Thirst

Background; Connor is living on his own after Angel is rescued from the sea and comes home to kick some ass. Everything up to this point stands, however Raksha (my own character) has been present since the very beginning. She has a long history with all the characters, particularly Angel and the original gang (Wesley, Cordy, and the Scooby Gang). She's a shape shifter, and none of this 'only at the full moon' crap. She constitutes as a demon and is in total control of her power. She is restricted to the shape of a leopard, and was the first being Connor encountered after he escaped from the alternate dimension.
No character except Raksha belongs to me, I am merely indebted to the creators of both Buffy and Angel.

An angry and vengeful Connor is holding Raksha prisoner.

Raksha opened her eyes with a soft groan. Or at least one of her eyes opened, the other was swollen shut and a fierce, painful throbbing began on the side of her head.
Her good eye took in her dingy surroundings; the water dripping down the wall, the cold of the floor beneath her and the still, stale air. As her mind finally began to clear away the dregs of unconsciousness Raksha threw herself forward with a snarl, feeling the bite of the chains around her wrists, and gritting her teeth as pain shot through her shoulders.
'Connor' Her voice was a furious croak. Inside she was fuming, both at the boy and herself. How had she allowed herself to be captured? She had always prided herself on her fighting skills, but this child of Angel's was something else. At least she had fought hard.
Wriggling her fingers in an attempt to return blood flow to them, Raksha raised herself into a crouch, feeling a tremble pass through her body. Her ribs were aching and the throbbing in her head was increasing. She snarled low in her throat, the sound reverberating through the room, a reminder to herself to keep her cool and the rage which had always sustained her through situations such as these.
Glancing briefly down at her body Raksha could see that her jumpsuit was torn in places. She cursed inwardly. Shape shifter suits which magically stretched and blended into the wearers animal were notoriously hard to come by, and Raksha had patched her own up many times with her basic understanding of the occult and it's many charms and spells.
Footsteps sounded somewhere in the distance and Raksha snapped her head up as her sensitive hearing picked up the sound. She shifted in her position, her good eye turned towards where she knew the door to be, her body tensed in readiness and her aches and pains forgotten.
A key clicked in the lock and the door opened with a gentle swish. Her heart beat faster and Raksha swallowed the urge to vocalise her tension. When Connor stepped into the room it was as if all her senses sharpened simultaneously, so that every part of her registered him. She could smell his sweat and that unique scent which was all his own. She could even smell the manufactured scent of his clothes. Her eyes absorbed the bruises on his face and arms, the dirt on his jeans and the off-white of his t-shirt.
When she looked in to his eyes she could taste his anger, and could clearly read his need to hurt and destroy. Swallowing down the first brush of fear, Raksha allowed an arrogant smile to grace her lips. She purposefully focussed on Connor's split and bruised mouth, resisting the urge to lick her lips at the sight of his blood.
'Awww, poor baby. Did the mean kitty hurt you?'
Her voice is scornful and she is rewarded by the look of fury that flashes across his features, but then it stills and his eyes grow empty. Raksha's stomach turns slightly and she wonders what will happen here today.
She is surprised when Connor merely turns and walks out, locking the door behind him.

By the time he returns Raksha's mouth is dry with dehydration, the pain in her body is increasing with the restriction of her movement, and her bladder is full to bursting.
Silently Connor unchains her from the wall, his hands painfully gripping her upper arms as he pulls her to a tiny, dirty bathroom. He opens her jumpsuit; surprising her with his knowledge of where to touch in order for the sleek, second skin to open. He peels the suit away from Raksha's body while she fights against her natural urge to shiver against the damp, chilly air. He makes her step out of the suit completely, and she locks her eyes with his defiantly, refusing to feel weak despite her nakedness.
He watches her as she urinates, releasing her chains just enough for her to wipe herself dry. When she has washed her hands she splashes water on her face, opening her mouth so the cool liquid coats her tongue. He pulls her forcefully away from the basin so that she stumbles and falls onto his body.
'No fluids.' His voice is cold.
Raksha steps away from him, angry green eyes burning into his blue. He is slightly shorter then her, more petite and compact. Raksha is keenly aware of the rangy, muscled length of her own body. She knows that her arms bulge, her thighs are hard and her stomach flat and defined. She is a pin-up for weightlifting women everywhere, but what good do her muscles do her now?
