Hideous Courtesy

Setting: Sunrise, Act II of "Forever" (BtVS 5x17).

A/N 1: The timing of this is a bit wonky, thanks to bizarre original air-dates. On BtVS, "The Body" aired 2/27/01, but "Forever", which supposedly takes place within a few days, did not air until 4/17/01. On AtS, "Reprise" aired 2/20/01, and "Epiphany", which opens that same night but spans an unclear number of days, followed on 2/27/01. I am assuming that Angel visits Sunnydale for the funeral at some point after whaling on Lindsey and helping defeat the Skilosh but before going to A.I. and asking to work for them. Clear as mud, I know. A/N 2: French passage is from "Les bonnes soeurs" by Charles Baudelaire, who was actually a little taller and a lot drunker. English translation: The coffin and the crib, fertile with blasphemy,/Provide us, each in turn, as two good sisters should,/With terrible pleasures and hideous courtesies.

*

The morning after Joyce's funeral, Xander is up before dawn.

No way was he getting two days off in a row. Carla the site manager made it clear he was coming in at the usual hour or he wouldn't be coming in at all. He feels loagy, gross, head full of rock salt.

The shower doesn't help.

Anya sleeps on her side, her mouth open like always, eyelids twitching. He doesn't want to know what she dreams about. Vengeance and death, cruelty, that kind of thing. Sometimes she smiles in her sleep, which only makes him want to know less.

She's so tiny in the half-light, delicate as hell. He's got to wonder how he doesn't just roll over in his sleep and crush her. Standing over her, he is oafish, disgusting. Thick. He reaches out to move the sheet over her shoulder, and stops. His meaty hand hovers there for a second, the knuckles still bandaged but wet and oozing now from the shower, before he withdraws it.

Only Anya, he thought last night, would get off on death. He was bone-weary. Grateful for warm skin, squeezing muscles. Lying on his back watching her was far better than lying on his back staring at the ceiling. She did all the work.

She always does all the work. She's good at it.

But he hadn't expected her speech. All about making a life and honoring life in the midst of death. It was sweet. Weird, kind of dumb, but sweet.

Then again, he's been human a lot longer. He's seen a lot more death. If she wants to believe it's about making life, let her.

Disgust surges through him, full of blood and gristle, liquefied flesh and shards of bone. His fists clench with the sudden urge to smash something, shatter through fragility, show her exactly what making and taking life is about.

Driving the fist into his pocket, he turns on his heel. Gets out before it's too late.

Outside, it is too quiet and not nearly light enough yet for him to be comfortable. Xander moves fast. He gets to the site more quickly than he ever has. Little out of breath, not so much as he would have thought: Construction's been good to him.

He collapses on a trailer's steps and carefully unlatches the plastic lid of his coffee cup.

Black. Flapping. Something catches in the corner of his vision. Xander clenches the cup and coffee fountains over his hand.

"Fuck!"

He drops the cup, shakes his hand, and takes off after the thing. It ducks into the for sewer and energy line hook-ups.

Xander hears the clatter of feet on metal; those are his, because a second ago the shape was up there, then it just dropped.

Vamp or Batman? You be the judge.

He hits the ground as the form flaps around the stack of huge pipes, awaiting interment.

Interment: A word he learned yesterday. It's ugly and fancy and doesn't sound at all like what it means. Get to charge a lot more, too, if that's what you call it. Stick a corpse in the ground, mutter some pretty words, and forget about how it's going to rot. Flesh sliding off bone, worms gagging on formaldehyde, eyes melting away down bone.

Stake in hand, he cuts the corner and stops short.

"What are you doing here?"

Angel backs up against the wall, readjusting the hang of his duster with the flat of his palms. "Xander. Delightful to see you."

"The *fuck* you doing here?"

"A visit to Sunnydale just wouldn't be complete without one of your tirades."

The stake rolls and shifts in Xander's hand as he steps forward.

"Might want to watch that," Angel says, cutting his eyes up to the stake. "Shame to let it slip."

Nerves screech down Xander's body, clenching at his muscles, as he moves closer. It's dark down here, safe for a vamp, but now? Today? Not hardly.

He should have patrolled last night instead of getting his rocks off. This sick screaming energy would have been put to better use. Mourn Joyce by killing some dead things. Not by giving up, rolling over to show his belly yet again.

