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sevendeadlyfunFor girlpire , who wants to see more 5 Things. I'd start a community if I were cooler. But since I'm still an adorable newbie, I'll stick with this for the time being.
Pairings: Angel/Multiple Partners
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, oral, BDSM, rape, and a few other uglies
A/N: I'm serious about those warnings, folks. This is not a pretty story, even if I did enjoy writing it. No complaints if you read it anyways and get a squick.
Angel's Five Favorite Fantasies
Angel denied himself many things in his quest for redemption. He no longer ate human food, even though he enjoyed it. He rarely laughed, even though he desparately needed a good chuckle. He refused to join Doyle and Cordelia when they invited him to join their "Fun Night" because he truly believed that he had to punish himself for all the evil he'd brought into the world. But, he still jacked off nightly. Hey, he was a Champion but he was still, as Cordelia pointed out the one time she'd walked in without knocking, a walking penis.
Most of the time, his masturbation sessions were quick and stealthy. He sought to relieve the ache in his balls, not to bring himself pleasure. Sometimes though, just occasionally, he settled in and spent an entire night teasing himself. He didn't need porn or toys, just his hand and his memories. He had five distinct fantasies that fueled him on those special nights when his hand moved lazily around his cock, cupping his balls and pinching his foreskin to hold off his release. He went through them in a particular order, saving the most erotic for last, bringing himself off in a fury.
It always started with Darla. Darla as she had been the night she turned him. He'd told Buffy he hated the noble women back in his day, but that wasn't entirely true. He hated the way they treated him, as if he were dirt underneath their satiny slippers. Their bodies, however, were rounded and luscious. The hands that clasped his cock were softer than those of the village girls who roughened quickly under a life of hard work. Their fragile gowns caressed his thights as he pumped himself into them, and even now, the feeling of brocade on his thighs could make him cum instantly. Darla was a whore, and had a whore's innate ability to be whoever she needed to be in order satisfy. He remembered their first fuck, when her cold pussy entranced him and her small hands around his neck maddened him. On his knees with her gown raised to the waist, he lapped at her like a starving man. She had played the haughty queen for him, and when she finally submitted to him and he slid inside her, it had been explosive.
His hands were choking his red swollen cockhead now, fisting himself at the thought of her aping a lady just for him. No lady, his Sire, but a cold cruel fuck like none other. No one could match Darla for viciousness, in or out bed. He craved that now, a gift from her. He needed sharp nails drawing blood, or the prick of fangs at his throat. He thought of the small whip he kept hidden, but didn't feel like searching it out. It was never the same when he hurt himself. It lacked the element of surprise, and he loved surprises.
Drusilla always surprised him. Darla kept her song to one note, that of the highborn lady. Drusilla could and would be anyone for him. However his favorite, the very best, was her pentinent sinner. All the more erotic because of her purity, her penance stiffened him, giving him a cock stronger than steel. He had taken her virginity right before turning her and that memory gave him more pleasure than the first time he'd fucked Darla. He'd been brutal with her, stripping her innocence roughly. She'd cried at first, the scent of her tears almost as enjoyable as the scent of her maiden's blood. But the best part, the part that made him shudder and moan, had been when she came all over his cock. A innoent victim enjoying her rape and loving her rapist. He made her call him "Daddy", and she mewled around his cock like a seasoned doxy. When he'd finished with her, abused all her orificies and made her beg for more, he'd given her a final orgasm as her blood overflowed his mouth.
He shouldn't still enjoy that, and he'd feel shame later. But, now he concentrated on holding back. He tugged his sac with violence, and stilled the hand rubbing his cock. His mind rushed ahead to his next favorite fantasy, but his hands stayed still, resting at the root of his prick and cradling his balls. This one, it always thrilled him. If he even twitched his hands, he's cum and spoil the whole thing.