When she rushes him it as if he had been expecting such a move, and calmly steps aside, grabbing her arms and throwing her over his shoulder. Her impact with the ground is hard, and due to her constraints Raksha lands badly. She gasps as the air is knocked from her body, the fresh renewal of pain making her vision darken. Black spots dance for her.
She hears the rustle of his clothes as he crouches down beside her, but her attention is on the agonising pain in her wrists, trapped as they are beneath the full weight of her body. She knows for sure that she has broken the left.
'You never know when to give up, do you?'
Connor's voice is soft, and the youth in it brings an unusually sentimental lump to Raksha's throat. Was this really the child she had held in her arms?
'W you you know me. Ever hopeful.' Her voice, though broken, conveys the ironic mirth she intended and, despite everything, Raksha is proud that she hasn't lost that self-destructive ballsy streak that defines her.
He reaches out for her and she kicks out, hitting him hard in the legs, sending him sprawling. With inhuman grace she flips herself up from the ground, her legs finding the cold ground beneath her, a vicious smile of triumph on her face.
But she is weak, tired; her body to to exhaustion, and of course he is upon her before she reaches the door.
'God damn it!' Her voice is rough, sounding more like a snarl than human speech.
When he pins her painfully to the wall, slamming her broken wrist against the hard concrete, Raksha shouts out at him.
'You think you're the only one who's been fucked over by his parents? You think you're the only one hurting and angry? Well let me tell you Connor, you're not that fucking special!'
Her eyes are watering with the pain, blackness at the edge of her vision, and his breath so warm and vital on her face.
She takes in his blue eyes, the wisps of brown hair that fall over his forehead, the strong lines of his features, softened only by youth, and the steely glint in his eyes that reminds her so strongly of Angel that she feels a wrench in her heart.
Her chest is heaving, her nipples hard with the cold and her anger, her ribs seeming to wink with every breath.
'Are you hurting, Raksha? Do demons even feel?' His breath shifts the dark hairs that lie in disarray across her forehead.
Raksha swallows painfully.
'Yes. I hurt. I feel. Demons hurt. But you know that, you've tortured and killed enough of them.'
Her voice is a hoarse whisper, and she feels so alone as she stares into Connor's dead eyes.
'Do you really consider me a demon in the sense you think of them? Have you forgotten all that I've done for you?'
He does not speak, and the silence stretches on. Raksha is increasingly aware of the warmth of Connor's body against her cold skin. She wants to press herself into his heat, try and escape some of the discomfort that is haunting her.
When he steps forward so that his body covers hers, Raksha bites back a sigh. His cheek is pressed against her neck and she feels her pulse as it beats against his skin. His warm breath sends shivers through her, and she is forced to blink back tears at this faux intimacy. Has it been so very long since she felt comfort from another?
His hands travel down her sides, leaving raised flesh in their wake. His touch is so gentle, so knowing. When they slide around her, running across the tight skin of her lower back, Raksha closes her eyes against the situation, wanting for this all to be some terrible mistake. So much has happened to them all recently that she fears her strength is crumbling.
Still the intimate caress of Connor's hands continues. They travel upwards until the backs of his hands brush against the underside of her breasts. Viciously he uses his body to pin her once more against the wall, and when her fractured wrist smack once again into concrete, Raksha cries out and falls into unconsciousness.

When she next awakens it is her thirst that stirs her. A burning sensation builds somewhere deep in her chest, spreading through her body and flashing in her eyes. There is a lightness in her head, a giddiness that adds a surreal feeling to every move she makes.
Attempting to stand Raksha realises that she is no longer restrained, that her wrist has been splintered and that she is wearing an oversized shirt. It smells too clean in the damp of the place, and she wrinkles her nose against the sharp scent of washing powder.
Her back pressed against the wall for support, Raksha slides into a standing position, her legs trembling and feeling like they cannot hold her. Pain throbs through her head and all she can think about is how very thirsty she is, the need now an actual pain.
When Connor steps into the room he finds her with her head in her hands, seated once more on the floor, her legs demurely crossed. Raksha can smell him from where she sits, and the hot scent of him stirs her thirst. Leopards get most of their fluid requirements from their prey, and she knows that if she could just drink down his rich blood she could slake some of her burning thirst.