"In town for a pity fuck?" Xander asks. Air whistles in his lungs and scratches up his throat. "Figured you'd catch her in a weak moment, she might reconsider?"

In the flash of dark light that is Angel's fist, the sick crunch of its contact, more arcing light as Xander's head back whips back, he feels totally calm. Everything's swooping and screaming around and through him, but some little seed of calm deep in his brain just sits. Waits.

The punch sends him to his knees. The back of his head caught something before he fell; it's gone numb, but warm blood is seeping down his neck. When he looks up and smiles, about to speak, Angel kicks him back onto his ass.

"Are you going to shut up--" Angel looms over him. Xander's tiny smart brain knows it should scramble backwards, but he stays still, touching his bleeding, rapidly swelling cheek with something like wonder. "Or do you need another reminder?"

"Neither," Xander says. He still holds the stake, and raises it until it is level with Angel's crotch. He braces his free hand behind him and pushes himself to his feet. Vertigo sways through him before he finds his balance again. "Never really liked these alpha battles."

Angel's eyes are narrowed. His fists curl and relax at his sides. "Must be because you tend to lose them."

"Yeah." Xander slides his hand down the stake until it peeks out from his fist. He tilts his head, studying the point of it, addressing it more than Angel. "I mean, you could kill me and not even pause for breath."

Angel kind of chuckles. Xander blinks as he looks up. "Yeah, I know. No breath. Not important."

"No?" Angel presses closer, not moving so much as getting extraneous air out of the way.

Xander has never noticed until just now that he can look at Angel almost eye to eye. He's not as small as he thinks he is.

"No challenge." Xander shrugs. "So I'm guessing you *didn't* get the pity fuck, huh? Little tense there."

This time he sees the fist arcing toward him, heading for the other cheek. Xander leans into it, grinning. Grinning at the furious set to Angel's face, at the fact that it's not that much different from his usual expression. Pain spangles his vision with icy stars while his face slams hot, then cold. Hot again. Wind shrieks in his head and he's pretty sure he's got whiplash now.

"Shit, Angel," he says as he steps back, working his jaw, checking its tenderness. "Really fucking tense."

Angel flashes him this sick grin, all twisted lips and dead eyes. "Stupid boy. Have some respect for your elders."

"Respect? Who's the one using her death to get laid?"

Angel straightens his shirt and shoots his cuffs. "She wasn't your mother."

"And you're not my father. So shut the fuck up."

Angel laughs at him, low and creepy noises that slip through the cuts and bruises, dig like nettles under Xander's skin. His skull pulses in time with the sound.

Xander shrugs again. The screaming along his nerves speeds up, the longer he's silent. Pain's a pretty good distraction, but it doesn't last nearly long enough.

"You're a fucking corpse. Dead. Why do you get to walk around? Huh?"

"And you?" Angel shoves Xander against the wall. His head bounces back, thuds dully. Blood like sulfur settles in the back of his mouth. Feels like a plate of bone got dislodged, just enough that now he can feel every fragile seam in his head. "What about you?"

Cold hand, right at the base of his throat. Broad enough that the pinky brushes just under his chin. Xander swallows the worst of the blood and grips the stake all the harder. "Not a corpse. Heart's still beating."

"You're just a child. A stupid, human child. What do you know about death? Always talking about evil as if it's somewhere out there. Separate. Point it out on a map and take the long way around. Right, Xander?"

Angel's face is intense. Dark, peering through Xander, like he's working out a problem and just happens to have a human pinned by the neck. Speaking slowly, thinking out loud through something that's been on his mind for a while now. Xander just happens to be here.

Like always, here by accident. He tries to say something. It comes out in a breathless squeal.

Angel's eyes focus back on him. "Not the way it works, boy."

"Angelus?" Xander hisses. Angel slides him up the wall until his legs twitch and dangle uselessly. Fucking stupid moron, he thinks. Always wandering into a much deeper hole than the one you went looking for.

"Sorry, boy. Just the good one." Angel relaxes his hold slightly and Xander slumps.

He doesn't move to get away from under the grip, just peers up at Angel warily, tongue coming out to lick the corners of his mouth.

Angel half-smiles, half-grimaces down at him. "You'd like that though, wouldn't you?"