She'd been so warm. That had shocked him, although it shouldn't have. But he hadn't really fucked many humans in the past hundred years and he'd forgotten how hot they could be inside. That was probably his favorite part of the whole thing, her warmth and how depraved she had been. She'd ridden him hard and careless, using his body for her pleasure. She'd fucked him with a knife at his throat, as she'd called him filthy names. He always loved a woman who could talk dirty, and Faith was an expert. The best part was afterwards, though. That part was why he had to keep his hand still. She'd draped herself over his lap and begged him to spank her. She'd cried, said she was a bad girl and needed to punished. With his erection buried deep in her throat, he'd beaten her ass raw. It had reddened so prettily, and she's sob around his cock, which sent shivers up his spine. He'd brought her off with that spanking, her juice coating his fingers as he whaled on her. When he finally shot his load, she'd been a soft, quivering wreck. So pliant and malleable in his arms, he needed to check to make sure she was still conscious. Her mouth fucked raw, her ass bleeding, her body sore, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He almost forgot he was supposed to be Angelus, almost comforted her. But, instead, playing his part to perfection, he slapped her around some more and that last violence induced orgasm had brought him immense pleasure as well.
He was moving his hand again, gently now. These last two fantasies would push him over the edge and he wanted to savor them before that happened. The two best sexual encounters of his life and he was never really sure which he liked the most. He switched them around every time, trying to sort it out. One appealed to the man that lay in his heart, the other to the demon he fought so hard to suppress. Both were destructively exciting.
Tonight he wanted to be a man, so he put off love in favor of lust. Spike, lovely destructive Spike, had come to L.A. in search of his ring. Sure, he'd hired Marcus to do the hard-core torturing. Spike was, by nature, a leader. Why do it yourself when you can force someone else to do it for you? He'd learned that from Angelus. He'd also learned a few other things from Angelus. One of them was how to torture someone sexually. He'd put those lessons to good use, as well. There were red-hot pokers sticking out of Angel's body, and that's when Spike struck. He licked one nipple, the rasp of his tongue stirring Angel's battered body to life. With clever fingers and ruthless tongue, Spike aroused and infuriated Angel's body. With callous words and brutal truths, he devestated Angel's mind. When Spike finally shoved himself deep inside Angel's body, it only took minutes for Angel to spasm in a ferocious orgasm. It was the first time he'd been penetrated like that, another man's prick deep in his ass. It gave him feelings of degradation and delight, to be brought so low. That it was Spike only intensified those feelings, and made them all the more exciting.
He was leaking now, a steady stream of pre-cum dribbling from his cock to wet his fingers. The slippery goo made his firm grip and pounding hand more pleasurable. He was almost there, so close, and he needed to end this. His cock was purple now, sore and demanding release. Just one last memory, one last fantasy, and he'd finally rest. Gathering a fingerful of his own fluid, he wetted the fingers of his other hand. Reaching down, he penetrated himself and began to crank in earnest, remembering.
William, his sweetest boy, as he'd last seen him, floated behind his eyelids. He'd had the soul for two years, had tried to avoid it, forget it, banish it. Following the trail of his family, Angel went to China. But Darla had scented him out, exposed him and his conscience. Her demands felled him, for he could no longer murder with ease. His little boy, William, all grown-up by than. He'd killed a Slayer and Angel had watched as Drusilla rubbed herself over William like a cat in heat. He burned inside, wanting to shake them both. He knew he should feel pride in William's accomplishments, but all he felt was a certain sadness and loss. He'd destroyed the true beauty of the boy, made him a killer. Later, after he'd fled Darla, he sought out William. The other vampire had been confused, asking questions Angel couldn't answer. To silence the questions, Angel pressed his lips to William's. This was really their first kiss, for all the other times their lips had touched it had been about domination, possession. This time, Angel needed to show his lover, one last time, how much he cared.
The memory of that kiss, of William's soft forgiving lips on his, finished off the last shreds of Angel's control. He jerked his head back, and groaned out the name of lover as he shot long ropey strings of semen over his belly. Fingers clenched inside, prodding and pushing at his sweet spot, forcing out more and more cum. When he was completely drained, he withdrew his fingers and ran them through the puddle on his stomach. He licked his fingers, tasting not his own salty flavor, but the sweet complex taste of William's mouth. Sighing, he shut off the light and rolled over in bed. These were the nights he slept best, with his memories comforting him and lulling him away from the pain and remorse that were his constant companions these days. His eyes drooping in exhaustion, he almost missed the soft voice in the dark. Almost, but not quite and when the lean hard frame wrapped around him, he didn't jump or start. He simply snuggled deeper into the soft mattress and relished the soft kiss his lover placed on his forehead.