She turns large eyes up to his face, hoping that her need doesn't show in their depths.
'Connor.' Her voice is barely a whisper now, so dry is her throat. She cannot even swallow.
He walks towards her warily and Raksha watches as his whole body tenses in preparation for any attack she might make. Perhaps he thinks she will change and then be at an advantage, but in all honesty Raksha realises that they both know she is too weak to make the change from human to leopard.
He crouches before her and slowly so as not to startle him, Raksha reaches a hand up to his face.
'Connor.' She breathes again, keeping her eyes trained on his face, searching for any signs of malice or ill intent. Finding none she shifts her weight forward so that she is nearer to him, feeling as his heat bears down on her.
Slowly she flicks out her tongue to travel across her lower lip and watches in satisfaction as his eyes follow the simple movement. He swallows. Carefully Raksha moves forward until her cheek is pressed to his, her arm around his neck, holding him gently to her.
'Sweetheart, sweetheart.' She mumbles into his hair, the scent of him threatening to overpower her. When she feels his arms move around her she bites back a smile of triumph.
Pressing her lips against his cheek she makes her way down to the length of his neck. Slowly, slowly she kisses her way to the hollow of his throat, knowing that his eyes are closed and his arms tightening their grip around her.
'You know me.' She murmurs against his flesh. 'You know me, Connor.'
His pulse throbs against her lips and she flicks out her tongue to lick that vital beat. Pressing her lips to his smooth skin she opens her mouth allowing haninanines to sharpen to a feline's. Running her tongue over him once more, Raksha bites him sharply, hurriedly trying to drink down as much blood as possible, resisting a primal urge to close her jaws around his whole, soft throat.
After only a few mouthfuls Connor throws her from him with a cry. But Raksha is on her feet now and the metallic, rich taste of Connor's blood has only served to heighten her thirst. With a low growl Raksha throws herself at Connor's bleeding form.
The fight is brief and brutal. Raksha is still too weak to sustain any kind of prolonged attack, and Connor's fury at being tricked, mingled with his paivesives him a formidable need to conquer.
By the time it is over both are bleeding and panting with exhaustion, though Connor has the upper hand. As he viciously throws Raksha to the ground, relocking her chains with focussed determination, she can see that already his wound is healing. Yet one more thing he has inherited from his father.
As the running of Connor's blood begins to lessen and finally stop, Raksha is able to push down her need to tear into the soft skin of his throat. Closing her eyes against the image she begins to feel a deep shame at what she has just done. She feels as if her insides are being ripped apart, torn as she is between a cold, focussed need to survive and a hot sense of emotion for this battered, cruel boy. She can relate to him emotionally due to their similar experiences, and part of her wants for them to work together. Part of her wants to fix the damage done to so many lives, all out of love for each other and this boy. Despite his actions there is still a voice inside of her insisting that Connor is one of them.
She opens her eyes when she feels the vicious tug of the chains on her wrists, her body pulled upright, her feet scrambling to get a hold as she is yanked to her feet. Arms held firmly above her head, Raksha feels totally exposed. Not just physically, but emotionally. She can't handle herself around Connor, just like she can't handle herself around his father.
'Why do you persist in fighting me?'
Now Connor's voice is brimming with anger, his eyes boring through her own.
'I don't know any other way.' Raksha can taste him still in her mouth, and the thought of this makes her flick her eyes down to the closed wound at his neck.
'It seems you're not quite so human yourself Connor. Does that make you a monster?'
The slap when it came was hard and fast, making Raksha's head snap to the right. Blood welled up from her split lip, and she licks it off. Her blood mingling with his in her mouth.
'I will never be a monster! I'm not an inhuman demon like Angel! Like you!' Connor shouts into her face, stepping closer to her, his hands balled into fists at his sides.
'You don't believe that I'm a monster.' Her voice is low.
'I can see it at the back of your eyes. Part of you doesn't even see Angel as a monster, because whether you like it or not, he's a part of you. And if he's a monster, that makes you one too.'
Connor steps away from Raksha, his eyes narrowing. She continues.
'When you were a baby, we. . . . '
'When I was a baby I was given up! Taken to another, violent dimension, a hell dimension! Only something inhuman could do that to a child, one of it's own!' Raksha can almost see the rage emanating from him, but it serves only to fuel her own.