Xander shakes his head, hard. All the little pieces of his skull tremble and slide back into place. He's stupid, but no one's *that* stupid. Angel chuckles again, low in his throat, as he strokes the pulse hammering away in Xander's neck.

"Why can't you just--" Xander spits blood, watches it spatter Angel's perfectly white skin. "Just fucking *go*? What are you doing here?"

Long, slow blinking moment as Angel tilts his head. Xander knows the fucker's just pretending to consider it, because that grimace or smile or whatever it is hasn't left his face. "What am I doing here?"

"Yeah. What I said."

"Visiting," Angel says lightly. "Checking in--"

"What, checking in on HQ? Visiting the fucking home office?"

Xander hears himself squeal when Angel jabs two fingers at his windpipe.

"What do you know about that?"

Xander knows the hellmouth is crawling with evil. He knows that demons can't stay away from the place. He knows that Angel's not good, not evil, just a demon locked up with barely enough room to prowl. He knows he's never leaving this town alive.

None of which he can say. Fingers, throat, bloodied darkness seeping around the corners of his vision, distinct lack of oxygen that's dwindling into the negative numbers.

Xander's head falls forward, pressing out one last puff of air and noise, grunting.

His arms twitch and one leg kicks out. The grunt breaks apart into a disgusting groan. As if he could actually enjoy this? Angel shakes his head. "Always been a little too fond of the breath play, haven't you?"

Shame flashes and surges through Xander's gut, stiffens his cock, as Angel taps his thumb into the hollow of Xander's throat. He fights the urge to close his eyes and whimper.

The grip loosens. Barely.

"No," Xander says. He draws a shallow, ragged breath experimentally. Angel's lips quirk at the sound and he increases the pressure. Xander keeps his eyes on the vampire's as the air seeps out of him in a frighteningly pleasant way. "Just keep getting a little too close to psychos."

"Playing with fire," Angel says. Xander wants to protest. Then it hits him--not hits exactly, since he's still dangling here, and trying to breathe just hurts, and pain bangs all over his body--so, not hits so much as *occurs* to him that it wasn't a question. For once.

Talking's out of the question. He widens his eyes and tries to nod, but that just hits his chin against the back of Angel's palm. Cuts off the last of the air.

Angel squints for a second and loosens his hold. Like he heard the agreement; like that's possible. Xander wheezes in a breath, cold and sharp.

"Something like that," Xander croaks.

When Angel smiles, something glimmers over his eyes, wet and dark. Xander knows real danger enough to know he ought to be shrinking back now, pissing his pants, begging for reprieve.

Instead, certainty starts to uncoil, deep in his guts, sending out tendrils that snake hotly through his chest. "Sure you're not Angelus? You've got that maniacal gleam working--"

Angel shrugs and closes his eyes for a moment. When they open, Xander stares back at the gleam there. He feels the need to lick his lips again, but they feel very far away at the moment.

When he speaks, Angel's voice is low and lulling. "Be easy that way, wouldn't it? Big bad demon having his way with you? Eating you. Fucking you. Draining you."

"Fuck you," Xander whispers. Not much passion there, but it had to be said. Some things are private. Some things don't get to be yanked out of your stupid lizard brain and spoken by the first man you ever hated as much as you hate your father.

"Nice and clean, right?" Angel murmurs, ignoring him, lulling him. "That's how you think. Good and bad. Want and revile. Dead and alive."

Xander wants to laugh, but not happily. Giddily and dangerously, like the world's biggest amyl overdose. Just laugh until his breath gives out and he floats away in a million pieces.

"Clean?" He sounds like he's doing poppers right now, all tight and high and so. fucking. weak. Always weak, especially when he opens his mouth, particularly when he can't seem to *stop* opening his mouth. "You're not clean. Never will be."

Angel's head inclines once, acknowledging that fact. "But you? You're spotless and pure, aren't you? Never a filthy thought in that pretty head." Angel's other hand presses against Xander's forehead. "No, wait." Suddenly, that hand's in his groin, squeezing as coldly as the doctor at the annual checkup. "I must have spoken too soon."

Angel strokes two fingers up the length of Xander's cock. "Of course," he says musingly, "you never were that bright. Maybe you *haven't* thought about it."

