Oncoming Train

Author’s note: I forgot last time that Sandyblond asked about emailing updates. Unfortunately, I’m borderline computer literate, so I haven’t the first idea how to send out some kind of group email. Just please check back every couple of days. Ciao.
***

The Scoobies and the AI gang talked more about possibilities for another hour before Gunn suggested a wind down, his eyes cutting to the slumping Summers on the couch. Dawn was sent to bed and everyone else was now watching a movie. Feeling like his skin was about crawl off, Riley excused himself to go to the bathroom, then slipped out into the garden. He just needed to breathe.

Settling on a stone bench, he pulled his knees up and propped his chin on them. He’d thought life with Buffy had been hard, but nothing compared to tonight. He couldn’t be stuck with Cordelia’s visions, didn’t these Powers understand that? He barely had control of his body. It rankled, that Angel assumed he’d be returning to Los Angeles with him, just because of the visions. Everything about the guy rubbed him, and not in all the wrong ways.

That was another headache. Angel just had to look at him sometimes, and Riley could feel himself falling. For a vampire he was supposed to hate! Supposed to, right? He groaned in frustration. Angel didn’t seem to hate him, which made upholding old grudges juvenile, fine, but where had the attraction come from? He wasn’t that naïve a farmboy, he knew what the vampire wanted, but was that all? It scared him to realize Angel wanted a whole lot more than a quick fuck.

Then tonight, to come home to find out Cordy’s vision had been about his friends trying to resurrect Buffy. What the hell were they thinking? He missed and loved her, but Angel was right, she deserved her rest. To bring her back and force her to take up the fight again was wrong. If, somehow, they could have won for her an ordinary life, but he shook his head, knowing Buffy would never have had ordinary in this world. Events were overwhelming him.

His musings were cut short as he was grabbed from behind. Riley gave a muffled squeak, mouth firmly clamped shut by a warm hand. Another arm wrapped around him, pulling him from the bench and into the bushes, away from the house. Whomever held him was strong, stronger than he could break free from. He thrashed, hoping to draw attention, that vampire ears were listening. Branches and thorns caught his clothing and flesh, a smattering of blood leaving a trail for Angel to follow.

Another open space in the garden and his captor’s grip tightened as a face pressed close to his. “Riley, stop fighting. It’s me.”

Graham. The seer froze, recognizing his friend’s scent of apples beneath the smells of gun oil and leather. When he stayed still, the hands slowly relaxed, gentled, then fell away as Graham stepped back. Riley stood there, catching his breath, trying to figure out what to do. He went with his instincts.

His fist lashed out, catching Graham unprepared. “You bastard!”

“Unhf!”

“That’s for drugging me! And this,” the tall seer made to strike again, but the Marine caught his wrist, sparing his other cheek.

“What are you talking about, Iowa?”

Seeing the confusion in familiar grey eyes, Riley’s anger stuttered. “When I was jumped, one of the guys kinda looked like you.”

“Kinda? Half the Marine Corp ‘kinda’ looks like me,” the burlier blond smirked. “And the other half wishes they did.”

Riley snorted. “Uh-huh. Just keep thinking that way, Grey. You may get laid yet.” The familiar teasing helped to focus, his adrenaline holding the clairvoyance at bay. They flickered about the edges of his mind, like blue flames waiting to consume. He narrowed his gaze on the man in front of him, his best friend and someone he had once wished to be more.

“Anytime you want to compare bedposts, buddy,” Graham grinned.

“Anytime. You gonna stop holding my hand or are we dating now?” The quip burned his tongue, but he got it out easy, knowing the reaction it'd bring. Unlike himself, Graham was one hundred percent heterosexual American male.

Graham blushed and dropped the wrist he was still clutching. “Look, Finn, I had nothing to do with what happened in the park. That was General Sorsen’s idea. I got called back up here when you and your buddies disappeared off the radar.”

There was a subtle shift in the air as Riley was suddenly reminded who his friends were. It hurt that Graham was no longer on that short list. “Is that why you’re here, Grey? Locate and report on my whereabouts?”

The humor left the strong face and Riley stepped back, preparing himself. “You have to come back, Riley.”

The visions were swimming closer. He wondered if he could use them, predict Graham's moves, give himself an advantage in an otherwise evenly matched fight. Graham was a combat specialist and Riley didn't think he had the control he needed. “Yeah, that’s the neat thing about retiring. I don’t.”

“Riley-“

“Riley, why didn’t you say we had a guest?” Angel’s voice, calm and angry behind him, and he felt a large hand crush the collar of his windbreaker just before he was lifted off the ground and yanked backwards. “If I’d known, I’d have made tea. Oiled the leg irons.” Set down gently behind the vampire, he caught a blur of motion to either side, bodies rushing past as he was released. The flames winked out.

“Dog pile!” Xander shouted as he, Gunn, and Buffybot tackled the Marine, the robot’s considerable weight leading the charge. With a startled expletive, Graham went under.

