Oncoming Train

Author’s notes: Sorry, Alice, no kissing just yet, though there will be sex in the next chapter. Thanks, DunDun, please keep reading, and most definitely, Krimson, getting branded is a violent way to erase scars, but it felt like the kind of extreme measure that Angelus would indulge in. Does Angel know how to be gentle, really?

***
Saturday. Late morning.

With the space of a few feet between them the two men studied each other with equal dislike. Drawn unwilling into the staring contest, the human’s frustration mounted as his body betrayed him in little weakening ways. Even with all of his military training and strenuous discipline he could not match the vampire’s stillness. The dead did not suffer muscle cramps, cut off blood circulation, or tension strain.

Angelus smirked as the soldier tried to subtly flex a hand against one bunched thigh and maintain eye contact. Willow’s spell had worn off, leaving painful tingles in its wake that had to be trying his tolerance. He vaguely remembered the boy, not having been all that interested in Riley’s comrades. Riley had called him Graham and Angel didn’t know if that was his first name or last. Didn’t really care. Interest piqued from former association with his seer and mate, an association the master vampire determined should remain past tense. Riley Finn now belonged to him. Soldier Graham was trying to steal. How they had wound up locked into a staring contest when his intent had been to establish his claim, he wasn’t sure. But he was determined to win regardless.

“I’m curious.” He kept his tone light, conversational. “Riley said that you were like him, but he was the one Dr. Walsh tampered with. Oh, I know she boosted all the Marines’ performance levels, but she paid special attention to Agent Finn. So how did you get to be like him? Riley heals fairly quick, faster than a human should, and the bruise from where he hit you is already gone. If he was the only one Dr. Walsh created, how is that possible?”

“None of your business,” Graham snarled, body tensing further as his heart rate picked up. Angelus smiled.

“So what did the Initiative do?” He held up a hand. “No, let me guess. They’ve got a unique, one-of-a-kind super soldier: stronger, faster, predatorily intelligent, increased healing and senses, perfectly designed to combat demons. Modern science creates its own Slayer.” Was that why he wanted Riley? Attraction to the breed? “But one really isn’t enough, is it? Especially one as unpredictable and untrustworthy as Agent Finn. He did leave once, twice?, already. They would need more, wouldn’t they? Now, I’ve thought about this, and maybe it’s the vampire in me, but I’m betting they used his blood. What is he, a universal donor? Probably a prerequisite of Dr. Walsh’s, eh?” He heaved a sigh. “Doesn’t really matter, I suppose.” Grinned. “He was used by the people he trusted to make more just like him. In a passionless, perverse sort of way, he’s your sire.”

With an explosion of breath Graham surged to his feet, slamming himself against the bars of his cell. Chains clanked, harshly dragged with the sudden release of rage, shackles digging into flesh as their rusty hinges strained to hold. “No!”

Grinning, Angel slid to his feet and pressed his face to the bars, nose brushing nose. “The Initiative want their golden goose back, don’t they? You’re not Riley’s friend, you’re his keeper. Come to drag him back to his cage, to watch while they drain him dry. Does he know how many he’s turned? Do you?”

“Shut up!”

“Why should I?” Angel reached through the bars to grip the boy’s wrists and hold him in place. The healing burn in his palm sent out a flare of pain and he relished it, reminding him of all it stood for. Riley was his. “You’re not here to save your sire. Naughty, naughty childe,” he tsked, ignoring the strain of effort to hold the struggling soldier. The boy was possibly stronger than Riley. “I bet our oh so fuckable commando doesn’t know what all he was used for. He’s so inherently trusting, isn’t he? Always looking both ways like a good little boy and gets hit by the train anyway ‘cause he was looking in all the wrong directions.” The vampire leaned in closer, took in a lungful of air and breathed cool, blood scented breath into the Marine’s enraged face. “But you know that. Are you his first childe, eldest son?”

“Shut! Up!” The metal screamed in Graham’s firsts, but Angel did not relent. There had to be a severance. So long as this earnest boy marked Riley’s trail, his own path to possession would never be clear.

“Riley’s best and only friend, his savior from a short life as a blood whore. He must have trusted you completely.” With a suddenness that almost sent Graham stumbling to the floor, he let go and stepped back. “Too bad you were the train, eh?”

