Broken, part two
Oct. 9th, 2005 03:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
girlpirethis is the second part of Broken, the sequel i'm writing to my fred/angelus ficlet Breakable. so... third part in all, i guess.
Title: Broken (part two)
Author: girlpire
Rating: This part is R, but it's going NC17 in the next part.
Pairing: Fred/Angelus
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Fred is being held hostage by Angelus. Kind of dark.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of Broken. The first part is here. Broken is the sequel to Breakable, picking up soon after that left off. I recommend reading Breakable first, but don't worry, it's short. :) This is set during season four, AU after the episode "Calvary."
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She lay on the bed for what seemed like a very long time, although the clock on the nightstand claimed it had only been an hour. Maybe it seemed like longer because she had to pee. She kept reminding herself that she could leave whenever she wanted, but that only made her feel worse because it meant she was choosing to remain helpless - and the one she was doing it for was off somewhere ignoring her completely. She decided to compromise: she wouldn't leave the hotel room, but she would find a way out of the rope that bound her arms behind her back.
She got up awkwardly onto her knees on the bed and started moving her hands, testing the knots. As she squirmed, she could feel the knots themselves becoming tighter, while the loops around her wrists seemed to loosen a bit. She struggled for a few minutes, her skin chafing against the coarse hemp. Finally, after a particularly harsh tug, her left hand slipped free, the rope burning as it caught her knuckles.
Well, that was easy. She tried to untie the rope from her other wrist, picking at the knots with her fingernails, but it wouldn't come loose, so she just left it. He might tie her up again when he got back anyway. The idea made the back of her neck tingle.
Her shoulders hurt from being in the same position for so long. She stretched, glad that she could move now, but sort of disappointed that the rope hadn't been more difficult to escape. Either Angelus didn't expect her to try, or he underestimated her. Or he'd wanted her to be able to do it. She wasn't sure what to make of that.
She got up and went to the bathroom, which was attached to the room via a small dressing area with a mirror and sinks and a coffeepot and a closed sliding door that led to a closet. Just a regular, empty hotel room. It looked as if no one had been there except her. She wondered if there were something special about hotel rooms that made a 250-year-old vampire like to live in them.
She'd not thought about it before, but when her feet touched the cold tiles in the bathroom, she realized her sandals had been removed. When she came back out, she found them tucked neatly underneath the desk. It struck her as odd that he would knock her out, dump her on a bed, and then take off her shoes. She sat back down on one of the beds and picked idly at the knots in the rope again.
She was hungry. She thought about making some coffee, but decided she wasn't desperate yet.
There wasn't a television in the room, or a telephone. She reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. She expected him to have removed the Bible, but there it was. She filed that information away for later, but she really didn't think she'd use it. There was no reason for her to fight him. If he killed her, fine. If not, maybe he could make her feel alive.
She shut the drawer and stood, wandering over to the window. Pulled back the curtains and looked out. She didn't recognize the view. She knew they couldn't still be in L.A. because the sun had been shining earlier, hadn't it? It was a vampire's playground there; she wondered why Angelus wouldn't want to stay. Of course, it was also the home of the only people on Earth who would come after him specifically if they could. If they were even still alive.
She had released a monster in her friends' home. She wondered if he'd killed them.
The door startled her when it opened. She dropped the curtain and backed quickly away from the window as Angelus walked in. He was carrying a paper bag.
"Fred, you're up," he greeted her cheerfully, dropping his car keys on the desk.
She nodded.
He glanced at her arms. "And you got your hands free." Looking more closely, he frowned. "Well... sort of."
She looked down at the rope dangling from her wrist and began picking at it again. "I couldn't get it undone," she said.
He set the bag down on the desk, placing his hands on his hips. "Come here," he said.
She immediately took a step forward, but then hesitated. She didn't mean to. In her mind, she was completely willing to turn herself over to him, to do absolutely anything he said, but there was still a tiny, desperate instinct of self-preservation hidden somewhere inside her body, telling her to run. It made her angry. She refused to be afraid; she chose this. She took another step and then another, making herself look directly into his eyes as she approached him, letting excitement replace her fear as she crossed the room. Her pulse was fluttering.
He met her gaze with an amused smile, shaking his head a little. Then he reached out and took her wrist, his fingers easily meeting around it, and brought it up between them. She held her breath as the fingers of his other hand softly traced the lines of blue veins beneath her skin, their delicate map a sharp contrast to the prickly rope looped around it. His hands were cool against her. She felt herself shiver. She swallowed, watching his fingers.