'You were taken from us! Snatched away by someone who meant well but had it all wrong!'
'But that didn't stop you from fucking him did it?!'
Raksha clamps her mouth shut, shocked at his words. He knew about what had happened between her and Wesley? She shook her head, eyes narrowing bitterly.
'So you're pissed that you were lost as a child? Pissed that the people who were supposed to love you gave you up?' Raksha's chest was heaving in time with Connor's now, both glaring at the other like boxers in a ring.
'That isn't even the truth of the situation, and even if it was you're not the only being alive who's suffered in such a way. That doesn't make it better, doesn't make it fair, but that's what life dishes out sometimes.'
Raksha takes a breath, wincing as pain shoots through her right side reminding her of her struggles with this wounded creature standing before her.
'But you've been given the chance to be accepted, welcomed and loved. You threw that chance away the first time, and now you're taking steps to throw it away again. I can't understand that.'
Connor stares back at her, his eyes almost totally unreadable apart from the anger that flashes in them, his body so still apart from the heaving of his chest. When he reaches forwards and grabs her face in both hands, Raksha flinches backwards, so unnaturally fast are his movements.
'You don't know me.' Forced between clenched teeth, Connor's face is a mask of barely restrained fury.
'You don't know me!''
Keeping her gaze as steady as she can Raksha locks her eyes with his.
'Yes, I do.'
His hands tighten on her face causing pain to shoot along her left side where a large bruise has already formed from their last tussle. Then turning sharply he strides away from her and out of the room. Raksha sags against the wall and turns her face away.


Eyes staring unseeing before her Raksha clamps down on the emotions that threaten to overcome her. Emotion is a sign of weakness, she repeats over and over in her head. I am not weak. I am strong. I have always been this way.
She wonders whether anyone has noticed that she is gone. It has been sometime since she left Wesley's apartment and moved into one of her own. And such a long time since she had seen Angel, spoken to him or even heard his voice. God, she missed him.
If she could do things all over again she would have tried a different tactic, would have tried to help Angel instead of blaming him. As usual Raksha had chosen the wrong man to save. Wesley had used her in order to heal, and then moved on. That was the truth of the matter. Screw all his pain, his need and anguish, in the end he had used her for his own needs, and for that she could never forgive him.
She can still remember the day she had walked into his apartment, the subtle scent of Lyla's perfume invading her nostrils. The scarlet flash of her bra on the cream carpet.
Swallowing Raksha squeezes her eyes tightly shut against the image. Stupid girl, she chides herself. You know better than to trust people. She desperately wanted to believe that she could go through life using people like they used her, but a part of her knew that she could not survive this way. She longed for the days when she could.
By the time Connor returns Raksha feels hollow ie, we, wanting nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep where she can forget all of this. Connor stands a good distance away and watches Raksha's still form. The downward tilt of her head and the dip of her shoulders all tell of some kind of defeat. He wonders briefly if this is yet another ploy, but her closed eyes tells him more about her current state of mind than her body language.
Her voice when she speaks is soft and scornful, and he knows her well enough to know that the scorn is directed at herself.
'What do you want to know Connor? I can't think of any other reason why you want to keep me here, apart from extracting knowledge. So ask your questions and then deal with me.'
The emptiness in her eyes tell him that this is definitely not a trick, and he steps forward so that the light from the single hanging bulb falls across his face, casting shadows and highlights that make him seem so unnaturally beautiful.
'Why do you love him?'
'Who?' Raksha moves her head to gaze at the sidewall.
'Angel or Wesley?'
'Angel.'
Raksha shifts, rotating her hands in the shackles, careful not to jar her broken wrist. Rolling her shoulders she moves her head from side to side in an attempt to ease the stiffness in her neck.
'Angel and I have a long history. I first met him when I was very small. I think he tried to help me then but I was too young to listen, too swept along with the excitement of living with others on the streets. When we met again I was older, messed up. . . . he did his usual hero bit and helped me out. I don't see how I couldn't love him.'
'But you know what he is. You know what he has done.'
Raksha attempts a laugh but dissolves into racking coughs instead. Once more her throat is parched, her mouth bone dry.