“Graham, don’t-“ Riley moved to intercede, but Angel’s arm blocked him. “Angel, he could seriously hurt them. He’s-“

The vampire looked over and there was more demon than soul glaring at him. “Like you?” When Riley wouldn’t meet his eyes, lips pressed tight, he nodded. “We prepared for that. They’re just a distraction for Willow.” As though her name conjured her, the young witch stepped out of the shadows of the garden wall, tying a thin rope of yellow fabric between her hands as she quietly chanted. Tara stood just behind her, quiet eyes taking everything in.

The struggle abruptly ended with the completion of Willow’s spell. Xander and Gunn rolled away and Buffybot hauled an awkwardly limp Graham to his feet. “One bad guy defeated!” The robot proudly declared.

“Pig’s slop. Xanpet’s put up more of a fight than that big, bad Marine.” Popcorn bag in hand, Spike strolled out from behind the witches, happily admiring his lover’s dusty form. “Though me pet does look right scruffy. Come give me a peck, luv. I’ll share me popcorn.”

“That’s because I paralyzed him.” Willow glomped her girlfriend. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Briefly returning the hug, Tara worriedly studied the immobile Marine. “He can breathe okay?”

“He’s fine.” Angel snapped, herding the Scoobies back toward the house. “Slayer, take our guest to the basement.” When Riley hesitated, staring at his old friend, the vampire grabbed his arm, jerking him forward. The seer went, too confused to protest. Passing his childe, Angel snatched the warm bag of popcorn with his free hand and passed it to Tara. “Spike, help the Slayer.”

“Here now, no call for-“

“Now, William.”

“Bloody ‘ell.” Spike shouldered past and gestured for the Buffybot to follow him. “This way, Slutty.”

“My name is Buffy.”

“Good comeback. Glib. Now shut yer gob fore I rip it off.”

Anything else Spike said was lost as they disappeared deeper into the garden. Angel didn’t let go of Riley’s arm, propelling him along with an almost painful grip after the others. Xander glanced back, but didn’t intercede, and Riley wasn’t sure if there was anything for him to intercede into. Angel was mad, and some of that anger was directed at him, but he didn’t know what to make of it.

A few more twists and turns and they were back at the house. Everyone was headed for the living room, but Angel redirected Riley towards the kitchen. He went. He let Angel shove him onto a stool and didn’t even have to be told to stay there. The vampire went to the one of the lower cabinets and pulled out a first aid kit. He stayed quiet as alcohol, antiseptic, and cotton balls were pulled out. Angel started on his face, not looking at him, dabbing at small cuts that left the cotton balls red and pulpy. A pile grew next to him on the counter. A scratch on his ear, on his cheek, chin, forehead, he lost count before the vampire moved on to his left hand. His right hand, and his windbreaker had protected his torso, but his sweatpants had given in one place. Angel ripped, exposing more of his thigh and smeared antibiotic on the larger cut. Then he reached for the nylon pullover, apparently not assured of its durability, and Riley obligingly lifted his arms and arched his back, letting the rustling fabric slip from his body.

Those hands, still cool, palmed his exposed torso in an almost medical fashion, brusque and thorough. His flesh pebbled in the cold air, nipples tightening into protruding nubs Angel stroked over, once, twice, circling back to pinch one. Breath caught in his throat, he watched that dark head bend over his stomach, a small oozing scratch discovered. He didn’t move. All he could see was this. Blessed hazy sharpness, the tickle of gel stiffened hair across his abs, the fading ache in his nipple, begging to know that pain again. The intensity of the man hunching over him filled his head, driving out any hope of seeing the multitude of ways this might end. The one person’s future he wanted to see and couldn’t. It was a realization that was shocking in its sudden clarity.

Angel finished and set the last cotton ball down. Strong, cold hands cupped his face and lifted his eyes to yellowish brown. Did the vampire see how close he was? He couldn’t move. A slow perusal, thumbs rubbing circles into his jaw, and whatever Angel saw, he understood.

“Riley,” he started, but the seer cut him off.

“It’s different,” Riley murmured.

“What is?”

“When you’re gone, I see everything, every possible future, every time I look or even think about someone.” The words tumbled out in a rush, as if he had to push them out or lose them. “Except you. All I can see is what’s here,” and he lifted a hand to touch the vampire’s chest, solid and unmoving. “Everything stops shifting, layering, I can look at the others without seeing a dozen different ways they’re going to die or wear their clothes tomorrow. It all just settles to what’s here, now, or I think is now, because I’m not too sure anymore, but I don’t feel carsick when you’re near.” Eyes closing, he trembled in relief and Angel’s fingers tightened. “How did Cordelia live with this?”

Angel was slow to answer. “She didn’t. The visions only came in flashes and were only of people I needed to rescue. The powers are stronger in you.”

“Most of what I see, it’s like a slide show, but my vision of Xander in the cemetery, it had a feeling of urgency.” He frowned. “You were there for that. Does that mean you can only stop the drifting?”