The crunch of changing features made her look back at his face, just in time to see a demon pulling her arm up higher and fangs glistening as they came toward her. A thrill rippled through her body, and she closed her eyes, waiting to feel those teeth pierce her skin.
A second later, her arm was casually dropped, and she opened her eyes again to see Angelus turning to place the severed rope on the desk. She glanced down at her wrist again to confirm that it was free. "Oh," she said. She felt herself blush.
"They have more than one use," he said, indicating his fangs. "It's handy." Then he shifted back to his human face, regarding her with a tilt of his head. "Did you think I was going to bite you?"
She looked away.
He chuckled. "I told you. Not my type." He squinted at her. "Not just too skinny... there's something else too. Must be the hair." He shrugged. "In any case..." He suddenly backhanded her across the face.
She fell backwards over the corner of one of the beds, bouncing off and landing on her ass on the floor between them. She put a hand up to her cheek, shocked. Her face throbbed beneath her fingers. She had bitten her tongue. She stared up at him.
"That's for trying to escape," he explained. He frowned at the rope again. "Even though you didn't do a very good job." He looked back at her. "You know, Fred, I know you have the hots for me and all, but would it kill you to try a little harder? Honestly. You're just too easy." He sighed. "I've never tried to break something that's already broken before. I was thinking it would be a challenge, but now I'm sort of wondering if it's worth the effort."
He squatted down near her between the beds and pulled her hand way from her face, studying the place where he'd hit her. "That's gonna leave a mark," he said. He reached over and let the backs of his fingers brush across the darkening spot on her cheek. She winced from the pain but didn't move away. It was like his touch was connected to a fire inside her, igniting something she'd never even known existed. She leaned a little into his fingers, feeling the pain flow outwards from her cheek, her glistening eyes trained on his. She swallowed.
"Too easy," he said again. He stood up and offered her his hand, effortlessly pulling her to her feet when she took it. "Go take a shower," he told her. "You look like shit."
*
The water was warm against her face. The thrumming of the spray on her rapidly-forming bruise stung as she leaned into it. She adjusted the temperature to make it cooler, make it like his fingers stroking her skin. She closed her eyes and just stood there under the water, imagining herself surrounded by his cool body instead of icy trickles from the shower.
His type. Blonde. Probably big boobs. Bigger than hers anyway. She soaped a white hotel washcloth and ran it across her chest, her nipples peaking in the cold. Tiny. Her whole body. Fragile. She washed her neck and arms, her legs. Too thin, ever since she was a little girl. Of course, starving her wouldn't help. She thought she might point that out, although he hadn't seemed to have any interest in changing her into his type. He didn't seem to want her at all.
She washed her long hair using the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo. Lather, rinse, repeat. She thought about Charles. He had liked to wash her hair when they showered together. He always used more shampoo than was strictly necessary, working up a lather so thick he could pile the suds on top of her head and they would stay there. He thought it was cute. She wondered again if he were dead.
Tears. Just water. You can't even see the difference.
She'd loved him sometimes. He was a lovable guy. Nice. A nice person. And a good fighter. She decided he wasn't dead. She decided, and she wasn't going to think about it anymore, because that was the past and she'd made this decision and this was what she needed and this was what she wanted and there was no going back anyway even if she did have regrets but she didn't and that's all there is to say about that thank you very much because she was letting go.
Just water. Just water and Sodium Chloride and mucus and lysozyme and there's no point.
She put a hand up to her cheek. The feeling made her shiver. She finished rinsing, turned off the shower, and squeezed the excess water out of her hair.
Pulling back the shower curtain, she stepped out onto the bathmat and reached for one of the white towels that had been on the shelf when she came in, pausing in mid-reach. They weren't there anymore. She blinked and looked away, then looked back to make sure. Still not there. Her skirt and tanktop were also gone, along with her underwear. He must have come in and taken them. How could she have not noticed? She just stood there for a minute, staring at the empty shelf, then put the toilet lid down and sat on it, at a loss.
"It can't possibly take that long to wash a stick body like yours," she heard Angelus call through the door.
"There aren't any towels," she called back. God, it almost made her laugh to say it out loud.
"Come out here."
She was naked. She was also wet and cold, but it's not like he hadn't seen cold, wet, naked girls before and anyway he didn't want her, so it was no big deal, right? She looked around the bathroom again. Nothing to cover up with except the shower curtain. She thought about taking it down and wrapping it around herself before opening the door, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. She was 28 years old. She'd been naked with men before. He would probably just laugh at her if she tried it anyway. And if he'd taken the towels, he'd probably take the shower curtain.
She took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, and opened the door. Her stomach growled.