THE END
girlpire , who wants to see more 5 Things. I'd start a community if I were cooler. But since I'm still an adorable newbie, I'll stick with this for the time being.Pairings: Angel/Multiple Partners
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, oral, BDSM, rape, and a few other uglies
A/N: I'm serious about those warnings, folks. This is not a pretty story, even if I did enjoy writing it. No complaints if you read it anyways and get a squick.
Angel's Five Favorite Fantasies
Angel denied himself many things in his quest for redemption. He no longer ate human food, even though he enjoyed it. He rarely laughed, even though he desparately needed a good chuckle. He refused to join Doyle and Cordelia when they invited him to join their "Fun Night" because he truly believed that he had to punish himself for all the evil he'd brought into the world. But, he still jacked off nightly. Hey, he was a Champion but he was still, as Cordelia pointed out the one time she'd walked in without knocking, a walking penis.
Most of the time, his masturbation sessions were quick and stealthy. He sought to relieve the ache in his balls, not to bring himself pleasure. Sometimes though, just occasionally, he settled in and spent an entire night teasing himself. He didn't need porn or toys, just his hand and his memories. He had five distinct fantasies that fueled him on those special nights when his hand moved lazily around his cock, cupping his balls and pinching his foreskin to hold off his release. He went through them in a particular order, saving the most erotic for last, bringing himself off in a fury.
It always started with Darla. Darla as she had been the night she turned him. He'd told Buffy he hated the noble women back in his day, but that wasn't entirely true. He hated the way they treated him, as if he were dirt underneath their satiny slippers. Their bodies, however, were rounded and luscious. The hands that clasped his cock were softer than those of the village girls who roughened quickly under a life of hard work. Their fragile gowns caressed his thights as he pumped himself into them, and even now, the feeling of brocade on his thighs could make him cum instantly. Darla was a whore, and had a whore's innate ability to be whoever she needed to be in order satisfy. He remembered their first fuck, when her cold pussy entranced him and her small hands around his neck maddened him. On his knees with her gown raised to the waist, he lapped at her like a starving man. She had played the haughty queen for him, and when she finally submitted to him and he slid inside her, it had been explosive.
His hands were choking his red swollen cockhead now, fisting himself at the thought of her aping a lady just for him. No lady, his Sire, but a cold cruel fuck like none other. No one could match Darla for viciousness, in or out bed. He craved that now, a gift from her. He needed sharp nails drawing blood, or the prick of fangs at his throat. He thought of the small whip he kept hidden, but didn't feel like searching it out. It was never the same when he hurt himself. It lacked the element of surprise, and he loved surprises.
Drusilla always surprised him. Darla kept her song to one note, that of the highborn lady. Drusilla could and would be anyone for him. However his favorite, the very best, was her pentinent sinner. All the more erotic because of her purity, her penance stiffened him, giving him a cock stronger than steel. He had taken her virginity right before turning her and that memory gave him more pleasure than the first time he'd fucked Darla. He'd been brutal with her, stripping her innocence roughly. She'd cried at first, the scent of her tears almost as enjoyable as the scent of her maiden's blood. But the best part, the part that made him shudder and moan, had been when she came all over his cock. A innoent victim enjoying her rape and loving her rapist. He made her call him "Daddy", and she mewled around his cock like a seasoned doxy. When he'd finished with her, abused all her orificies and made her beg for more, he'd given her a final orgasm as her blood overflowed his mouth.
He shouldn't still enjoy that, and he'd feel shame later. But, now he concentrated on holding back. He tugged his sac with violence, and stilled the hand rubbing his cock. His mind rushed ahead to his next favorite fantasy, but his hands stayed still, resting at the root of his prick and cradling his balls. This one, it always thrilled him. If he even twitched his hands, he's cum and spoil the whole thing.
