In the Company of Monsters
May. 23rd, 2008 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Angel/Riley
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the company of monsters, bravado stands guard on the thin line between life and death.
A/N: Post-NFA and incorporating comics canon up to this point. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spankspike who asked for Angel/Riley without grudgefucking. Also written for- ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kink_bingo outdoor sex prompt and tamingthemuse prompt #96-keckle.
***Comics Canon Spoilers***L.A. was dragged into a Hell dimension, Angel shanshued and Wes is W&H's ghostie go-to boy (a la Lilah). As Riley hasn't appeared (yet) in any of the comics, I'm making liberal (and how!) use of him here. However, I fully expect to get Jossed.***End Spoilers***
“You look like shit.”
The words aren’t sympathetic. They’re to the point, almost bold. In this new world, having an opinion at all is almost an heroic act. Angel stops walking, the soft droplets of demonic blood echoing as they crash from his knuckles onto the pavement. But he won’t turn around. In the company of monsters, bravado stands guard on the thin line between life and death.
“Riley Finn,” he says tightly.
He glances towards the keckled chains above them and flexes his fists. He isn’t sure what Buffy’s toy soldier can bring to the fight. He knows he hasn’t got much left. The healing magic takes time and that’s something he doesn’t have much of these days. The streets of this hell dimension are littered with the innocent dead, urban graves that condemn him as he walks by.
“Heard you sent this place to Hell,” Riley responds conversationally. “Gotta say that the before and afters aren’t much different. Does that mean L.A. was always hell?”
“Lifestyles of the shallow and monstrous.” Angel shrugs. “Do you know anybody here who hasn’t sold their soul?”
“Well,” Riley says thoughtfully, “I’ve never sold my soul. I think the warranty just expires once you die.”
And then he hears it; the subtle sound of bone and muscle reshaping itself into the lean, monstrous features of a predator. For just a moment, Angel stretches and tries to force the planes of his face into its familiar demonic shape. He still forgets. The glamour fools everyone. Even him.
“So you’re dead.” Angel answers flatly. It’s work, keeping any trace of inflection from creeping into his voice. “Hope your Sire gave you the three-penny tour and don’t do anything evil in my line of sight. Giving Buffy your ashes would just be…okay, it wouldn’t bother me. But she’d get all upset and then I’d have to comfort her…huh. Still not seeing the downside here.”
“Stop,” Riley whispers in his ear and oh, he’d forgotten the ability to move like that, to be so easy inside a body that never hurt. Angel sees Darla standing before him, those ridiculous feathers in her hair, offering him immortality and he takes it because his humanity is tenuous at best. He shivers, Riley’s cool breath teasing across his flesh and bringing him back into his all too human body.
The prickles of sharpness along his neck draw a moan from Angel, and he knows he should shake Riley off. His blood is alive, filled with the heat and lust that only human life contains. But he needs this. He hasn’t had this closeness since before L.A. went to hell. He spends his days with the ghost of his personal Judas, fighting a losing battle against the lords of this hell dimension and his own frail human form.
He’s earned this. He tells himself that as he turns around and pushes Riley into the wall. The cool coppery mouth opens underneath his insistent lips and the fangs tease around the edge of his tongue. He wants to bleed for Riley, misses bleeding for Darla, for Dru and Spike, the blood of family on his tongue and under his fingers.
He’s not stupid. He has to stay in control. His hand strays quickly to the thick cock riding against his hip. Riley’s eyes flare under his gaze then flutter close.
“Lots of things to do here in hell,” Angel murmurs, fingers working to free Riley’s erection from its camouflage prison. “Meet interesting new demons. Kill them. Die. Fuck your ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. Lots of things to do in hell.”
Riley laughs and it’s a rusty sound, a gate-hinge that refuses to open. His hips pump upwards, restless and searching. His prick, finally freed from his pants, juts outwards and slides across Angel’s hand.
“I don’t want to be what I am,” Riley tells him coolly. “But I’m not willing to die either.”
“No one wants to die,” Angel replies, dropping down to his knees in front of the other man.