He was sitting on one of the beds, leaning back against the headboard with his ankles crossed. He wasn't wearing shoes, but he had on black socks. He was reading a newspaper.
She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there, dripping, willing her arms to stay at her sides. No big deal, no need to cover up, he's probably going to kill you soon anyway, and what will be the point of having worried that you were standing there naked in front of a fully clothed handsome man who didn't even acknowledge your presence anyway? She discreetly flicked her gaze around the room, looking for the towels. She didn't see them, but she did notice that his shoes were sitting side by side next to hers underneath the desk. She looked back at his socked feet. They looked so innocent. Like normal feet.
He flipped the corner of the paper down briefly to tell her, "I brought you some food. It's over there." He glanced in the direction of the bag on the desk and then put the paper back up.
She walked over to the bag and opened it, peering inside at the familiar fast-food wrappers.
"You brought me tacos," she said flatly.
He didn't look away from the paper. "They're probably cold by now."
She pulled one out and looked at it. "Tacos," she repeated. It was definitely a taco. A drop of water rolled down her nose and dripped onto it.
"That's what it said on the menu," he replied.
She stared at it. "I like tacos," she said slowly. This was wrong.
Angelus put the paper down with a sigh. "For some reason, I thought you were quicker than this, Fred. Yes, it's a fucking taco. Now eat it, or I might lose my patience. You don't want me to lose patience with you this early." He paused, considering. "Well, maybe you do."
"I just... didn't expect... how did you know I like tacos?" she asked him.
He raised an eyebrow. "It was one of the first things you told me, if I remember correctly."
She shook her head. "But that wasn't you, that was..."
"Angel?" He chuckled. "Who do I look like to you, the fucking Pope?"
She blinked.
"Look, Fred, I'm still the same guy. I'm me, alright? Just, you know, evil. And better dressed." He shrugged. "Deal with it."
"If you're evil, then why did you..." She held up the taco.
"Because I don't plan to starve you, and I know you'll eat this kind of food. Don't make more out of it than it is."
She nodded. It was strange, the idea that she was here with Angel. She'd been thinking about him as someone completely different, an evil twin or something. She felt his gaze slide down her naked body and back up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Angel was seeing her naked. It was an effort for her not to grab the fast food bag and hold it in front of herself. When he looked at her, random parts of her body started to tingle, like they were waking up. She shifted from one foot to the other.
"Anyway, it's more fun to kill a healthy body," he continued. "Otherwise, it's too much like mercy." He smiled at her and picked the paper back up. She nodded again, mostly to herself, and carried the food over to the other bed. Just as she was about to sit down, he said, "Don't sit there."
She just barely caught herself and stood back up, looking at him.
He put the paper down again and frowned at her. "You're wet," he said.
"I didn't... there weren't any towels," she replied, ignoring the double entendre.
He glanced at the curtain over the window. It was growing lighter. "Well, it's sunrise. You can stand outside to dry off if you want to," he said. "Or you can just sit on the floor. Your choice."
She looked at the window. If she walked outside in the sunlight, she could keep going, and he wouldn't be able to follow her. She'd be naked, but it was still a relatively easy escape.
She sat down on the floor and began to eat her taco.
He rolled his eyes and started to read again.
*
There were five tacos in the bag. She ate three and left the other two for later, not sure when he'd buy her more food. He'd said he wouldn't starve her, but it was nice knowing she had something for later anyway. Her skin was dry by the time she'd finished, but her hair was still a little damp. She felt cold.
Angelus hadn't moved. He wasn't even breathing. She hugged her knees up to her chest, trying to keep warm as she watched him occasionally turn the pages. The square of the window was bright by now. She wondered again where they were. It just occurred to her to check for the name of the town on the newspaper, when Angelus put it down.
"Are you dry yet?" he asked.
She nodded, then reached up to feel her hair. "Except my hair."
"Come here." He folded up the newspaper and placed it on the nightstand, indicating that she should come sit on the bed next to him. She did so tentatively, hyperaware of her nakedness.
He twirled his finger in the air, and she obediently turned away, her back to him as she shivered on the bed. That he didn't want her to see what he was doing excited her, and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. She started to warm up from the inside.
She didn't know what she had expected him to do to her exactly, but it was definitely a surprise when he began to brush her hair. He had produced a comb from somewhere, and she felt him methodically separate the long locks into sections, slowly combing out the tangles in one part before moving on to the next. He wasn't tender about it exactly, but he wasn't rough either. It was just a sensible hair-brushing from a soulless demon.
She was speechless.
