Flashes

Flashes


With Angel, it had started as a challenge, a dare.. a back and forth tease, dancing on the knife edge of danger.

Dark eyes burning a taunt, searing through him fuckin’ him until they were all he could see in every shadow, craving, thirsting. Needing with an intensity that astounded him even as it made his blood run to ice and sweat to roll down his back.

Never easy, never safe, spitting fury and scathing insults, clenched fists and poundin’ pulse, breath catchin’ hard in his throat as Angel’s eyes would invariably find that spot and burn a hole through him, feelin’ it throb and speed up even more until he gasped in air only to watch the vampire storm away. Always watchin’ him walk away.

Sane corner in the very back of the depths of his mind screamin’, warning.. cautionin’ that one slip, one ease of his guard could be his life, always causin’ him to taunt and mock, dance back to that slippery line, boots slip-slidin’ on the blood slick floor, feelin’ the danger sizzle through his veins. Keepin’ Angel after his blood so it wouldn’t be his alter ego out for his life. Trading on the danger of his lover slippin’ in a rage so he wouldn’t slip on a single perfect moment.

Never made him happy, just pissed him off, frustrated him and drove him to the edge and back until Angel would snap and throw him up against whatever was handy, clashing in a furious storm of need and hate, fear and lust. Bruises blooming in dark rainbow reminders across tan skin, tangible evidence of their dance of fists and hot, straining flesh, lingering long after he could remember what had even started the fight in the first place.

With Angel, it had been violent passion, black lust overpowering the blacker hate and resentment, for at least a while. Craving the pain, the violence, like any other poor idiot needin’ the next hit, addicted to the feel of fists and the taste of blood, laughin’ through the pain and drowning in the black maelstrom of a downward spiraling sickness. Seriously fucked up until he didn’t think he could breathe without it, punching walls to feel the grind of bone and blood.

Flames burnin’ higher and hotter until he was screamin’ raw in his mind, burnin’ with it until cold steel slammed through him and severed his hand from his body, an echoing silence, deafness roarin’ in his ears to replace the fucked up needwantlust, leaving him chokin’ on blood and the smoldering ash of what had been them.

Some things, you just don’t get past.

Darla was the beginning of the end. Unbearable ache of the reverberating emptiness inside of him drivin’ him to things he’d never have done before, her neediness, helplessness filling him with purpose, meaning.

Worshiping, her frailty and fragility almost holy to him, this creature who could should.. had been so strong, powerful.. all consuming. Needing him, him, he had the power to make or break her, hold her in his palm and let her wither and die or give her up to what she used to be. Losing her, had never really had her but fuck, those precious moments of connection, of holding her shaking, doll like body in his arms.. the few almost sacrilegious, hushed and too gut wrenchingly tragic to be passionate embraces.. the taste of her thick and heavy on his tongue even now.. worth all the pain of watching her him, him again walk away.

Lonely and empty, hollow. Work nothing to him now. Bored and sick, sick of it all and wanting out, not givin’ a shit it could mean his life. How long had it been since he cared about that? Dark eyes mocking, laughing in raged hysteria, fists pummeling until even after they stop he can feel them, wanting, needing, cherishing every bruise and broken piece of flesh, do it do it..

Lorne insistin’ he work with Angel, the mystery of his hand whose hand? gnawing and clawing at him but he can’t, won’t.. need it, fuck.. hurt me, make me feel again, so cold, numb.. nothing now, make me feel goddamnit.. doesn’t trust himself to fall in that pit again. All for nothing, he finds him anyway.. waiting waiting, no pain, no harsh words, almost.. normal.. finding that godforsaken building, stomach wrenching and holding back his horror but seeing it reflected in the eyes of those aware enough to be screaming in their gazes like him..

Disgust in those black eyes, disgust for him but he hadn’t hadn’t known, I didn’t know.. turning to somethin’ almost resemblin’ compassion when he can’t hide the sickness, the turmoil, retching helplessly at his feet as they watched the building flame and smolder. Buildin’ walls, can’t take it back but not wantin’ his pity, sympathy, not now, don’t need anything from you now old patterns reasserting themselves in his bitter words, edging away, needing to get away, get away.