His lips wrap around the bulbous head, his tongue swiping almost delicately around the small slit. The slight trace of pre-cum coats his tongue, a bitter flavor that lodges in his throat. Angel moans, hands working frantically at his zipper. Two hundred years had robbed him, stolen his memories of how urgent living desire could be.
He’s remembering now. His cock is alive, throbbing insistently with need. He slides his mouth as far down Riley’s prick as he can go, gagging as it the fat head butts against his throat. He needs to breath, he needs to come, he needs to die.
No. He shakes his head and Riley growls, a low rumble that vibrates the shaft in Angel’s mouth. Angel groans, working his own cock with one hand as his other moves up to tug sharply at Riley’s sac. The tightening skin loosens fractionally but the vibrations continue; sympathetic quivers rack Angel’s body and he can feel the beginnings of his orgasm tickling and teasing inside his balls.
Riley grabs a handful of his head, pulling his eyes up. Angel stares into inhuman eyes, and he thinks he can see a spark of humanity inside the dead gaze of Riley Finn. He closes his eyes, suckling voraciously at the cock between his lips.
The increased suction is too much for Riley. He howls out his pleasure as his hips pump forward. The tepid spurts of semen on his tongue are exciting, almost forbidden. The thick liquid overflows his mouth, dripping out onto his face and Angel comes, cock spitting gouts of hot semen onto the slimy wet pavement.
He’s breathing hard, kneeling on the ground and covered in come. Not exactly the M.O. of a Champion. He looks up at Riley and he can’t stop the smirk he feels creeping across his face.
“You want to know the best part of this?’ Angel asks, not waiting for an answer. “When I figured out we were being watched by Wolfram & Hart’s non-corporeal representative.”
He isn’t actually sure Wes watched them, but the faint gasp from the shadows is confirmation enough. He stands, discreetly zipping and buttoning his trousers. Why he’s bothering with discretion now now that the party’s over is a mystery even to him.
Riley meets his level gaze and nods once. There’s no need for a big conversation, no sentiment attached to a sloppy blowjob in a dirty alley. Angel resumes his patrol, trailing sated vampires, aroused ghosts, and the fragments of his hard won humanity in his wake.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: In the company of monsters, bravado stands guard on the thin line between life and death.
A/N: Post-NFA and incorporating comics canon up to this point. Written for
spankspike who asked for Angel/Riley without grudgefucking. Also written for- kink_bingo outdoor sex prompt and tamingthemuse prompt #96-keckle. ***Comics Canon Spoilers***L.A. was dragged into a Hell dimension, Angel shanshued and Wes is W&H's ghostie go-to boy (a la Lilah). As Riley hasn't appeared (yet) in any of the comics, I'm making liberal (and how!) use of him here. However, I fully expect to get Jossed.***End Spoilers***
“You look like shit.”
The words aren’t sympathetic. They’re to the point, almost bold. In this new world, having an opinion at all is almost an heroic act. Angel stops walking, the soft droplets of demonic blood echoing as they crash from his knuckles onto the pavement. But he won’t turn around. In the company of monsters, bravado stands guard on the thin line between life and death.
“Riley Finn,” he says tightly.
He glances towards the keckled chains above them and flexes his fists. He isn’t sure what Buffy’s toy soldier can bring to the fight. He knows he hasn’t got much left. The healing magic takes time and that’s something he doesn’t have much of these days. The streets of this hell dimension are littered with the innocent dead, urban graves that condemn him as he walks by.
“Heard you sent this place to Hell,” Riley responds conversationally. “Gotta say that the before and afters aren’t much different. Does that mean L.A. was always hell?”
“Lifestyles of the shallow and monstrous.” Angel shrugs. “Do you know anybody here who hasn’t sold their soul?”
“Well,” Riley says thoughtfully, “I’ve never sold my soul. I think the warranty just expires once you die.”
And then he hears it; the subtle sound of bone and muscle reshaping itself into the lean, monstrous features of a predator. For just a moment, Angel stretches and tries to force the planes of his face into its familiar demonic shape. He still forgets. The glamour fools everyone. Even him.