“Or focus it,” Angel mused. “When we get back to LA, we’ll find a way to consult the Powers That Be. They should be able to tell us something.”

Riley shook free of Angel’s hands, gingerly easing to his feet. Not so much pain as weariness weighed down his limbs, eyes tiredly unfocusing on a point past Angel’s shoulder. The other man didn’t concede ground, leaving them intimately close, Riley’s wide-legged stance accommodating Angel’s nestling. “While they’re at it, they can give the power back to Cordelia.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. The PTB aren’t that accommodating,” Angel rumbled. He leaned forward slightly, breathing in Riley's scent. “And this may be what they wanted all along, a seer strong enough to use their gift.”

“Well, they better get accommodating. I’m not anybody’s Magic 8 ball.” Angry and confused, Riley looked into yellowish brown eyes and realized his mistake. He wondered at the accuracy of Xander’s intel, that Angel’s demon and soul were separate entities, polar opposites who hated each other. The eyes that ensnared his own spoke well enough of human emotions: desire, lust, and what he hoped was describable as affection. Something else though, something alien to shallow human depth uneasily slumbered behind earnest brown, stirring to life when strong hands abruptly latched onto him, bent him into a hard kiss. Riley gasped, his crotch rocked into Angel’s, and the vampire returned his breath to him. This was possession, an agile tongue crowding into his mouth, a broad palm cupping his ass, lifting him to ride a thickly muscled thigh as bodies shuffled, Angel taking his place against the counter. A possession he’d ached for, a fantasy he’d hidden in the quiet rustlings of his own bed, never shared. Had held it since he was old enough to understand he was just the fourth of seven kids, nothing special beyond his calming hand with the farm’s horses. A childish and stupid need that had already gotten him into so much trouble, made him run back to the Initiative when Buffy brushed him off. Never clarified it until he felt Angel’s blunt fingertip stroke down his cleft and press in, deep. Just this want, to be someone’s totality, to belong to –

“Mine.” Barely heard, licked against the side of his mouth and he choked, unbelievably close to the edge, too quickly.

“Angel!” he cried, coming from only the gentle rhythm against the spreading thigh and pressure, sliding deep inside over his sweet spot. Orgasm shuddered through him and he whimpered, feeling teeth at his throat, another penetration. He slumped against the broad chest. Tilting his head farther back, he stared up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes against the distraction of his surroundings. Angel took his weight, leaning back against the counter. It was all horribly insane, but the canines in his throat comforted even as they pleasured, old familiarity lulling him to the new sensation of something in his ass. He’d never been bitten by someone he knew, someone he wasn’t going to kill afterwards. Never by Angel and he moaned at the loss when that dark head lifted away, hand easing from his ass to slide heavy up against the small of his back.

Wetness trickled down his throat and he reached up with shaking fingers to swipe at the blood. Angel watched him, eyes hooded. “Will it scar?” His voice was low, emotionless. Riley stared down at his fingers.

“No. It takes repeated cutting to scar.” It was true; he’d tested Dr. Walsh’s declaration himself.

The hand not holding him came up, catching his elbow and gripping hard. Riley grimaced. “You have scars here.”

“When I went to those places, the vampires didn’t care where they fed from. I had them take from the same place. Enough times left a scar.”

“They marked you.” Low and angry, like it was his skin they were talking about.

“I don’t care. Cut them out if you don’t like them. Those vampires, they’re all dead anyway.”

“You dusted them?”

Riley met him glare for glare, yanking his arm free. Their faces were inches apart, bodies pressed together to the hips with Riley’s toes barely reaching the floor. “Yeah. I did. I wanted to see what was so fucking special about vampires, about you, wanted to feel needed. But I wasn’t completely stupid. There were never any witnesses until Spike caught me in the act.” He couldn’t name what was shifting through the vampire’s eyes and became further incensed. “What? Pissed you’re not the first vampire to sample the goods? Too fucking bad. You may be the first guy I’ve let get a hand down my pants, but I am not dealing with any shit over – mmph!” The rest was lost into Angel’s mouth as the vampire kissed him for a second time. Riley responded eagerly, willing to abandon his anger to worship that greedy mouth.

When they pulled apart Riley was gasping for breath and Angel hadn’t lost that smoldering look. The vampire’s mouth had tasted of blood, his blood, and Riley moaned at the eroticism, leaning in for another go. Cold fingers stroked his cheek and he found himself being moved to the side. “Stay here,” Angel clipped. Dumbfounded, Riley watched him leave the kitchen and waited.

Finding himself suddenly alone gave Riley pause to consider just where he was at. Any one of the others could have walked in on them, and though he had a feeling Angel wouldn’t have cared, he’d have been humiliated. But did he want to move this to a bedroom? Somehow, even more than the slimy feeling of his cum soaking into the front of his sweats, the idea of taking this to a more intimate setting made what they were doing more permanent, a final concession to his surrender.

TBC.