When it felt like he was finished, she started to turn around, but he caught her head and turned it back, murmuring, "Not done yet," into her ear. She waited, and a moment later he tilted her head up a little bit and began combing her hair straight back, again dividing it into sections but this time twisting them together, sweeping up more and more hair into the braid. After a few minutes of silent French-braiding, he finished it with a black rubber band.
"There," he said.
She reached up and patted the top of her head, feeling her way down the braid. It was perfect. She turned around and stared at him.
"What?" he said, frowning.
"I just... don't understand. Why did you..." she pulled the tail of the braid over her shoulder and looked at it. It looked normal.
He sighed. "Because I'm about to sleep with you and I don't want to wake up with hair in my mouth."
Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said.
"Sleep," he repeated. "I'm not going to fuck you. Might get to that later, but for now I'm kind of tired, and it's kind of chilly in here, and you'll be putting off body heat - although I can't imagine there'll be very much of it." He eyed her skinny body disdainfully. "Anyway, it's nice to soak up heat from a living person." He smiled. "I used to keep my victims alive for days, just because they were comfortable," he told her. "Well, not just for that, but it was a good enough reason anyway."
"Is that supposed to shock me?" she asked.
"Nah, I just don't want you kidding yourself. You're nothing to me but a body." In the next instant, he had pushed her down on her back, straddled her hips, and was holding both of her wrists trapped above her head in one of his large hands, all before she could even gasp. He brushed the fingers of his free hand over one of her erect nipples, and she felt the flutter in her stomach again. He pushed his demon to the fore and leaned down close to her face. "I want to hear you say it," he growled.
She swallowed. "I'm nothing to you," she repeated quietly, gasping again as he pinched her nipple hard. "Nothing but a body."
"You're only alive because I haven't killed you yet," he told her. "Don't forget that."
She shook her head. His fangs came closer to her throat as he leaned down, and she almost thought he was going to bite her, when she heard him inhale deeply near her ear. He chuckled to himself as he straightened up, releasing her hands and standing before he murmured, "Sick little girl." Then he pulled off his shirt and shucked his pants, laying them neatly across the other bed, and climbed back into bed with Fred, wearing only a pair of black silk boxers.
He yanked the covers up over them both and pulled Fred into a tight spoon, wrapping an arm around her waist and molding his long, cool body against her back. She could feel the silk of his boxers against her ass, the silk of his skin everywhere else. He flipped her braid over her shoulder. "Don't. Move," he said.
She didn't. All along her back, every place they were touching, felt alive and tingly. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, but it didn't bother her, really. She was warm now, she was fed, she was in bed with the man she'd been fantasizing about for nearly two years, and she finally knew where they were, having read the name of the newspaper on the nightstand while Angelus braided her hair.
She wondered why he had chosen to come back to Sunnydale.
*
part three here.
Title: Broken (part two)
Author: girlpire
Rating: This part is R, but it's going NC17 in the next part.
Pairing: Fred/Angelus
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Fred is being held hostage by Angelus. Kind of dark.
Author's Notes: This is the second part of Broken. The first part is here. Broken is the sequel to Breakable, picking up soon after that left off. I recommend reading Breakable first, but don't worry, it's short. :) This is set during season four, AU after the episode "Calvary."
frimfram made me this awesome banner! isn't it great? yay. :DShe lay on the bed for what seemed like a very long time, although the clock on the nightstand claimed it had only been an hour. Maybe it seemed like longer because she had to pee. She kept reminding herself that she could leave whenever she wanted, but that only made her feel worse because it meant she was choosing to remain helpless - and the one she was doing it for was off somewhere ignoring her completely. She decided to compromise: she wouldn't leave the hotel room, but she would find a way out of the rope that bound her arms behind her back.
She got up awkwardly onto her knees on the bed and started moving her hands, testing the knots. As she squirmed, she could feel the knots themselves becoming tighter, while the loops around her wrists seemed to loosen a bit. She struggled for a few minutes, her skin chafing against the coarse hemp. Finally, after a particularly harsh tug, her left hand slipped free, the rope burning as it caught her knuckles.
Well, that was easy. She tried to untie the rope from her other wrist, picking at the knots with her fingernails, but it wouldn't come loose, so she just left it. He might tie her up again when he got back anyway. The idea made the back of her neck tingle.
Her shoulders hurt from being in the same position for so long. She stretched, glad that she could move now, but sort of disappointed that the rope hadn't been more difficult to escape. Either Angelus didn't expect her to try, or he underestimated her. Or he'd wanted her to be able to do it. She wasn't sure what to make of that.