She'd been so warm. That had shocked him, although it shouldn't have. But he hadn't really fucked many humans in the past hundred years and he'd forgotten how hot they could be inside. That was probably his favorite part of the whole thing, her warmth and how depraved she had been. She'd ridden him hard and careless, using his body for her pleasure. She'd fucked him with a knife at his throat, as she'd called him filthy names. He always loved a woman who could talk dirty, and Faith was an expert. The best part was afterwards, though. That part was why he had to keep his hand still. She'd draped herself over his lap and begged him to spank her. She'd cried, said she was a bad girl and needed to punished. With his erection buried deep in her throat, he'd beaten her ass raw. It had reddened so prettily, and she's sob around his cock, which sent shivers up his spine. He'd brought her off with that spanking, her juice coating his fingers as he whaled on her. When he finally shot his load, she'd been a soft, quivering wreck. So pliant and malleable in his arms, he needed to check to make sure she was still conscious. Her mouth fucked raw, her ass bleeding, her body sore, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He almost forgot he was supposed to be Angelus, almost comforted her. But, instead, playing his part to perfection, he slapped her around some more and that last violence induced orgasm had brought him immense pleasure as well.
He was moving his hand again, gently now. These last two fantasies would push him over the edge and he wanted to savor them before that happened. The two best sexual encounters of his life and he was never really sure which he liked the most. He switched them around every time, trying to sort it out. One appealed to the man that lay in his heart, the other to the demon he fought so hard to suppress. Both were destructively exciting.
Tonight he wanted to be a man, so he put off love in favor of lust. Spike, lovely destructive Spike, had come to L.A. in search of his ring. Sure, he'd hired Marcus to do the hard-core torturing. Spike was, by nature, a leader. Why do it yourself when you can force someone else to do it for you? He'd learned that from Angelus. He'd also learned a few other things from Angelus. One of them was how to torture someone sexually. He'd put those lessons to good use, as well. There were red-hot pokers sticking out of Angel's body, and that's when Spike struck. He licked one nipple, the rasp of his tongue stirring Angel's battered body to life. With clever fingers and ruthless tongue, Spike aroused and infuriated Angel's body. With callous words and brutal truths, he devestated Angel's mind. When Spike finally shoved himself deep inside Angel's body, it only took minutes for Angel to spasm in a ferocious orgasm. It was the first time he'd been penetrated like that, another man's prick deep in his ass. It gave him feelings of degradation and delight, to be brought so low. That it was Spike only intensified those feelings, and made them all the more exciting.
He was leaking now, a steady stream of pre-cum dribbling from his cock to wet his fingers. The slippery goo made his firm grip and pounding hand more pleasurable. He was almost there, so close, and he needed to end this. His cock was purple now, sore and demanding release. Just one last memory, one last fantasy, and he'd finally rest. Gathering a fingerful of his own fluid, he wetted the fingers of his other hand. Reaching down, he penetrated himself and began to crank in earnest, remembering.
William, his sweetest boy, as he'd last seen him, floated behind his eyelids. He'd had the soul for two years, had tried to avoid it, forget it, banish it. Following the trail of his family, Angel went to China. But Darla had scented him out, exposed him and his conscience. Her demands felled him, for he could no longer murder with ease. His little boy, William, all grown-up by than. He'd killed a Slayer and Angel had watched as Drusilla rubbed herself over William like a cat in heat. He burned inside, wanting to shake them both. He knew he should feel pride in William's accomplishments, but all he felt was a certain sadness and loss. He'd destroyed the true beauty of the boy, made him a killer. Later, after he'd fled Darla, he sought out William. The other vampire had been confused, asking questions Angel couldn't answer. To silence the questions, Angel pressed his lips to William's. This was really their first kiss, for all the other times their lips had touched it had been about domination, possession. This time, Angel needed to show his lover, one last time, how much he cared.
The memory of that kiss, of William's soft forgiving lips on his, finished off the last shreds of Angel's control. He jerked his head back, and groaned out the name of lover as he shot long ropey strings of semen over his belly. Fingers clenched inside, prodding and pushing at his sweet spot, forcing out more and more cum. When he was completely drained, he withdrew his fingers and ran them through the puddle on his stomach. He licked his fingers, tasting not his own salty flavor, but the sweet complex taste of William's mouth. Sighing, he shut off the light and rolled over in bed. These were the nights he slept best, with his memories comforting him and lulling him away from the pain and remorse that were his constant companions these days. His eyes drooping in exhaustion, he almost missed the soft voice in the dark. Almost, but not quite and when the lean hard frame wrapped around him, he didn't jump or start. He simply snuggled deeper into the soft mattress and relished the soft kiss his lover placed on his forehead.
THE END