His brows knit slightly when he glances up. When he sees Xander looking at him. So that's something. He managed to surprise the old bastard. All it took was a painfully throbbing hard-on and the refusal to look away.

"Asshole," Xander breathes. Because that's what you say when someone's in your face, grabbing your dick like it's his new favorite toy, and you'd like him to know just how much you don't need this right now.

Angel turns his palm back and forth over Xander's cock. "Your dick's definitely thought about it."

Of course it has. Of course he has. Thinking's allowed, he's gotten pretty far with just the thinking.

"Let go of me." Xander presses his hand against Angel's shoulder. He has no hope of moving him, and the harder he pushes, the harder Angel leans into him, squeezing him, working knuckles up and down the shaft.

Angel shakes his head, twisting his shoulders away so Xander's hand drops between them, then pressing his hips forward.

Xander's throat swells and closes as his palm curves instinctively around Angel's erection. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly. When the cock twitches against his palm, he opens them, looks right at Angel, and squeezes. Licks his lips, holds still, and strokes. Surprises him again: Angel's eyes widen for a bit, and his gaze darts away before coming back.

Xander strokes him as softly as he'd calm a scared kitten, full of pity and concern. "Like that, huh? Angel, Angel." He clucks his tongue. "Couldn't Buffy help you out?"

Angel's eyes blink closed as the creases of a frown deepen around his mouth. "Shut up."

"Came all the way up here," Xander says. He circles his around the crown of Angel's cock, dragging the fabric with him. "All for nothing. Pity."

Xander watches the hinges of Angel's jaws grind and drop. "Too bad," he continues. "Nice night, sad girl. Might be worth pressing your luck with the curse--"

Jagged blue and flaming purple flares cover his sight as Angel simultaneously chokes off his breath and yanks his cock down. Fizzy laughter, definitely manic now, full of things he can't say but which Angel seems to be able to read all too clearly, chokes him harder than the hand on his throat.

Xander pushes his hips against Angel's fist and tightens his own grip. In for a penny, a pound. Something like that.

"Okay," Xander says. "Maybe not."

As his vision clears and the extreme jangly edges of nerves settle away from their spectacular twirling-madwoman-dances into their usual rage, Xander sees the sharp planes of Angel's face emerging from thick, mustard-colored clouds. Dull eyes, moist lips.

"Curse doesn't work like that," Angel says, thrusting godawfully-slowly against Xander's palm. "Seems I can fuck whatever I want."

"Fuck. You got it changed."

Angel paws at Xander's cock, chuckling, and Xander can't blink. Frozen still. "No. I've just been learning a lot lately."

"And to celebrate, you took a road trip? Jesus. She just lost her mom. Joyce was a good person, and you--"

Xander chokes, blood going gummy in his throat, swooping into his cock, and he can barely stand, let alone think. He might not say the right thing most of the time and his tiny stupid brain might be clotted with useless facts and dangerous desires, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a feeling about what's right and wrong.

"Joyce never understood," Angel says.

Xander clenches as hard as he can through the fabric of Angel's pants. "Don't say that name."

"What? Joyce?" Angel's eyes search his as he works down the zipper on Xander's fly. "Joyce?"

"Joyce doesn't belong down here," Xander mutters. Bites a gasp, then his lip, as cold fingers take out his cock. Skin sizzles and he can't not thrust. He can finish this soon, just as long as Joyce stays dead. "Please? She--"

"She was sweet. Nice, nice lady. Tell me, Xander. Ever thought about fucking her?"

Of course he has. He's stupid and disgusting enough to want to stick his dick into everyone he meets. "No!"

Angel laughs. "So you did. Dirty, Xander. Dirty, dirty boy." He sounds positively delighted.

Xander spits dry. "Fuck you."

Angel tilts back his head and graces him with that smile. He's never gotten the smile. Few people have and lived. He can see why it's legendary. Beautiful in a completely unearthly way, all the more creepy and ethereal because it looks more human than most humans could manage.

Angel pats Xander's cock almost fondly. "Getting to that, yes. Just want to chat first. Bit impersonal otherwise, isn't it?"

Tears prick at Xander's eyes and he feels a rush of heat at the back of his throat. Floods pass through him, leave him brittle and light, and he can't take this any longer. He's always been weak; he's surprised he's lasted this long. "Let me go."