'Who am I to judge another? You said yourself that I'm a monster. And I'm no pristine innocent myself. I've done awful things in the past. Of course many are not comparable to what Angel has done, but he had no soul to guide him. The choice was effectively out of his hands, whereas I have no such excuse.'
There was a long drawn out pause in which the only sound was Raksha's laboured breathing; the pain and exhaustion were catching up to her.
'And Wesley?'
Raksha shook her head almost imperceptively.
'I don't see how that's important.'
Connor exploded forwards.
'It's important because he's the man who gave me away! The man who simultaneously cursed me by sending me to a hell dimension, and blessed me by giving me a decent father like Holtz.'
'Holtz was a man driven insane by his need for revenge! Decent father? The man was a lunatic!'
Connor yanked Raksha's head back by her hair.
'Don't you speak about my father like that.'
'He isn't your father.' Raksha's voice was a hiss. 'Angel is.'
For a moment the two stared in to each other's eyes, each silently trying to persuade the other.
'Do you have any idea what it was like growing up in that place?' Connor's voice was low.
'I can imagine.'
'No.' He shook his head. 'I don't think you can. Every day was a struggle to survive; an exhausting routine of training, hunting for food and escaping predators.
There were demons there that you couldn't even imagine. Monsters with powers so great and features so hideous that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.
But through it all was Holtz, guiding and protecting me; teaching me to survive, helping me cope. He is my father.'
Raksha wanted to look away but felt sucked in by the strength of his emotion. This flash of real feeling stirred something inside her, and as usual Raksha hid behind her anger.
'I know it was hard. Jeez Connor! You think I haven't thought about what was happening to you? You honestly believe that I slept easy all those nights you were away? For fu sak sake, I held you as a baby! You were Angel's child, our child. We all loved you; Gunn, Fred, Cordy, Wesley. . . .'
Raksha was on a roll now and couldn't stop the torrent of words that were pouring from her cut and swollen lips.
'I've been through things so terrible that I still have nightmares, and I knew that you were experiencing worse. How do you think that makes me feel? Happy? Triumphant?'
Her chest was heaving, her head felt too light, everything seemed out of focus.
'If that's what you honestly believe then you really are a monster.'
Connor continued to stare down at her whilst Raksha desperately tried to regain some of her previous composure. She could feel the press of tears at the backs of her eyes and was terrified that they would overflow.
'I'm not a monster.' Connor's voice was low, softer, but his eyes still bored remorselessly into her own.
'No. You're something special, something else.' She swallowed hard.
'When you came back and I saw you that first night, something just clicked and I knew you wermilimiliar. And than I find out that it is you, that our Connor is back, and you're so handsome, strong and brave that I. . .that we. . .'
And now the tears came unbidden. Raksha gritted her teeth against them and viciously shook her head, but she was so exhausted both emotionally and physicalhat hat she could not stem their flow.
And all the while Connor's invading gaze did not leave her face. She was barely aware of his movements when he reached up and undid the shackles at her wrists, easing her arms down despite her cry of pain as her spasmed muscles were forced to ease.
Her legs gave way and he lowered her gently to the floor, his hands wrapped around her upper arms. They were kneeling opposite each other now, the smell of him wrapping itself around her, tempting her with its promise of comfort.
Raksha moved forwards so she could bury her face in his neck. She felt him flinch, obviously prepared for another attack, but he did not pull away, and Raksha took the opportunity to suck the scent of him deep inside of her.
Eventually her tears began to subside, and she became aware of the heat emanating from his body. She pushed herself more tightly against him, twining her arms around his neck, thinking of all the times she had missed holding him in her arms, watching him grow. And now here he was, so angry and vengeful, and she could do nothing but cry in his arms.
Moving to pull away Raksha was mildly surprised to feel Connor tighten his hold of her. Moving her head so she could see his face, Raksha turned quizzical eyes to his.
'I've never forgotten how beautiful you are.' And with that he leaned forwards to press a kiss against her lips.
Raksha was shocked into immobility and taking this as consent Connor pulled her tightly against him, lifting her up slightly so that they touched from the knees up. She felt him harden against her thigh and pulled away, breaking the kiss.
'Connor, don't.'
But he broke her off with a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into her dry mouth, running across her inner lips. She wondered briefly how he had learned to kiss like this.
