Summary: Angel and Sawyer cross paths in a Los Angeles bar.
Note: Once upon a time, a struggling actor named Josh Holloway guest starred on the pilot of Angel, only he was dead before the opening credits, a predatory vamp dusted by our hero in some anonymous alley. I took that instant of fandom collision and ran with it, and, of course, added pr0n. Although I watched AtS religiously, I hadn't ever written in the fandom until now. So a huge THANK YOU to my awesome beta team of uberaeryn and themoononastick for setting me on the right path there.
He watched him through half-lidded eyes, feigning a drunken stupor over two or three beers. He knew a predator when he saw one and this guy was a shark.
Across the bar, the impossibly good-looking guy slowly circled a pretty blonde girl near the pool table, paying for her drinks and her game and then showing her how to shoot. He was just this shade of too friendly with how he touched her. His hand was on hers, his body pressed against hers, hips jutting up against hips, following through for her on each stroke. He was shameless. And the girl loved it.
She was completely won over by those blue, unblinking bedroom eyes, those deep-set dimples, and that charming down-home drawl. Well, those were just a few of his attributes. The guy could be a male model, with those cheekbones and that perfect, V-shaped torso...
Angel shook his head slightly, discouraging that train of thought. Why was he drawn to the troublemakers lately? Because sweet young things had lost their appeal over the last hundred years or so, he grunted inwardly, shifting on his barstool.
The guy made his way over, as if sensing Angel’s eyes on him, but his attention was on the barman. “Closing out our tab,” he said, laying out a $20. His sleeve just brushed Angel’s. Surprisingly, there was warmth radiating from him. Human after all, he sighed.
Just his luck. He was in the mood to stake someone. Or behead something. A beheading would be nice. He sighed. He hadn’t actually seen anyone but ordinary, everyday people since coming here a few days ago. OK, that wasn’t quite true. Between the boob jobs and the Botox and the fake tans and bar after bar of Kens and Barbies, he couldn’t exactly say they were ordinary.
The guy turned just then, raking his eyes over him casually. Dark brows, improbable under blonde hair, met. I’ll get to you next, the gaze said and Angel didn’t know which way to take that.
He was confident, this guy. He positively oozed it as he walked back over to the girl, whispering something in her ear, while never taking those watchful eyes off Angel.
The girl’s head fell against him as she laughed, unable to keep from touching him, any sense of judgment gone. She was his now, and he knew it. Good-Looking Guy (because that’s how Angel had started to think of him) shot him another glance -- a smug male grin. He patted her on the hip and spoke into her ear and she nodded and they turned to leave.
They walked out into the alley and Angel was up and after them in an instant. The guy needed checking on, he decided, sliding off his barstool. It would ease that nagging feeling that coming here was a waste of time, that he’d just be swallowed up in the city. Wasn’t anonymity what he wanted? Working in darkness, secrecy. Alone. That’s why he came here, right? Do some fucking good, blah, blah, blah?
He spotted them easily, even though they were in shadow. He wasn’t the only one who liked working in darkness. The guy had the girl up against the wall now and she was struggling. It sounded like she was choking.
He’d gotten here just in the nick of time. Angel grabbed the guy and spun him around, snarling into his face. He was met with a dangerous smile like this was a bar fight the guy had been expecting. “Well, now,” the man drawled. “You tryin’ to cut in?”
The girl screamed and pummeled Angel with her fists. “Sawyer! Who the hell is this guy?”
“Don’t know, darlin. He’s not your husband?” The man looked entirely too smug and at ease with this kind of situation. He seemed about to light a cigarette.
“Hey, I’m here to help you,” Angel hissed, holding her off easily.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted. “I wasn’t in any danger, you fucking ...”
“Look,” Angel said, lifting up his hands as proof that he meant no harm and as his sleeves dropped, the stakes fastened to his arms poked through.
There was a moment’s silence as they saw, registered, and reacted to that new bit of information.
