out, cut everything out, cut himself out--

As the second faceless body pumps its way into Xander, Angelus feels himself reach the breaking point, and he leans full-body against the young man beneath him.

Lets his mouth find Xander's frenetic pulse, lets the demon take over, but under careful control.

And when he comes, he sinks his teeth into that scarred stretch of pale heaven.

Xander bites his hand again in return, closing his eyes tight, shutting out everything except the agony of Angelus buried to the hilt inside him, the blood flowing out of his neck, and then he's coming to a brilliant climax, without even needing to be touched.

They are still for a few minutes, Angelus panting rapidly even though he doesn't need the air. Trying to clear away the cobwebby strands of orgasm still clinging to his senses.

He yanks his hand out of Xander's mouth, and then pulls his cock out of the boy's ass, where he briefly notes the red streaks of blood with some amount of interest. He'd re-opened whatever internal damage the attackers had done to Xander.

The boy doesn't move, even when he feels the vampire pull out, leaving him with an incredible emptiness, as if someone had wrenched out a part of his body, replacing it with oblivion.

(i'm so sick.. why am i so fucking sick?)

After a minute, he spits onto the bed again. This time it's Angelus' blood.

He's too weak to sit up, to move at all, and the blood drools from his mouth, making a wet little circle on the velvet beneath him. His head is still whirring, and he prays for unconsciousness. But it's like before; he can still feel every thrust as if it were still happening. Just ingrained in his memory..

The sounds on the tv are still filling the space of the room. His eyes find the screen almost expectantly, and yup, he's watching the big tv Xander just as the second guy begins to pump faster. Comes with a shout, and slaps the tv Xander's ass in a daze of excitement.

Angelus turns it off after a moment, and the sudden silence roars deafeningly after the overwhelming sounds of his rape.

My rape.. My rape.. I was raped, and it's my rape, Xander thinks somewhat hysterically, choking back giggles. Oh God, he needs to vomit, to scream, to just tear out this ball of humiliation settling itself like a lead weight in his stomach.

The vampire comes over to him, sits down on the foot of the bed, turning his head so he can study Xander, who is stretched out lengthwise, his feet hanging off the side.

"How was that?" He asks after a moment.

Xander licks his lips, spits away another line of bloody spit hanging from his mouth.

"Good.. Best one so far."

Angelus nods.

"Thought so too."

And then the tears are back, and Angelus lets him cry, sobbing quietly into the soothing velvet, finding his only solace in the inanimate material.

*

The next day, Angelus spends most of his time dozing off, leaving Xander to his own devices. This is usually how the days go, but this time, Xander isn't going to lay around and wait for him to get up. He swallows back the codeine and Tylenol that Angelus stole from the nearby hospital, even though it won't do shit. He just wants to lay down in his quiet place, underneath the heavy wood dining room table. Cry the entire day away, the pain a full-fledged monster sinking its teeth into his back. Even his fucking toes ache.

In the elevator, he wraps his arms around himself, as if knowing the scrutiny the security cameras must be throwing his way. He put on the black sunglasses, another gift from Angelus, so there were less looks from people on the street, but the purple bruise around his eye still peeks out.

And he can't very well put a paper bag over his head.

Although.. Angelus would like that.

Xander finds himself remembering the night when they tried that. That among many other things: plastic bags, pillows, telephone cord, bare hands.. Anything to smother him. Let Angelus have complete control of his breath, of his life. Of course, when doesn't he have that?

He shakes the vivid memories off, feeling nauseated as always by the extent his masochistic streak ran.

The little ding alerts him that the elevator has reached the lobby, and the doors slide open with a pneumatic whoosh. He knew that most people experienced slight vertigo when taking elevator rides, but he'd been desensitized to it long ago. He actually rather enjoyed the minute long plunges; he envisioned the elevator's wires snapping, crashing down to the basement.

Angelus had been renting the penthouse for at least four weeks before he'd found Xander. After killing Cordelia and Wesley, he'd made his way to New York, for no real apparent reason other than the fact that New York seemed to be grittier than L.A. And with the Slayer more than willing to kill her estranged boyfriend, he decided that it'd pay off to just stay away until he could think of some typically intricate demonic plan.

And then he'd had his little reunion with Xander, and the agenda had changed. Not completely; he was still going to have Buffy's heart in his hand, literally, before she graduated. But a little side-indulgence was nothing for a demon to discriminate against.

Of course, it'd taken a week for Angelus to say any of this to Xander.

They hardly spoke before then; the vampire did all the communicating they needed.

Biting his lip until it bled, Xander walks carefully out into the lobby, wondering how it's possible that he's still able to walk after everything that's happened. Of course, deep down he's relishing the extreme pain. Each step is like some shiny new pain they haven't even invented a word for yet; thoughtless, thrashing agony. The jolts of each movement are almost as if he's being fucked again.

And to top that all off, as he walks outside, he is immediately hit with the agoraphobia he's developed lately. It's never anything that would force him into reclusion, but it's strong enough sometimes to send him running back up to his highly amused lover.

Now, he leans against the wall of the apartment building, arms still wrapped around his chest, forcing himself to just *breathe*. Breathe calmly.. Inhale: hold it. Exhale: let it last.. Inhale: don't think about pain.. Exhale: quit acting like such a fucking pussy.

