*****

Sometimes, you end up living the life you always knew you were meant for.

He was gonna go somewhere and do something. He was gonna be someone. He was gonna be a star. That's what he'd thought and that's what he'd told his mother the night he'd left home and never looked back.

He'd done it, too: he'd been the biggest and brightest fucking star they'd ever seen. He'd been so bright that just one look at him - no, just the mention of his name could make them come, make them spark and explode like the neon sign he'd seen in visions of "Dirk Diggler" before he took it and made it his own. Made the name his own, made the world his own.

Yeah, he'd been a star, a big movie star. He'd been the fucking sun at the center of Jack Horner's universe. And then for a while he'd thought he was gonna be a rock star, too. He felt hands on him now, not on his skin but on his clothing, grabbing at his shirt and his jacket, and for a moment he wondered if this was what it was like to be a rock star. If he and Reed had been able to get their demo tape from the recording studio and gotten a contract and become rock stars, maybe this very thing would be happening to him now. Maybe he'd be getting pulled from his car by adoring fans who couldn't help themselves, screaming, unable to stop touching him, wanting him so bad...

These guys were pulling him out of the truck and they were touching him, alright - but not the way he'd dreamed it. And what they were screaming wasn't his name: "Fucking faggot," one of them spat out. As another blow struck Eddie Adams from Torrance in the face and he fell to the cold, hard, parking lot ground, he could only think that sometimes you end up living the life you always knew you were meant for. And sometimes you don't.

+++

**This,** Angel thought with more resignation than disgust as he rounded the corner and started down Olive Avenue, **is most definitely not my beautiful life.** Head down as he trudged along, he briefly wondered what it would be like to find himself in another part of the world, behind the wheel of a large automobile, in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife...

But as the song goes, it's once in a lifetime, and he'd already had his shot at the sun and blown it. Now he was here in Los Angeles, like he had been for more than thirty years - though, technically, he wasn't prowling the streets in the City of Angels these days. No, technically, he was a Valley Boy now. That should be funny. He should be laughing at that. Angelus would be laughing at that. Not that thoughts of Angelus were any consolation, or even relevant to anything at all anymore. He wasn't Angelus and he wanted nothing to do with Angelus - not memories, not speculation, nothing.

He wasn't Angelus, and he wasn't laughing. There was a lot he wasn't. He wasn't looking where he was going because he wasn't looking for anyone or anything; he didn't want anything because there was nothing to want. He was just walking, head bowed, because... he didn't know why. He was just walking, not being Angelus.

Sometimes you find things, though, whether you're looking for them or not. It wasn't a large automobile or a beautiful house or a beautiful wife that Angel found as he passed the back lot of Vons; it was the smell of blood.

Human blood.

Blood that he didn't want. Blood that he had no interest in. So it wasn't anything so mundane or absurd as desire that made him look.

Four young men were standing around kicking the shit out of someone on the ground, someone curled up and bleeding. Angel shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, hunched his shoulders and kept going. But he didn't turn his head back fast enough to avoid catching a glimpse of the face on the ground.

He was half a block away before he stopped moving. **Go!** he silently commanded the feet he was staring at, but they wouldn't obey. He didn't want to go back. It was none of his concern. He didn't care what happened back there; he didn't care about anyone or anything, not even himself and certainly not that kid on the ground. The kid probably wasn't who Angel thought he was, anyhow. He was just seeing things. Why he would see that face, he couldn't imagine. But he didn't care. No, he really and truly did not care...

+++

As the blows continued to rain down on his body, the voices became just sounds. He couldn't do anything but lie there and take it, and be grateful that at least he couldn't understand the words. Somehow, words were always the worst.

Abruptly, it stopped, all of it - no more hitting or kicking or shouting. Hands searched his pockets roughly, retrieving the precious few dollars they'd given him moments before, and maybe because it was the only sound now, he heard the words clearly: "You don't do this, donkey dick!" He didn't respond, didn't even move as he listened to their footsteps going away, car doors slamming, engines revving and fading into the distance. Curled up on his side just like they'd left him, he began to cry.

"Donkey dick." That's all he was. He wasn't Dirk Diggler anymore; Dirk Diggler would never be lying, broke, bruised and beaten, in the filth of a parking lot at night. He hadn't been Eddie Adams for a long time and he knew he could never go back. He was no one. He was Donkey Dick.