He sensed the guy making his move before he made it. He grabbed him by one arm and, instead of just sweeping him aside, as he’d planned, his sent his body arcing through the air. Angel winced on his behalf as he landed, with a cry of surprise and pain, on the hood of a nearby car, cracking the windshield.
The woman was screaming full stop and as he turned to her, a streetlight flickered on and she saw his face; the pitch of her screaming changed from garden-variety fear to mortal terror. He let her go and she ran up the alley, as fast as her high heels would take her.
The guy, Sawyer, was trying to get up and groaning with the effort. Great. Nice start in a new town, tossing around people for being too good looking and trying to get laid.
He walked over to the car and held out his hand, forgetting, in his haste to make things right, how he looked just now.
“Jesus Christ,” the man said, voice low and hushed, stricken with fear now that he saw Angel for what he was. “I’ll pay,” he pleaded, holding up his hands to shield himself. “I’ll get the money.” He closed his eyes, either in fear or readiness.
“Listen, I’m ... my mistake,” Angel said, helping him up. “I kind of overreacted there. I thought you were ... someone else.”
Fear changed to contempt. The guy glared at him, still hugging himself protectively. “You’re a fuckin’ psycho,” he snarled. “Just get the fuck offa me.”
“Are you hurt?” Angel asked, hovering like an idiot.
“Oh no, bein’ thrown against windshields doesn’t hurt at all,” the guy griped sarcastically. He brought a hand up to his head, where a trickle of blood had started. He looked at the blood on his hands and grimaced. “Fuck,” he said and pitched forward.
Angel caught him before he hit the ground. He felt warm and solid and he smelled unbelievably good, and it wasn’t just the fresh blood. He hoisted him up, making sure he had a good grip on him and inspected the wound on his head. Nothing serious. His nose brushed his bloodied scalp and he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hair.
The guy would be OK. He hadn’t had the urge to feed on anyone for the longest time but here was this ridiculously gorgeous guy, bleeding and passed out in his arms. He was sorely tempted. Besides, if he squinted, he looked a little like ... He shook his head. He hadn’t had that many beers.
He carried him to his convertible and deposited him in the passenger seat. He’d just take him back to the office, patch him up a bit and send him on his way, he told himself, even as he drove past the hospital without stopping.
The guy was still out by the time they got there. He carried him downstairs, laid him out on the table and got out his supplies. Not that he’d brought much besides his weapons, his blood supply and a few books Giles had pressed on him. But he had something to stop the bleeding and something for the pain.
As he dabbed at the cut on his head, he studied the guy’s face. He read there cruelty, an animal-like sense of survival. But also, and Angel questioned this conclusion, even as he came to it, a hint of sadness that had his protective instincts in overdrive.
Whoever he was, he was in trouble, and Angel meant to help him, if only to make up for nearly killing him.
Sawyer’s head hurt like hell and so did everything else. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. High ceilings. Dark. Metal glinted out of the corner of his eye and when he turned his head he caught his breath. A whole wall full of weapons -- giant fuckin’ double-bladed axes and huge swords and knives and hell -- was that a crossbow?
He sat up, determined to get out of there as quickly as possible, but his sore ribs had other ideas. He grunted in pain -- his side in particular, had been better -- and a concerned voice asked, “Are you OK?”
The guy from the bar -- the one who’d gone psycho on his ass and started tossing him around --stepped into view. The same one whose face had changed into some kind of twisted Halloween mask, only without the mask. Sawyer shivered. This was not good.
“Yeah, fine. Peachy,” he said quickly. “Listen, uh, I’ll just be on my merry way, if it’s all the same to you.”
“You’re in trouble?”
Was that a threat? It sounded oddly like a question. Sawyer started to sweat.
The guy -- too big for him to take, especially in this condition -- was staring at him steadily, arms folded across his chest. He was dressed in black head to toe. Fit this kinky dungeon scenario just a little too well.