She got up and went to the bathroom, which was attached to the room via a small dressing area with a mirror and sinks and a coffeepot and a closed sliding door that led to a closet. Just a regular, empty hotel room. It looked as if no one had been there except her. She wondered if there were something special about hotel rooms that made a 250-year-old vampire like to live in them.
She'd not thought about it before, but when her feet touched the cold tiles in the bathroom, she realized her sandals had been removed. When she came back out, she found them tucked neatly underneath the desk. It struck her as odd that he would knock her out, dump her on a bed, and then take off her shoes. She sat back down on one of the beds and picked idly at the knots in the rope again.
She was hungry. She thought about making some coffee, but decided she wasn't desperate yet.
There wasn't a television in the room, or a telephone. She reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. She expected him to have removed the Bible, but there it was. She filed that information away for later, but she really didn't think she'd use it. There was no reason for her to fight him. If he killed her, fine. If not, maybe he could make her feel alive.
She shut the drawer and stood, wandering over to the window. Pulled back the curtains and looked out. She didn't recognize the view. She knew they couldn't still be in L.A. because the sun had been shining earlier, hadn't it? It was a vampire's playground there; she wondered why Angelus wouldn't want to stay. Of course, it was also the home of the only people on Earth who would come after him specifically if they could. If they were even still alive.
She had released a monster in her friends' home. She wondered if he'd killed them.
The door startled her when it opened. She dropped the curtain and backed quickly away from the window as Angelus walked in. He was carrying a paper bag.
"Fred, you're up," he greeted her cheerfully, dropping his car keys on the desk.
She nodded.
He glanced at her arms. "And you got your hands free." Looking more closely, he frowned. "Well... sort of."
She looked down at the rope dangling from her wrist and began picking at it again. "I couldn't get it undone," she said.
He set the bag down on the desk, placing his hands on his hips. "Come here," he said.
She immediately took a step forward, but then hesitated. She didn't mean to. In her mind, she was completely willing to turn herself over to him, to do absolutely anything he said, but there was still a tiny, desperate instinct of self-preservation hidden somewhere inside her body, telling her to run. It made her angry. She refused to be afraid; she chose this. She took another step and then another, making herself look directly into his eyes as she approached him, letting excitement replace her fear as she crossed the room. Her pulse was fluttering.
He met her gaze with an amused smile, shaking his head a little. Then he reached out and took her wrist, his fingers easily meeting around it, and brought it up between them. She held her breath as the fingers of his other hand softly traced the lines of blue veins beneath her skin, their delicate map a sharp contrast to the prickly rope looped around it. His hands were cool against her. She felt herself shiver. She swallowed, watching his fingers.
The crunch of changing features made her look back at his face, just in time to see a demon pulling her arm up higher and fangs glistening as they came toward her. A thrill rippled through her body, and she closed her eyes, waiting to feel those teeth pierce her skin.
A second later, her arm was casually dropped, and she opened her eyes again to see Angelus turning to place the severed rope on the desk. She glanced down at her wrist again to confirm that it was free. "Oh," she said. She felt herself blush.
"They have more than one use," he said, indicating his fangs. "It's handy." Then he shifted back to his human face, regarding her with a tilt of his head. "Did you think I was going to bite you?"
She looked away.
He chuckled. "I told you. Not my type." He squinted at her. "Not just too skinny... there's something else too. Must be the hair." He shrugged. "In any case..." He suddenly backhanded her across the face.
She fell backwards over the corner of one of the beds, bouncing off and landing on her ass on the floor between them. She put a hand up to her cheek, shocked. Her face throbbed beneath her fingers. She had bitten her tongue. She stared up at him.
"That's for trying to escape," he explained. He frowned at the rope again. "Even though you didn't do a very good job." He looked back at her. "You know, Fred, I know you have the hots for me and all, but would it kill you to try a little harder? Honestly. You're just too easy." He sighed. "I've never tried to break something that's already broken before. I was thinking it would be a challenge, but now I'm sort of wondering if it's worth the effort."
He squatted down near her between the beds and pulled her hand way from her face, studying the place where he'd hit her. "That's gonna leave a mark," he said. He reached over and let the backs of his fingers brush across the darkening spot on her cheek. She winced from the pain but didn't move away. It was like his touch was connected to a fire inside her, igniting something she'd never even known existed. She leaned a little into his fingers, feeling the pain flow outwards from her cheek, her glistening eyes trained on his. She swallowed.
"Too easy," he said again. He stood up and offered her his hand, effortlessly pulling her to her feet when she took it. "Go take a shower," he told her. "You look like shit."