Standing close to the center of his small cell the soldier rubbed at his bruised wrists. Angel could easily see his glare through the enshrouding shadows, but his posture bespoke doubt, his words bravado. “You don’t know anything, vampire.”

“I don’t need to. Riley Finn is mine now and I’m going to enjoy his screaming beneath me.” The muscular body flinched and Angel smirked. “You know, the boy is constantly surprising me and that’s just one of the things I love about him, but I’m willing to lay odds he’s a screamer. I’ve got a sense for these things.” A step closer, back against the bars. “He left you behind in whatever dirt water town you were exiled to because he knew he couldn’t trust you anymore. Oh, he tries to deny it, but he’s learning you’ll only betray him again and again. Then again,” and he closed his eyes with a hungry purr of lusting fervor, “his penchant for pain is promising.” Slitting his eyes open just enough to reveal their golden demonic glow, he smirked at the soldier’s pale, furious face. “True, he’s not there yet, but I look forward to breaking him in.”

“You bastard! Do anything to him and I’ll-“

“What? You’ve made it obvious he’s just a science experiment to you, a, what did you call them? A hostile. Sunnydale is no longer safe for him. All he has left is me, the sanctuary I can offer.”

“It won’t happen, asshole. Ri’ll see you coming a mile off.” The boy tried to smirk, but the fear in his eyes soured the effect.

Angel tasted the sweetness of victory. “Wrong direction, soldier. Always looking in the wrong direction.”


***

He made his way quietly down the stairs. Graham was waiting there at the bottom, behind crude bars that somehow did not hurt as deeply as the shackles encircling the thick wrists, painfully illustrating where life had placed them. It was easier that way, to blame forces outside of their control. He certainly didn’t control Angel, but he couldn’t leave his best friend with only the memory of the garden. So he came, in the middle of the day, when everyone else was sleeping or fighting over the remote.

He’d woken that morning in his own bed, with no memory of getting there, certain it wasn’t the bed he’d first been laid in. The hazy image of bluish black silk sheets and the sensation of strong arms curling him close had made him groan into his pillow, morning erection hardening further. Old dried semen flaking off his belly and inner thighs. Tears soaked away by the pillow, he’d jacked off to the memory of the kitchen, hips jerking at the remembered feel of fingers stroking into his ass and teeth at his throat. Wanting more. And there it was, his semen shiny and darkening the sheets, that he acknowledged he wasn’t going back. Not to the Initiative, not to his desperate half-life of controlled emotion and duty. For however long Angel wanted him, for however long it took for Angel to find a new host for the prophetic powers and discard him in standard fashion, then he would stay where the vampire put him. He was good at adapting and once committed to a course of action he’d stubbornly follow through.

His only stab of guilt was Graham. He didn’t truly fear for his friend’s safety; he knew Angel would attack only if provoked and Spike wasn’t one to carry a grudge past restitution. His regret was how they came here, staring at each other through the span of metal bars. He kept his eyes above the waist, not wanting to see the shackles. The visions were lurking in the corners of the cell. Some of them were in uniform, others hunched and shambling and thirsty. He swallowed.

“Graham.”

A shift in movement brought the clinking of chains and Riley tried not to flinch. “Finn. You okay?”

Instinctively, the seer curled his injured arm closer. “I’m fine. I just wanted,” What? Forgiveness? Acceptance? “Did you eat? Tara said she was going to bring you something.” It was hard talking to him without looking into those beautiful grey-blue eyes, but he couldn’t bear to see Grey’s death.

“The curvy blond? Yeah, she did.” Silence then, both young men looking anywhere but at each other until Graham sighed. “Ri’, do you know what you’re doing?”

“I – I’m not sure how to answer that,” he confessed. He kept his head down, letting the words rush out. “A lots happened in the last couple of days. I know I don’t want to go back. I’m better here. Yeah, the Initiative want my genetic enhancements, but they have most of Walsh’s research. They don’t need me. I’m sick of the black ops, the tests, the fucking with my head.”

“And staying here with that psycho vampire is better? Ri’, that guy has, uhm, designs on you. You and Buffy need to be careful of him. Hell, from the way he was talking earlier, he’d have no problem with offing her to get to you.”