“I’ve really gotta get goin’,” Sawyer said casually, swinging his legs off the table and attempting to stand up. He swayed a little, cursing at his obvious unsteadiness.
“Easy,” the guy said, at his side in a second to grab an elbow. “You’re safe here.”
When Sawyer just glared at him, he added, “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Angel. I thought you were ... a threat. I’m sorry about that.”
“Sorry?” Sawyer snapped, yanking his arm back and instantly regretting the sharp stab in his side the motion caused. “Sorry for damn near killin’ me? This how you get your kicks, Mr. Angel?”
“Uh, just Angel,” the guy said, brow heavily furrowed in what seemed like a permanent expression. ”I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help. Really. That’s what I do. I uh, help people who are in trouble. Which is why I followed you tonight. I thought you were going to hurt that girl.”
“I don’t hurt people,” Sawyer snarled. “That looks like your department. Or is that your game, first you beat people up, then you kidnap them, then you want to play doctor? Count me out.”
He had already narrowed down his means of escape to the elevator just to his right. Not so easy to just duck out of here, but he was sure as hell gonna try. He started inching towards it, hoping that Psycho Man here wouldn’t try to stop him. The elevator was already on this level, so with any luck ...
“Who do you owe money to?” Angel asked, watching him carefully but so far not making a move.
“Just some guys,” Sawyer answered, his eyes on Angel’s face even as he edged closer to the elevator. “Not really worth botherin’ about.”
“Would they kill you because of it?”
”Maybe. You never know. People get awful touchy about money.” A few more feet and he could make a break for it.
“I could talk to them,” Angel offered, pivoting to follow Sawyer, he noted with a rising panic.
“Yeah, great. That would be great,” Sawyer said mechanically and then he ran for it. He pushed the button and jumped inside as quick as the doors opened. But they closed all too slowly and Angel was inside with him as they shut with an ominous metallic clang.
In this enclosed space, Angel seemed bigger than ever, a huge shadow falling over him. Sawyer swallowed hard. He’d known fear like this only once before and he felt paralyzed.
“I don’t think you’re in any shape to go anywhere,” Angel said, stepping across the cage until he had him pinned against the iron grillwork.
“Just let me go.” Sawyer’s voice came out in a whimper. His side was hurting badly now and his shirt was wet and not, he thought, from sweat. He never figured that this would be the way he’d go, at the hands of some random nutjob.
He closed his eyes, waiting to feel hands around his throat, instead the hands were on his waist. OK, it was clearly going to get worse before the end. A lot worse.
“You’re bleeding,” the guy said, pulling up his shirt.
“’s OK,” he mumbled, but Angel didn’t move away.
Instead, he ran his hand along Sawyer’s side lightly, looking for the source of the blood. “The glass from the windshield,” he muttered by way of explanation. “Must have punctured your side.”
At his touch, Sawyer remembered deliberately brushing up against him at the bar. He’d noticed him checking him out and then when he’d shown up in the alley, he thought it just might be his lucky night. Yeah, the guy was hot, he’d told himself at first. This little scenario right now wouldn’t have been out of line at all, if the guy wasn’t some kind of freakish monster, if there weren’t all those axes a few feet away, If he wasn’t losing blood at an unhealthy rate and dangerously close to fainting.
Angel had his shirt off now and was trying to stanch the blood but he didn’t seem to be having much luck with it.
“You’re losing too much blood,” Angel said. “I need to get you to a hospital. But you won’t make it unless I do something first.”
“OK,” Sawyer muttered indifferently as he slid down to the floor of the elevator. He was hovering somewhere around the roof of the elevator now and if he could just make it up to the next floor...
He could only think “Huh” as Angel whipped off his own shirt now. He took Sawyer’s head in his hands and spoke slowly. “I need you to do exactly what I say, alright?”
Sawyer didn’t respond, annoyed that Angel was holding him back from getting up to that next floor.