*
The water was warm against her face. The thrumming of the spray on her rapidly-forming bruise stung as she leaned into it. She adjusted the temperature to make it cooler, make it like his fingers stroking her skin. She closed her eyes and just stood there under the water, imagining herself surrounded by his cool body instead of icy trickles from the shower.
His type. Blonde. Probably big boobs. Bigger than hers anyway. She soaped a white hotel washcloth and ran it across her chest, her nipples peaking in the cold. Tiny. Her whole body. Fragile. She washed her neck and arms, her legs. Too thin, ever since she was a little girl. Of course, starving her wouldn't help. She thought she might point that out, although he hadn't seemed to have any interest in changing her into his type. He didn't seem to want her at all.
She washed her long hair using the tiny bottle of hotel shampoo. Lather, rinse, repeat. She thought about Charles. He had liked to wash her hair when they showered together. He always used more shampoo than was strictly necessary, working up a lather so thick he could pile the suds on top of her head and they would stay there. He thought it was cute. She wondered again if he were dead.
Tears. Just water. You can't even see the difference.
She'd loved him sometimes. He was a lovable guy. Nice. A nice person. And a good fighter. She decided he wasn't dead. She decided, and she wasn't going to think about it anymore, because that was the past and she'd made this decision and this was what she needed and this was what she wanted and there was no going back anyway even if she did have regrets but she didn't and that's all there is to say about that thank you very much because she was letting go.
Just water. Just water and Sodium Chloride and mucus and lysozyme and there's no point.
She put a hand up to her cheek. The feeling made her shiver. She finished rinsing, turned off the shower, and squeezed the excess water out of her hair.
Pulling back the shower curtain, she stepped out onto the bathmat and reached for one of the white towels that had been on the shelf when she came in, pausing in mid-reach. They weren't there anymore. She blinked and looked away, then looked back to make sure. Still not there. Her skirt and tanktop were also gone, along with her underwear. He must have come in and taken them. How could she have not noticed? She just stood there for a minute, staring at the empty shelf, then put the toilet lid down and sat on it, at a loss.
"It can't possibly take that long to wash a stick body like yours," she heard Angelus call through the door.
"There aren't any towels," she called back. God, it almost made her laugh to say it out loud.
"Come out here."
She was naked. She was also wet and cold, but it's not like he hadn't seen cold, wet, naked girls before and anyway he didn't want her, so it was no big deal, right? She looked around the bathroom again. Nothing to cover up with except the shower curtain. She thought about taking it down and wrapping it around herself before opening the door, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. She was 28 years old. She'd been naked with men before. He would probably just laugh at her if she tried it anyway. And if he'd taken the towels, he'd probably take the shower curtain.
She took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, and opened the door. Her stomach growled.
He was sitting on one of the beds, leaning back against the headboard with his ankles crossed. He wasn't wearing shoes, but he had on black socks. He was reading a newspaper.
She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there, dripping, willing her arms to stay at her sides. No big deal, no need to cover up, he's probably going to kill you soon anyway, and what will be the point of having worried that you were standing there naked in front of a fully clothed handsome man who didn't even acknowledge your presence anyway? She discreetly flicked her gaze around the room, looking for the towels. She didn't see them, but she did notice that his shoes were sitting side by side next to hers underneath the desk. She looked back at his socked feet. They looked so innocent. Like normal feet.
He flipped the corner of the paper down briefly to tell her, "I brought you some food. It's over there." He glanced in the direction of the bag on the desk and then put the paper back up.
She walked over to the bag and opened it, peering inside at the familiar fast-food wrappers.
"You brought me tacos," she said flatly.
He didn't look away from the paper. "They're probably cold by now."
She pulled one out and looked at it. "Tacos," she repeated. It was definitely a taco. A drop of water rolled down her nose and dripped onto it.
"That's what it said on the menu," he replied.
She stared at it. "I like tacos," she said slowly. This was wrong.
Angelus put the paper down with a sigh. "For some reason, I thought you were quicker than this, Fred. Yes, it's a fucking taco. Now eat it, or I might lose my patience. You don't want me to lose patience with you this early." He paused, considering. "Well, maybe you do."
"I just... didn't expect... how did you know I like tacos?" she asked him.
He raised an eyebrow. "It was one of the first things you told me, if I remember correctly."
She shook her head. "But that wasn't you, that was..."
"Angel?" He chuckled. "Who do I look like to you, the fucking Pope?"
She blinked.
"Look, Fred, I'm still the same guy. I'm me, alright? Just, you know, evil. And better dressed." He shrugged. "Deal with it."
"If you're evil, then why did you..." She held up the taco.