“Buffy?” Riley blinked in confusion, then realized Graham didn’t know she was dead. “We’re not like that anymore.” It didn’t surprise him Angel had talked to Grey; typical territorial male behavior to assess and warn off unfamiliar males. Flattering, almost. Riley stepped closer to the cage, lifting his head, eyes searching for any evidence of his vampire having gotten physical with his friend. Graham looked unharmed, however, and he puffed a sigh of relief. He missed Grey’s start at catching sight of the bruises Angel’s hand had left on his face and the visible effort the younger exerted to keep his voice level.

“So the girl you came to rescue moved on?” Graham asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Riley softly answered.

“Then you’re in even more danger. Iowa, that guy is seriously psycho.”

“I know what Angel is. He won’t,” he almost said ‘He won’t hurt me’, but the dull throb of his arm belied that clichéd line. “He doesn’t threaten me. I can’t really explain it,” because he barely understood their relationship, though he had a thrilling idea where it was going, “but he gives me what I need.”

“Iowa,” Graham began, but Riley’s raised hand stopped him.

“I’m not going to be swayed on this, Grey. I’m sorry you’re down here, but you made this choice. Nothing’s going to happen to you. In a few days we’re going to be gone. Someone will call the Initiative to let them know where you’re at. Go back, tell them whatever you want. You won’t find me again.”

Saddened grey eyes stared out at him. “You’re really going to run this time, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”

“And what does the bloodsucker think of that?”

“It’s none of his concern,” Riley whispered. Was there a time he’d never lied to Graham?

“Somehow I doubt that,” his former best friend denied, pain filling his eyes as he took in the bruised, lacerated and overly worn figure in front of him. He didn’t know what had been done to make Riley so skittish, so reluctant to look him in the eye, but he blamed Angel. The man looked as he had before Graham had taken him away from Sunnydale. Broken. And just as he had then, he silently vowed not to surrender Riley to the monsters.

***
Saturday Late Evening.

The house was mostly quiet, the Scoobies asleep, leaving Angel to enjoy one of his old journals in a few hours of peace. Even his demon was quiet, content with their earlier dominance of the Marine. The day had passed with the Scoobies diligently trying to find a means to save Sunnydale, to no avail. No spell they found could defeat an entire army of demons. Nothing was said of what they would do if they couldn’t find a solution. Angel had left them to it, having already accepted the Hellmouth was a lost battlefront. Instead, he focused himself on the future, recruiting his surprisingly computer savvy childe to help him search for a new home. His mind doggedly chewed on a mounting stack of problems, a background whirl of ideas as he drifted through words written two centuries before.

A subtle shift in noise caught his attention. Disentangling himself from the past, he became aware of a familiar heartbeat, an ingrained scent of sweet peppermint. Odd, how Riley came upon him when his mind went elsewhere, as if he could sense the vampire’s focus shifting from his person. A greedy child, to not allow him a moment’s peace.

Savoring the sight of his seer, he took in the bare feet, torn sweatpants, and tee-shirt, silently approving of the adorable, sexy rumpled look. The hazel eyes were at half-mast and unfocused, and Angel realized the youth was probably more asleep than awake. With a welcoming smile, he closed the journal over a crooked finger. “Riley, is something wrong?” Maybe a vision had woken the boy? He knew Riley had spent most of the day away from the others, occupying himself with fortifying the mansion. Though the boy was reluctant to speak of it, the vampire knew the clairvoyance was wearing on him. Another problem he needed to address.

The blond mumbled something and shuffled into the room, rubbing at his face. He folded onto the couch, one leg curling up as he sat facing the vampire, listing forward. Amused, Angel tugged him forward and Riley slumped into him. A gentle nudge and the tousled head plopped into his lap, long legs curling up across the couch cushions.

Strong fingers clutched the fabric on his thigh. “Have to remember to close . . .,” he whispered, eyes drifting shut. “Don’ want to be reprogrammed again.”

Angel stiffened at the images those slurred words conjured, wondering just what his enhanced soldier had endured during his time with the Initiative. His touch to the warm shoulder was gentle, however, revealing none of his frustrated anger. “I promise, no one will hurt you, Riley.” The assurance relaxed the seer completely back into sleep. Absently carding the blond hair, Angel re-opened his book on the couch’s arm, but he couldn’t lose himself in the old memories. Again and again, his gaze wandered back to weight in his lap. Greedy, greedy child.

***

TBC