“So you’re dead.” Angel answers flatly. It’s work, keeping any trace of inflection from creeping into his voice. “Hope your Sire gave you the three-penny tour and don’t do anything evil in my line of sight. Giving Buffy your ashes would just be…okay, it wouldn’t bother me. But she’d get all upset and then I’d have to comfort her…huh. Still not seeing the downside here.”
“Stop,” Riley whispers in his ear and oh, he’d forgotten the ability to move like that, to be so easy inside a body that never hurt. Angel sees Darla standing before him, those ridiculous feathers in her hair, offering him immortality and he takes it because his humanity is tenuous at best. He shivers, Riley’s cool breath teasing across his flesh and bringing him back into his all too human body.
The prickles of sharpness along his neck draw a moan from Angel, and he knows he should shake Riley off. His blood is alive, filled with the heat and lust that only human life contains. But he needs this. He hasn’t had this closeness since before L.A. went to hell. He spends his days with the ghost of his personal Judas, fighting a losing battle against the lords of this hell dimension and his own frail human form.
He’s earned this. He tells himself that as he turns around and pushes Riley into the wall. The cool coppery mouth opens underneath his insistent lips and the fangs tease around the edge of his tongue. He wants to bleed for Riley, misses bleeding for Darla, for Dru and Spike, the blood of family on his tongue and under his fingers.
He’s not stupid. He has to stay in control. His hand strays quickly to the thick cock riding against his hip. Riley’s eyes flare under his gaze then flutter close.
“Lots of things to do here in hell,” Angel murmurs, fingers working to free Riley’s erection from its camouflage prison. “Meet interesting new demons. Kill them. Die. Fuck your ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend. Lots of things to do in hell.”
Riley laughs and it’s a rusty sound, a gate-hinge that refuses to open. His hips pump upwards, restless and searching. His prick, finally freed from his pants, juts outwards and slides across Angel’s hand.
“I don’t want to be what I am,” Riley tells him coolly. “But I’m not willing to die either.”
“No one wants to die,” Angel replies, dropping down to his knees in front of the other man.
His lips wrap around the bulbous head, his tongue swiping almost delicately around the small slit. The slight trace of pre-cum coats his tongue, a bitter flavor that lodges in his throat. Angel moans, hands working frantically at his zipper. Two hundred years had robbed him, stolen his memories of how urgent living desire could be.
He’s remembering now. His cock is alive, throbbing insistently with need. He slides his mouth as far down Riley’s prick as he can go, gagging as it the fat head butts against his throat. He needs to breath, he needs to come, he needs to die.
No. He shakes his head and Riley growls, a low rumble that vibrates the shaft in Angel’s mouth. Angel groans, working his own cock with one hand as his other moves up to tug sharply at Riley’s sac. The tightening skin loosens fractionally but the vibrations continue; sympathetic quivers rack Angel’s body and he can feel the beginnings of his orgasm tickling and teasing inside his balls.
Riley grabs a handful of his head, pulling his eyes up. Angel stares into inhuman eyes, and he thinks he can see a spark of humanity inside the dead gaze of Riley Finn. He closes his eyes, suckling voraciously at the cock between his lips.
The increased suction is too much for Riley. He howls out his pleasure as his hips pump forward. The tepid spurts of semen on his tongue are exciting, almost forbidden. The thick liquid overflows his mouth, dripping out onto his face and Angel comes, cock spitting gouts of hot semen onto the slimy wet pavement.
He’s breathing hard, kneeling on the ground and covered in come. Not exactly the M.O. of a Champion. He looks up at Riley and he can’t stop the smirk he feels creeping across his face.
“You want to know the best part of this?’ Angel asks, not waiting for an answer. “When I figured out we were being watched by Wolfram & Hart’s non-corporeal representative.”
He isn’t actually sure Wes watched them, but the faint gasp from the shadows is confirmation enough. He stands, discreetly zipping and buttoning his trousers. Why he’s bothering with discretion now now that the party’s over is a mystery even to him.
Riley meets his level gaze and nods once. There’s no need for a big conversation, no sentiment attached to a sloppy blowjob in a dirty alley. Angel resumes his patrol, trailing sated vampires, aroused ghosts, and the fragments of his hard won humanity in his wake.