"Not holding you."

Xander looks down, because he can't believe it. He can't let himself believe it.

It's true. He's been standing here letting this fucking vampire abuse and molest him for how long now? He's more fucked up than he ever thought.

Then again, said demon is also still here. Lots of tunnels around; nothing keeping him.

"Yeah," Xander says. "I've got a stake, you know."

"You do." Angel trails his thumb over the shaft of the stake shaking in Xander's hand. Echoes the motion with his other thumb and Xander moans. "Good thing, too. Lots of creepy-crawlies out here at night."

"Getting pretty good with it, too." Xander nudges Angel's hand away and presses the tip just below his clavicle.

"Couldn't get much worse," Angel says quietly. He looks almost hypnotized by the way the stake skitters over his shirt. His hand's gone still on Xander's dick.

When the stake's point scrapes over bare skin, Angel hisses lowly. A thin stream of smoke rises from the scratch. "Soaked it in holy water," Xander says. "Can't be too careful."

Xander puts a little more weight behind the next scratch, and the next, blowing the smoke out of the way so he can see his handiwork.

Angel remains stock-still. The bisecting scratches, reddening with stolen blood, make a clean X just below his throat.

"Pretty," Xander says. "Oh, lookit that. Stings, huh?"

Xander leans in, twisting his hand in Angel's crotch, and licks the X, redraws it with his tongue, until Angel makes a sound almost like a moan.

"You feel pain," Xander says. "I wasn't sure."

Angel nods.

"But you like it, don't you?"

He can see the vibrations of a low growl work their way up Angel's throat. It's fascinating. Xander jabs the stake into the point where the lines cross. Through the smoke, he sees Angel's eyes close. He feels the thick cock jump in his palm, slap his skin with a tiny splash of precum.

"See, that's not so good." Xander withdraws the stake. Angel's cock pulses in his other hand. Almost as much as his own. "Can't give you what you want, can we? You always get that. Buffy. Guilt. Not very generous. What about the rest of us?"

Angel thrusts forward with his hips, knocking Xander against the wall. He drops the stake. He hears its clatter as distantly as the pain in his face. It's there, but not important.

"What about you?" Angel asks. He squeezes Xander's dick and slides his fist up and down it. Xander's hips roll. "Like that, don't you?"

"You know I do. Proved your point, and--" Xander is tired and brittle and can't find any trace of anger left. "Just stop, okay?"

"No." Angel's pelvis bucks and shimmies under Xander's hand. He's been holding it there so long the skin on his palm is numb. The motion and the cock's hardness wake him up.

Xander feels himself smile lazily, slip past tiredness and into some other region. Still colored by rage and exhaustion, but here, those things are comfortable. Ground's less shaky, too. And he can't get much lower.

"Or don't," Xander says. "Never figured you for a cocktease, though. Big champion guy and all."

Angel looks down as he drags the knuckle of his forefinger from the slit to the base of Xander's cock. Hypnotized again.

"Never one for the follow-through, though, were you?" Every nerve from his knees to his neck is begging for movement, screaming at him to thrust, just a little, get some friction against the cold satiny skin. So he does, a little, tries to take what he wants. "Always running away."

He hears the pop and grind of Angel's jaw, feels the little groove of warmth his cock makes down the center of Angel's palm.

"Go on," Xander whispers. Wonders for a second what the words mean, what they'll do. Where they're coming from. Not the smart part of him, that's for sure.

"You think I'm going to?" Angel whispers hoarsely. "Get down on my knees for you?"

The words go blazing into the tiny part of him that still knows about good and bad, safe and danger. What's possible and what is too impossible for even him to think about. "No," Xander mutters. "Not going to--"

"Look at me." Angel's mouth is slightly parted, his eyes boring back at Xander, pinning him against the wall.

That's an order, boy. Fuck, if that doesn't make his cock twitch. "Am looking at you," Xander says, hating every shake in his voice.

Angel smirks and rubs his knuckle up and down. "Not so stupid after all."

"Yes. No." Xander grinds his teeth. "Don't know."

"Need to feel something?"