He didn't know how long he let the sobs shake his battered body. It was a little while after they stopped before he tried to move. Though his head spun slightly when he sat up, nothing felt broken. Slowly he got to his feet, wondering where he would go and what he would do now. He didn't think he could turn another trick tonight, not because of how he looked now - some guys liked that, and besides, no one had ever paid to look at his face. He just didn't know how to go about finding someone who would pay for the part of him that - he stuck one hand down his pants once more to reassure himself, fingers closing around his cock in a gentle squeeze - wasn't all messed up like the rest of him. Hanging out in grocery store parking lots in the Valley didn't seem to be working.

With no plan in mind he began to head out towards the streets, when a movement in the shadows startled him enough to stop him cold. Someone stepped out of the shadows, and for a moment Dirk thought one of them had stayed behind to finish him off. He was prepared to beg for his life but couldn't move or open his mouth to speak. The stranger standing before him stopped moving and remained silent, and so they stood staring at each other. Finally, Dirk found his voice.

"What do you want?" he asked guardedly.

"Just wanted to make sure you're okay," Angel said.

"I'm fine," Dirk said, carefully watching for any signs of aggression, preparing to run. The guy was maybe a couple of years older, bigger than him and, especially in the state he found himself in right now, surely stronger. But the guy seemed alright: he was just hanging back, hands in pockets, looking Dirk all over except in the eye... yeah, it was never his face they wanted. Dirk began to relax, and even feel hopeful.

"Long way down, huh?" Angel observed quietly.

Dirk wasn't sure if the looks and the comment meant what he thought they did. Hesitantly, he asked, "You know who I am?"

Angel nodded. Dirk tried smiling, and winced as the cut skin around his mouth was stretched. Angel saw a softness in his face then: in that smile was not just megalomaniacal satisfaction at recognition, but some of that happy innocence he'd thought the boy would lose when he got into the porn business. Somehow, it was still there under the bruised, sallow skin. Angel was charmed by it, enough to return the smile with a slight one of his own. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Dirk looked momentarily confused. "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

"I used to take the ten." When Dirk didn't visibly react, Angel expanded, "Before you started making movies, when you were working at that club on Reseda. I used to take the ten."

Dirk nodded, knowing what the guy meant, and looked a little closer; but there had been a lot of guys in those days who had watched him jerk off, and he didn't recognize this one. He swallowed. "You still want it?" He shifted and looked off to the side. "I mean, maybe a five? I don't think I can do a ten right now..." His voice trailed off, and he couldn't bring himself to look back.

"Okay," Angel heard himself saying. **What are you doing?** he asked himself, but found no point in attempting an answer. Dirk met his eyes then and held out his hand. Angel fished deeper in his pocket for his money clip, producing a five dollar bill. He reached across the distance between them and deposited it in Dirk's waiting hand, his gaze following that hand into Dirk's pocket, to the snap of his jeans, thumb and forefinger grasping the zipper tab and dragging it all the way down slowly. Then the hand reached inside and pulled it out, and Angel was gazing at that legendary cock that he'd seen larger-than-life so many times from the back row of seedy places like the Tomcat on Santa Monica Boulevard. And now he was seeing it, live, in the flesh. And what magnificent flesh it was.

Angel took a breath even though he didn't have to; he just *wanted* to. His eyes moved up to Dirk's face in time to catch the boy gazing at the bulging wad in the money clip Angel was still holding, and then their eyes met. Dirk licked his lips nervously, and Angel found himself holding the breath he'd just taken. He wanted to shake his head at the ridiculous state this boy was reducing him to so easily, but he didn't dare move for fear of scaring the boy off.

"Do you, uh... do you, want," Dirk struggled, brow knit earnestly, tension creasing his forehead. It seemed impossible to Dirk - but then, he wasn't Dirk, wasn't Eddie; he was Donkey Dick; he was no one, with no choice. It wasn't impossible; it was inevitable. So he took a breath and forced the words out in a rush: "Do-you-want-to- touch-it?" He swallowed again and looked at Angel.

**More than any-fucking-thing,** Angel thought, musing that it was nice to have wants and interests once in awhile. He almost smiled, but instead he looked at the boy with a studied surface calm that he always kept in place no matter how tumultuous he found himself internally. "How much?"

One hand on his hip, Dirk ran the other through his hair and scratched the back of his head. "Twenty bucks," he said, and though there was no rising inflection at the end, Angel nevertheless sensed how clearly a question it was. Stronger than a question - a begging plea, wrapped in as much dignity as the boy could muster under this duress.

Without comment, Angel drew a twenty dollar bill from the money clip and extended it towards Dirk, who accepted it with equal silence. Again he turned his head away as Angel moved closer and dropped his hand down, let his fingertips rest at the base of the flaccid beast. The boy jumped, whether from the coldness or from the mere fact of his touch, Angel didn't know; he jumped, but stayed where he was. Angel himself was trembling ever so slightly as he traced the impressive length of the shaft. What he wanted was to lick everywhere his fingers were touching; he wanted it so bad, he could almost taste it, the salty sourness, the skin and sweat and cum... When he wrapped his fingers around the cock, Dirk turned back and looked Angel in the eye.