He broke their kiss only to shower her neck wlittlittle bites, pinching her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine. His arms were still locked tightly around her, his body still pressed hard to her own. Raksha was suddenly keenly aware that all she was wearing was an overlarge man's shirt.
'Connor, you shouldn't. . . .I'm much older than you. . .'
'Only by a few years.' He murmured between the insistent kisses that he rained on her throat.
'It makes a difference. Connor. . .'
But his hands had strayed under her shirt, fingers brushing against the taut skin of her stomach, making it flinch and sending lightening flashes of desire to her groin.
'Connor.' This time it was a gasp.
Crushing her lips in another bruising kiss, Connor moved his hands so that they were cupping her breasts. He kneaded and pressed her flesh in a way that made her fight back the urge to groan.
He couldn't seem to touch enough of her, and his hands travelled all over her body, sparking her desire and need for heat; the need to be taken.
When his hands snaked between her thighs to explore the hot, wet centre of her, Raksha moaned aloud. She pressed her face into his neck, taking his skin between her teeth, licking across his pulse, kissing along the line of his jaw.
It was only when he moved to lay her down across the floor that Raksha realised what they were doing.
'Wait. Connor. . .' her voice was firm, but he ignored her, gently forcing her down to the ground. He pinned her legs with his own, taking her forearms and holding them out to the side so that she could not move, leaving him free to focus his attention on her face and neck.
Raksha knew that this was so very wrong, but the smell of Connor and their mingled arousal was beginning to drive all rational thoughts from her mind. She couldn't deny the response of her body to his, or the insistent ache at her core making her arch up against him.
Releasing one of her arms Connor used his free hand to undo her shirt buttons, popping them open with expertise, his eyes boring into hers the whole time. He looked so alive, so vital, that Raksha felt yet another wave of heat flood to her groin.
Once he had bared her flesh to the cool air he paused as if to commit the image to memory. It struck Raksha that she had never seen another look at her in quite this way before. Connor's whole concentration seemed focused on her, and it felt as if he was seeing all of her at once. Raksha closed her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent moan as she felt Connor take one of her nipples into his mouth.
His insistent tongue flicked across her skin, his hot wet mouth sucking in her flesh to a point that caused pain and pleasure to fill her in equal measures.
Using his knee Connor nudged her legs open, a hand travelling down her stomach until it brushed over her mound and slid between her thighs.
Slowly, as if he was afraid he would hurt her, Connor slid two fingers inside Raksha's wet centre. Arching up against him Raksha murmured something unintelligible as her hips started thrusting against his hand.
Whilst stroking and teasing her opening, he touched upon her clitoris and the sensation forced a cry from Raksha's throat. Seeing her reaction, Connor began to focus his attentions on her engorged clit, and soon Raksha was growling beneath him, hips thrusting forcefully against his hand.
Shifting his position Raksha could hear Connor undo his fly and pull down his jeans. In that moment when his hands wno lno longer on her Raksha's head cleared silently and once more she tried to push him away. But with a sudden ferocity Connor pinned her once more to the floor. His knee knocked her legs apart almost painfully, and hurriedly he pushed himself into her.
Raksha arched her back, surprised at the size of him. Connor meanwhile paused whilst inside her and she heard him take a deep breath as if steadying himself. She wondered if this was his first time, and pushed the feelings that thought provoked away, allowing herself to be lost in the sensation of him.
His thrusts were hard and slow and Raksha couldn't stop the gasps, moans and growls that emanated from her open mouth. When Connor bent his head to kiss her deeply this expression seemed so much more intimate to her than the joining of their bodies. She turned her head away and he kissed her in the hollow of her jaw.
Connor's thrusts grew harder, faster, and Raksha raked her nails along his back, along the taut muscles of his buttocks, thrusting against him viciously, feeling the build of her climax.
She cried out his name when she came, her legs holding him tightly against her, her pussy walls convulsing as if trying to suck his very essence dry.
Connor's thrusts grew more erratic and when Raksha looked up and saw the flash of pure pleasure and pain that crossed his face, she knew without a doubt that this was his first time. When he collapsed across her, his semen already beginning to ooze out of her, Raksha turned her head to the side so he couldn't see the tears that were pouring down her cheeks.