Xander nods. At some point, Angel's other hand has slipped down the wall, pressing very gently against Xander's waist. Stopping him from bucking, keeping him here and upright. Angel lifts his brows, clearly expecting some kind of verbal reply. "You know I do."

"What am I, Xander?"

He knows this part by heart. Angel knows he knows, too. "A corpse. A fucking demon."

Angel graces him with another smile. "That's right."

Xander swallows. Stupidity breeds more stupidity. Thoughts and images are swirling sickly now. They snag on the pain cutting over his face and the ache of his dick and tug everything -- thought, fantasy, sensation -- into the hall of mirrors that is his mind. Warped and doubled and thrown back on each other, so fear becomes loathing and doubt trickles down into desire. "And you're going to suck my cock."

"I'm going to blow your mind out through your dick," Angel corrects him.

"That's right," Angel says, leaning in closer, hand slipping around Xander's waist. He drops lower by infinitesimal fractions, sinking to his knees in slow motion. His eyes never leave Xander's. "And you, boy?"

"Yeah?"

"Such a good. Clean. *Straight* boy," Angel says. "You're going to love it."

They regard each other. Xander's lips twitch in tune with Angel's: Just on the edge of hysteria.

Strangely enough, hysteria's not the razor's edge Xander has always pictured it. No, hysteria's a huge dark cavern lined with row after row of pointy teeth, beckoning him in. If it weren't for that face in front of him, holding him still, he'd probably just take a runner into that hole. Just to get it over with.

As it is, he trembles. Shakes like always with fear and revulsion, now with lust as heavy as lead, certain that he should be shoving Angel away with some secret strength, overpower him with the force of his shame, break away, climb back into the light.

He knows exactly what to say. "Going to fuck your face," Xander says hoarsely. "Push it down your throat and--"

Angel nods, cupping his balls, leaning in, inhaling. "I'm going to drink it all. You're going to ride me til I can't speak."

Angel's hand slides down the length of Xander's leg, lingers for a moment on his ankle, and goes to his own crotch. His eyes flick downward, pulling Xander's gaze with him. He looks back up as he takes out his cock and starts jerking it fast and hard.

"Suck you while you scream for me to stop."

Angel's head falls forward. His mouth closes around the middle of Xander's length. Xander feels his knees buckle, and sways as he fights to remain upright, watching Angel's head rise and fall, bone-deep chill going down the core of his cock, shivers frozen in a twisting chain from tongue to spine. He groans and thrusts, staring back into Angel's wide, innocent eyes.

Letting Angel suck him off has to be the stupidest thing he's ever done. It's a long list, admittedly, but this takes the top slot, easy. Just to remind himself, though, his brain is moaning along with his mouth. 'Stupid...stupid...stupid...stupid'

Getting stupider, too, the better it feels.

He wants it to stop. He doesn't want to ever stop feeling this. His hand scrapes through Angel's hair and pushes him down. He hates everything. He loves Angel's mouth. He needs to close his eyes. Angel's gaze won't let him.

Because they both need this. They hate each other almost as much as they hate themselves, and that's saying a hell of a lot. They get it: brown eyes on brown, still but flickering, they know through this look, that this is the way it has to be. It's not about feeling good, because pleasure is turning like a knife in the sun, shining sharp and dangerous. And this time, they're going to use that knife. Cut a little deeper than they ever have.

Flashing, throbbing, white-lightning jerks into the cold cavern. Xander comes, tears hot on his face, hurting more than any beating. Angel keeps his lips fastened loosely around him as he growls and pulls himself off, eyes narrowing, blame shooting into Xander like daggers.

"Crying?" Angel swipes the cum off his chin and rises. "_Le petit morte_ a little too big for you?"

"Shut up." Xander shakes his head, sniffles in a huge gob of snot. "Don't--."

Angel palms his cheek, massages tears and cum and god knows what else into his skin, over his lips, as he speaks. "Et la bière et l'alcôve en blasphèmes fécondes, Nous offrent tour à tour, comme deux bonnes soeurs, De terribles plaisirs et d'affreuses douceurs."

Xander closes his eyes. "Shut up." He doesn't know French, never knew it.

Angel traces the outline of lips until Xander opens his eyes. "Still crying?"

Xander sucks in breath and slides down the wall. "Least I'm not a cocksucker."

"Next time."

And that's a promise, he knows that much.