Everything in his body striving forward, clamoring, wantin’, until he gives in, a slight touch all it taking and his back is against the wall, grating and cold, only slightly warmer chest against his and his heart pounds into his ribs, lonely and echoing between them. Blunt, rough fingers on his cheekbones, the gentle touch rasping but he can’t.. can’t feel it, frustration thrummin’ through him until he jerks his head away, snarling and snapping out that he doesn’t want that from him, fuck him.. that’s all he wants. Lies drippin’ from his tongue, scathing, until they’re stopped as he’s jerked around, face slammed against the unrelenting brick. Jeans roughly ripped and torn, eggin’ him on in a choked, raw voice, hiding the crackin’ of his spirit, soul, that he can only feel the pain, only feel violence.

Drivin’ away, ‘don’t come back’ ringing in his ears along with the memory of his choked cries, pleasured pain echoing through his body. Never again, never.

Spike was.. Spike was comfortable, a much needed breath of air, a gasp as he breached the water before he started drownin’ again. Fuckin’ gorgeous and not givin’ a shit bout anything, out for himself and more than capable of quenching his now and again latent need for the fiery prickle of pain. Eyes as blue as his own with their own problems, own fucked up needs who am I, what? Need need, why, fuck what’s the use? Nothin’ but more sinkin’ down in, drownin’ staring heatedly, coldly down into his, his thighs wrapped tight and squeezing, muscles ripplin’ down his body as he twisted under the pale, taut body, chest heaving.

Casual, lost.. needing to belong, to be, the burn of the lies he’d told heavy on his mind in the dawn of the morning but not enough to call it off, not enough. Copper on his tongue, soft lips with cutting words that flowed as easy as his own lies.. trembling hand brushing back tangled white-blonde locks from the still smooth, always smooth forehead.

Pretending not to give a fuck as the lies unfolded.

Eve a thing to be used, too hollow, too full for regrets, compassion, not anymore. Too much, too late. Too damn late.

Fight not ending as it should, burn of the pain screamin’ through him but not enough, blade not slicin’ deep enough, no fangs and not enough fist.. didn’t even care to kill him, let others do it for him.. always was his motto.

False life still thrumming in his mind, false wife, kid, lies.. all lies. Heart beating rapidly to remind him its there.

Charles Gunn, the ache of isolation in the cell they shoved him in echoed in the man’s dark eyes, a different isolation, but pained nonetheless. Touch not hurting but fierce in its need to be felt, to feel, comforting and taking comfort, desperate to claw back from the bleakness, the dark. Needing to feel alive, hands strokin’ over broad muscled chests, pausing with palms flat against throbbing, pounding hearts, feeling, pulsing. Not dead, not gone, there.

Always aware, feeling Angel’s movements, holding his breath as every muscle locks up when he’s near but he’s overlooked, ignored. Not even there.

A merger, a deal.. a bargain struck and fate sealed. Words spoken thoughtlessly, echos of lost times, lost chances. ‘I want you, Lindsey.’ Never spoken in the context wanted, needed. Only then, at the crossroads. A chance to belong, slight warmth thrumming in his veins.

A look in Lorne’s eyes he’d seen before but never acted upon, catching his gaze and holdin’ it, skin roughly smooth, silken, and warmer than he’d thought it would be. Fingers rough but gentle, tender and he could feel it feel it, every light caress echoing and vibrating through him like only the harshest touch had in the past, since him him but he’s not thinkin’ bout that, waste of time, life..pain. Breath catching, gasping and he can’t breathe, drowning in a soft glow of pleasure that built to scalding heights, lifting him up until he can’t see, can’t feel the end, needing wanting craving needing..

Fear and hate, emptiness eased, panting and gasping against a smooth chest of darkest green, jewel tones sparking. Softest of kisses pressed to the back of his sweat slicked nape as Lorne brushed his hair out of the back of his collar, heart trippin’ over itself in anticipation and adrenaline at the coming fight.

Seeing a different look, a light missing from those eyes that had been there not moments before, pained and hopeless. Knowin’ even before the gun was lifted what Angel had done. Every gentle touch, every almost spoken praise, everything they almost meant, could should have meant to each other..

Broken empath demon and a gun.

Too late, too late now, always. Never again.

The only one to not hurt, not cause pain.. hurting the worst as cold, unforgiving metal tore through him.. Seeing the truth in Lorne’s clenched jaw and averted eyes. That what he’d taken for a beginning had really been goodbye.

Agony of him stealin’ even that, even the one fuckin’ time there was somethin’ gentle and without pain in his life. Could almost pretend, almost feel him there, eyes smoldering and fists bloody from breakin’ his body.. almost..

Angel.