Angel got Sawyer’s attention when he took a knife from his pocket. He watched, relief mixed with horror as he drew it across his own chest, right above his heart. A line of blood appeared.
“Drink,” he told Sawyer, taking his head and pulling it toward him. “You’ll feel better.”
“What?” Sawyer fought him. “What are you, some kinda sick vampire wannabe?”
“Not a wannabe,” Angel said grimly, dark eyes hooded, and Sawyer felt a chill go through him. He remembered that terrible face in the alley, the amazing strength of the guy.
“No way,” he said, trying to shake his head free. This wasn’t happening. He’d hit his head and maybe his drink had been spiked or something. But he was losing the fight with this insanely strong, shirtless maniac, who was inexorably pulling his head to his bloodied chest. He forced his lips to the wound and the next thing he knew, he was lapping up the blood, like an animal. He shuddered with revulsion but it actually tasted good, thick and salty and reminiscent of something else he couldn’t quite place.
Angel held him close, not letting him stop and he could feel life flowing back into him. The lightheadedness was gone, and most of the pain. He wasn’t sure if the bleeding in his side had stopped but he suddenly felt as strong as an ox, like he could lift a goddamn car or something.
And there was another side effect. His dick was now as hard as the iron at his back and he wasn’t sure if that was entirely due to the strange medicine or the fact that his mouth was on another man’s chest.
He stopped licking now and sat back, feeling warm, but not drowsy. His fear was gone, and so was the desire to leave. His heart was racing and he was acutely aware of Angel’s half nakedness and the fingers still laced in his hair. It felt like that time he took X, where everything existed only to be touched and explored and enjoyed.
“Better?” Angel asked and Sawyer nodded, unwilling to look away from those fathomless dark eyes.
In the back of his mind, or more like the sub basement of his brain, a tucked away place not unlike the room he was in right now, he knew he should still be scared. That he should get away, now. Knew that like he knew he should quit smoking one day. But not today. Living a long life was overrated anyway.
Right now, he just licked his lips, licking away the last of the blood, and as he did it, he saw the interest in Angel’s eyes. Angel trailed a finger across his chest, smearing it in his own blood, and then he brought it to Sawyer’s lips. Sawyer’s tongue darted out, readily taking in the now-familiar taste. His mouth closed around the finger and he felt something like a shudder go through the other man. If he even is a man...
And then all thought was extinguished as Angel took away his hand and, after a few seconds when it seemed Angel’s gaze would burn right through him, he lowered his mouth to his, lips brushing softly at first, and then his tongue roughly forcing his mouth open.
His hand was at Sawyer’s throat now, thumb rubbing over the pulse point and that small stab of fear was there, but muffled under the tremendous wave of arousal that spiked in him as Angel shifted closer until they were skin to skin. A low growl sounded in Angel’s throat and Sawyer felt the change in him that the taste of blood brought, felt his face change and his tongue brushed over sharp teeth. This is it, he thought, and he gave in, growling in return. He never thought death would come with a kiss, but he was beyond fighting it.
Besides, there was nowhere to go.
Angel abruptly drew back. Even in this dim light, the demonic, distorted face was still far too vivid, the stuff that nightmares are made of. He could only stare as Angel shook his head and when he was still again, his features had returned to normal. The mask was gone, or back in place. He wasn’t sure which, only sure that when Angel’s hand slipped inside his jeans, he didn’t care about anything as long as he didn’t stop.
Angel’s hand was wet and warm on his cock and when he realized it was from the blood, he had to be tasting it on his lips again. He fastened his mouth on the cut on Angel’s chest. It had already stopped bleeding but Sawyer tore at with his lips and teeth until the blood hit his tongue again. His skin was on fire, the blood singing in his veins. Sunbursts of energy and pleasure coursed through him with every stroke of Angel’s hand, like the blood was answering its own call. “Can’t breathe,” he gasped, but he thrust his hips up, needing even more friction, needing to be closer.