"Because I don't plan to starve you, and I know you'll eat this kind of food. Don't make more out of it than it is."
She nodded. It was strange, the idea that she was here with Angel. She'd been thinking about him as someone completely different, an evil twin or something. She felt his gaze slide down her naked body and back up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Angel was seeing her naked. It was an effort for her not to grab the fast food bag and hold it in front of herself. When he looked at her, random parts of her body started to tingle, like they were waking up. She shifted from one foot to the other.
"Anyway, it's more fun to kill a healthy body," he continued. "Otherwise, it's too much like mercy." He smiled at her and picked the paper back up. She nodded again, mostly to herself, and carried the food over to the other bed. Just as she was about to sit down, he said, "Don't sit there."
She just barely caught herself and stood back up, looking at him.
He put the paper down again and frowned at her. "You're wet," he said.
"I didn't... there weren't any towels," she replied, ignoring the double entendre.
He glanced at the curtain over the window. It was growing lighter. "Well, it's sunrise. You can stand outside to dry off if you want to," he said. "Or you can just sit on the floor. Your choice."
She looked at the window. If she walked outside in the sunlight, she could keep going, and he wouldn't be able to follow her. She'd be naked, but it was still a relatively easy escape.
She sat down on the floor and began to eat her taco.
He rolled his eyes and started to read again.
*
There were five tacos in the bag. She ate three and left the other two for later, not sure when he'd buy her more food. He'd said he wouldn't starve her, but it was nice knowing she had something for later anyway. Her skin was dry by the time she'd finished, but her hair was still a little damp. She felt cold.
Angelus hadn't moved. He wasn't even breathing. She hugged her knees up to her chest, trying to keep warm as she watched him occasionally turn the pages. The square of the window was bright by now. She wondered again where they were. It just occurred to her to check for the name of the town on the newspaper, when Angelus put it down.
"Are you dry yet?" he asked.
She nodded, then reached up to feel her hair. "Except my hair."
"Come here." He folded up the newspaper and placed it on the nightstand, indicating that she should come sit on the bed next to him. She did so tentatively, hyperaware of her nakedness.
He twirled his finger in the air, and she obediently turned away, her back to him as she shivered on the bed. That he didn't want her to see what he was doing excited her, and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. She started to warm up from the inside.
She didn't know what she had expected him to do to her exactly, but it was definitely a surprise when he began to brush her hair. He had produced a comb from somewhere, and she felt him methodically separate the long locks into sections, slowly combing out the tangles in one part before moving on to the next. He wasn't tender about it exactly, but he wasn't rough either. It was just a sensible hair-brushing from a soulless demon.
She was speechless.
When it felt like he was finished, she started to turn around, but he caught her head and turned it back, murmuring, "Not done yet," into her ear. She waited, and a moment later he tilted her head up a little bit and began combing her hair straight back, again dividing it into sections but this time twisting them together, sweeping up more and more hair into the braid. After a few minutes of silent French-braiding, he finished it with a black rubber band.
"There," he said.
She reached up and patted the top of her head, feeling her way down the braid. It was perfect. She turned around and stared at him.
"What?" he said, frowning.
"I just... don't understand. Why did you..." she pulled the tail of the braid over her shoulder and looked at it. It looked normal.
He sighed. "Because I'm about to sleep with you and I don't want to wake up with hair in my mouth."
Her eyes widened. "Oh," she said.
"Sleep," he repeated. "I'm not going to fuck you. Might get to that later, but for now I'm kind of tired, and it's kind of chilly in here, and you'll be putting off body heat - although I can't imagine there'll be very much of it." He eyed her skinny body disdainfully. "Anyway, it's nice to soak up heat from a living person." He smiled. "I used to keep my victims alive for days, just because they were comfortable," he told her. "Well, not just for that, but it was a good enough reason anyway."
"Is that supposed to shock me?" she asked.
"Nah, I just don't want you kidding yourself. You're nothing to me but a body." In the next instant, he had pushed her down on her back, straddled her hips, and was holding both of her wrists trapped above her head in one of his large hands, all before she could even gasp. He brushed the fingers of his free hand over one of her erect nipples, and she felt the flutter in her stomach again. He pushed his demon to the fore and leaned down close to her face. "I want to hear you say it," he growled.
She swallowed. "I'm nothing to you," she repeated quietly, gasping again as he pinched her nipple hard. "Nothing but a body."
"You're only alive because I haven't killed you yet," he told her. "Don't forget that."