No one really pays attention to him as they bustle along the busy sidewalks, drive down crowded streets, but he still feels the prickling paranoia of a thousand eyes dissecting him.

After he's sure he won't vomit or flee back to the penthouse, he begins to walk. Careful steps. Slow. Huddled to himself, trying not to draw any undue attention. Thinks:

(I'm a little teapot, short and stout..)

And tried not to let his mind drift. When it did, he usually ended up thinking not about the pain or Angelus, but about the life he'd left behind in Sunnydale. Tried not to do it, because whenever he did, it only added another facet to his misery. And who wanted that?

In the apartment, it was easy to do. To ignore that part of himself. Angelus always proved a formidable distraction.

But outside, in the day, alone and oddly weary, there was nothing he could do against the onslaught of memories. Remorse over Cordy's murder.. Guilt over loving the man who killed her. More remorse for breaking Willow's heart, and running away. Miserable, sad lump of shit that he was..

God, but being with Angelus was so devastatingly *good*. It was a nauseating thought, but the torment the vampire could inflict was just.. it was like a dream. Or a nightmare, but one you didn't want to wake up from.

Self-hate and loathing; those terms had taken on new relevance for Xander.

He enters the drugstore quickly, glad to be inside a small building after the brief walk. Moves slowly now, hidden in the rows of shelves, favoring his throbbing backside.

No one pays him any mind, and he encourages it. Prays for it.

(don't look at me i don't even exist anymore)

Xander doesn't know what he wants, but he knows whatever it is, it has to be strong. And there has to be a lot of it to do the trick.

Rows and rows of pills and capsules and little white bottles filled with little white promises. Antidotes and remedies and five- dollar panaceas.

He picks something; a large bottle with some shit emblazoned on the front. Pays for it, leaves the drugstore, moves on to the liquor store.

Half an hour later, Xander practically falls into the penthouse. Lets the door shut and lock behind him, fighting not to collapse on the floor.

He's so tired, exhausted beyond even the need to sleep. And he can barely walk anymore. It's more of a hobbling, shuffling thing. Like he's been riding a horse for days straight, and it's kinda funny, the spread-legged way he has to move. But anyone watching him would probably feel more pity than humor, if they knew the real reason for it.

Angelus is still in the bedroom; doesn't appear he's moved since Xander left.

(keep sleeping, Deadboy; nothing's happenin' out here)

Xander walks into the kitchen, and pulls out the various items he's purchased, sits them like lifeless sentries on the black countertop.

One bottle of vodka; check. Two bottles of pills, in capsule form of course; check. And one wine glass--

Oh yeah, Xander thinks, turns to one of the cabinets and pulls out a particularly nice crystal glass. Long-stemmed, rimmed with gold. In between abuse-Xander sessions, the vampire actually has enough time to acquire tasteful kitchen ware.

He turns back to the other ingredients--

("I want to bake a cake")

and sets the glass down. The memory has whispered out from nowhere, and he lets himself remember, smiling. He hadn't been smiling then, rushing around trying to save himself and the school from Jack and his zombie cohorts, but it was actually pretty funny. All the things he'd ever done with the Slayer and the gang. They'd all been pretty wonderful. Amazing.

Xander blinks back the sudden stinging in his eyes, inhales a deep unsteady breath, chest shaking.

Pours the vodka into the glass, fills it almost to the top. He's never liked alcohol, but the bottle called to him. Nostalgia maybe. Sick, nauseating nostalgia. Remembers Alec swigging on the same bottle as if it were water.

Now the pills. Unscrews the cap, fishes out the cotton ball. Looks at the multicolored little deaths.

Xander takes one, pulls it apart so he can dump the powder into the glass. It dissolves somewhat, dispersing into the liquid, leaving a chalky cloud behind. He opens up another one, pours it in as well. And another, watching the white diaphanous blossoms.

Soundless tears rolling down his cheeks, adding tiny splashes to the liquor. He opens up another pill; and another.

Gets the whole bottle in before he stops. Adds some more vodka. Swishes everything around with an index finger, lower lip trembling as he looks at this. Things didn't have to turn out this way. Did they? Was this how fate had planned out everything, or had he just taken some wrong turn along the way? Could he still back out, go back to Willow? To Giles. Beg for Will to forgive him; try to find some way for them all to deal with Angelus before he killed them all. Oh, but he couldn't do that now. Not anymore. One look from the vampire and he'd be kneeling in front of him, in full view of the Scoobies, begging to be hurt.

In the end, he just didn't want to be saved... Why even bother with hope?

(oh, what would you all think of me now?)

Xander finishes mixing the concoction. Looks at it for a moment, not thinking of Willow, not thinking of the future, of Cordelia lying in the ground--

(i'msosorry)

Picks the glass up by the stem, trying not to spill it.

And then Angelus is breezing into the kitchen. Pauses long enough to grab the glass, yanking it out of Xander's hand, and then he turns around, breezes right back out. It would have been hysterically funny had Xander been in the mood to laugh.

Instead, he stares after him until he hears the faint roaring of the toilet flushing. Then he swipes all the shit off the counter to the floor, ignoring the crash, and the inviting twinkle of sharp glass. He should have known Angelus wouldn't let him do it; wasn't finished with him yet. As if he could break him any further. Xander stands there for a few minutes, letting the silence and his endless future with Angelus wrap him up in cold arms.


-End

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