Angel pressed his forehead against his, pushing him back hard against the iron bars, and they were both panting and gasping and he bit harder. He was so close, so close, and he needed to hear Angel, needed to know he could feel what he was feeling, this crazy intensity that was all coming from him.
Angel’s mouth was on his neck now, his tongue worrying his pulse, reading the signs that his body was near to breaking under his touch. Sawyer bit down along the ragged edges of Angel’s wound and came with a strangled cry, a warm rush flooding his body, burning him clean, sending him spinning out into the night, into the stars, somewhere so far away he didn’t think he’d ever come back.
His mind was blank, his body still on fire, when he again felt the hard metal frame of the elevator against his back and knew where he was.
Angel’s hand hadn’t left his cock and he twitched as he kept stroking the sensitized skin. And then he was helping Angel out of his pants and both hands were rubbing his cock against Sawyer’s, spreading the slick moisture over him and Sawyer sucked in a breath.
He knew he wanted this too, had wanted it ever since he’d locked eyes with Angel at the bar. Everything so far was just a prelude.
Angel helped Sawyer to his feet, kissed him again, hands roaming over his ass, his jeans somehow crumpled up at his feet. “We really should get you to the hospital,” he said, voice low and rumbling in his throat.
“Plenty of time,” Sawyer groaned into his mouth and then Angel was turning him around and spreading his legs and he let his head fall back against him.
Angel’s hand lingered lightly at his injured side, and seemingly satisfied, he gripped Sawyer hard by the hips. And just like that, he was inside him, pinning Sawyer between the hard, lean bulk of his body and the unforgiving metal. Sawyer’s fingers curled around the filigreed iron, bracing himself for each new thrust, gasping as they got harder and more punishing.
Angel burned inside him until he was convinced he was being fucked by the devil, that anything this hard, this furious and unforgiving but so painfully fucking good, wasn’t human. Angel’s hands mercilessly dug into his hips and razor-sharp teeth scraped along his neck and was sure that Angel had transformed again, that he was wearing his true face as he fucked him.
Angel’s hand was on his cock again and he wanted to beg him to stop because he couldn’t take anymore. He was going to die of just pure sensation, and then Angel was growling in his ear, “Come, damn you,” and he did, ass and cock and every fucking inch of skin completely under Angel’s command. Angel let out a deep moan and he shuddered inside him, filling him with heat and scent and wetness, hands gripping him tight, as if he they were the only thing keeping him from falling from a great height.
He knew he should feel a rapid heartbeat in the chest pressed against his back, but there was nothing. He felt the sweat and the little tremors as Angel licked along his neck, but not the normal thudding of a heart. Normal. He’d left normal about eight turns ago, back in that bar.
Angel pulled out abruptly now and the metal under his fingers was suddenly cold. The panic from before was definitely in the mail, even if it wasn’t here yet.
He turned around and Angel already had his pants on. His face was blank. Human seeming. His expression was serious. He threw him his clothes and Sawyer got dressed quickly, not meeting his eyes.
“You alright?” Angel asked, pulling his shirt over his head. It was black and if there was any blood on it, it didn’t show.
“Great,” he said, although to be honest, the euphoria of a few moments ago was fading fast. His aches were reannouncing themselves loudly. “Didn’t you say something about a hospital?”
“OK, let’s get you taken care of,” Angel said, nodding. He pushed a button and the doors opened.
“Maybe best not to mention all this,” Angel was saying and Sawyer stifled a laugh.
“No shit. I don’t want to be commited to the psych ward. I got into a fight in the alley. Some maniac.”
Angel’s hand was on his back, half supporting, half guiding as they walked to the car.
The red and yellow street lights seemed to linger in his vision as they shot past and he couldn’t stop touching the leather interior. Drugged. Definitely. That was it.
Angel watched Sawyer as he walked into the emergency room on his own two feet and then he turned the car back to his office. He could always find him again, if he wanted. L.A. wasn’t that big.