She shook her head. His fangs came closer to her throat as he leaned down, and she almost thought he was going to bite her, when she heard him inhale deeply near her ear. He chuckled to himself as he straightened up, releasing her hands and standing before he murmured, "Sick little girl." Then he pulled off his shirt and shucked his pants, laying them neatly across the other bed, and climbed back into bed with Fred, wearing only a pair of black silk boxers.
He yanked the covers up over them both and pulled Fred into a tight spoon, wrapping an arm around her waist and molding his long, cool body against her back. She could feel the silk of his boxers against her ass, the silk of his skin everywhere else. He flipped her braid over her shoulder. "Don't. Move," he said.
She didn't. All along her back, every place they were touching, felt alive and tingly. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, but it didn't bother her, really. She was warm now, she was fed, she was in bed with the man she'd been fantasizing about for nearly two years, and she finally knew where they were, having read the name of the newspaper on the nightstand while Angelus braided her hair.
She wondered why he had chosen to come back to Sunnydale.
*
part three here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-09 10:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 03:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 12:28 pm (UTC)and... it's only slightly twisted? hmmm, have to fix that. :D
you like het, right? do you think it would stop being interesting to you if there were a couple of slash/femslash scenes along the way? i'm having trouble deciding how to continue. i don't want to abandon any readers.
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Date: 2005-10-10 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-10 08:27 am (UTC)The best bit was when she realised that he was Angel as well. Very, very disturbing.
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Date: 2005-10-10 12:52 pm (UTC)even though fred's the main character here, i'm more concerned about staying true to my version of season four angelus. i just can't get enough of him!
love your icon. :)
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Date: 2005-10-10 02:32 pm (UTC)Your Angelus is superb. It's Fred that's squicking me, as you've probably guessed. I can't help thinking she'd better come up with a way to surprise Angelus and soon, before he just gets bored and kills her.
Except that that is sort of what she wants, isn't it?
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Date: 2005-10-10 08:03 pm (UTC)The last line was superb.
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Date: 2005-10-11 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 07:44 am (UTC)Though it occurs to me it should pretty much say 'Broken' where it says 'Breakable.' Would you like me to swap it?
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Date: 2005-10-11 08:07 am (UTC)...is it bad though that i didn't notice? i mean i did notice that it said breakable, i just didn't realize it was the wrong word. heh.
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Date: 2005-10-11 08:19 am (UTC)Right?
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Date: 2005-10-11 08:57 am (UTC)actually i just start bouncing so much everytime i see it that i had not thought much about it, other than, "a banner, wheeeeeeee!!!"
but yes it is beautiful and perfect. :)
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Date: 2005-10-11 11:28 am (UTC)And oooh, what a lovely way to finish it! Fred being as perceptive as she’ll allow herself to be. I’m really enjoying this cat and mouse game - I think, some how, you’ve weighed them against each other so they’re equally matched.
Must be the hair." He shrugged. "In any case..." He suddenly backhanded her across the face.
How chilling! To be reminded that it’s Angelus for goodness sake!!
Definitely enjoying and looking forward to more...
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Date: 2005-10-11 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 01:51 am (UTC)I'm really into this. I love Fred and Angelus and I'm enjoying the dynamic between them.
"Look, Fred, I'm still the same guy. I'm me, alright? Just, you know, evil. And better dressed." He shrugged. "Deal with it."
She nodded. It was strange, the idea that she was here with Angel. She'd been thinking about him as someone completely different, an evil twin or something.
I can see Angelus like this, obviously knowing everything that Angel knows - but of course Fred or any of the others (except probably Spike) want to believe that they are completely separate.
I'm definitely waiting for more of this!
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Date: 2005-10-13 02:10 am (UTC)i'm so glad you're enjoying my story!
the thing in season four about angelus knowing something about the beast that angel didn't know always bothered me, because they are the same person. if you take away his conscience, he is still himself, and if you stick it back in, then... he is still himself! so i don't understand how he could only access a certain memory when he didn't have his soul. of course, the writers were probably just using that as a plot device to bring back angelus, so i can't fault them for it... i mean, who doesn't love angelus? :)
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Date: 2005-10-13 02:21 am (UTC)Whew
Date: 2005-10-14 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-29 08:52 am (UTC)Give me more!!
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Date: 2005-10-29 06:42 pm (UTC)i feel like i've been working on this next part for a very long time... and it's still kind of short. *sigh* i'm going to try to post it by like tomorrow or monday.
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Date: 2005-10-30 02:17 am (UTC)*licks you for using my icon*
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Date: 2008-02-22 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-27 06:04 pm (UTC)That could get interesting
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Date: 2009-07-13 05:58 am (UTC)