"That'll cost more," he said, his voice perceptibly shaky. Angel knew he had never gone this far before, and reflected that the boy was a lot farther down than he'd suspected when he'd made his initial remark. Fist still curled around the limp cock, Angel wordlessly held out the money clip and its entire contents. Dirk looked from the wad of bills to Angel's face and back. Eyes fixed on Angel's, Dirk took the money and shoved it into his front pocket, flinching only slightly when Angel's hand squeezed his cock. Dirk felt the other hand on the back of his head, fingers playing with strands of his hair and sliding down towards his neck, and any moment he expected to feel the guy's breath on his face as he stroked Dirk slowly, trying to coax him towards erection. He didn't feel breath, but he did feel the guy leaning in, and he jerked away involuntarily with a backward step.

"No kissing," he said quietly. His fingers tightened around the money in his fist - there had to be several hundred, maybe even a thousand... "On the mouth," he amended, closing his eyes and steeling himself as he repeated, "No kissing on the mouth."

Accepting that the boy's lips were on the other side of an uncrossable line, Angel dipped his head and let his tongue trace a cool, wet path along the boy's jaw and down his throat as he rubbed his thumb over the cockhead. He moved closer to Dirk, propelling him back gently until he had the boy up against the wall. Dirk tensed for a moment and Angel gave him enough space to twist away, to run if that's what he needed to do. But Dirk mastered himself, pressing his back against the wall, tilting his head back, eyes turned heavenwards.

Although he knew the boy was more likely seeking forgiveness from his god than actually offering himself, Angel chose the latter reading and once more pressed his lips to the boy's throat, renewing his manipulation of the not-quite-so-limp cock his fingers stretched around. He parted his lips, mouthed the adam's apple briefly, wishing it were another part of the boy's body, then continued licking his way down towards the collarbone.

He felt his own cock stiffen suddenly as the tip of his tongue brushed across something so delicious, he actually moaned aloud against the boy's neck: traces of drying blood. His hand tightened around Dirk's cock as his tongue sought more of the coppery substance, licking and sucking with increasing fervor.

With his eyes closed, Dirk could almost imagine it wasn't the guy, wasn't a guy at all fisting him and kissing his neck. He tried picturing Rollergirl - but that was too painful. He reached into his memory for something good and came up with the girl he used to fool around with when he lived in Torrance. Cheryl Ann. That was her name. He pictured Cheryl Ann working on giving him a hickey, jerking him off, moaning against him - yeah, when he thought of Cheryl Ann it was kind of nice, it did feel pretty nice, oh yeah...

Angel couldn't help himself; he didn't *want* to help himself, he just wanted to taste this boy - **oh god, please, please,** he thought incoherently, overwhelmed with his own desire; and disgusted at what he'd become. **This is what comes of wanting,** a part of him thought in the recesses of his mind, even as he sank to his knees.

Although it was starting to feel good, really good, Dirk reached down and placed his hand over the one on his semi-erect cock to stop it. Even if it had been Cheryl Ann, Dirk still wouldn't have felt right about getting sucked off out here in the open like this. It wasn't that he had inhibitions or anything; if there had been a camera around, that would have been another story. But there were no cameras, and this definitely wasn't Cheryl Ann. Besides, those guys could come back, and if they found him like this... he shuddered and didn't finish the thought.

Feeling that shudder, Angel started to look up. Then he felt Dirk's hands in his hair and heard the boy say, "Wait." Angel rocked back on his heels. "Do you have a car?" Dirk asked. "Or somewhere we could go?"

"I have a place not far from here," Angel told him, getting up.

"You know my name," Dirk said as they left the parking lot and started down Olive, "but what should I call you?"

The song going through his head earlier came back to the fore of Angel's mind: **And you may ask yourself/Where does that highway go?/And you may ask yourself/Am I right?...Am I wrong?/And you may tell yourself/My God!...What am I about to do?**

Well, he was taking some liberties with that last line. Angel smiled. Taking liberties. "You can call me Dave."

+++

Angel turned the key in the lock, turned it back and tried again until he got the soft *click*. He opened the door and stood to the side as Dirk followed him in, then shut the door and flicked on the overhead light.

He'd known the boy had been beaten pretty badly, but he couldn't help feeling a little shocked at the way his face looked in the light. Bruises darkening, cuts crusted over with blood. The shock must have shown in his own face, because Dirk colored slightly, immediately dropped his head and turned away, pretending to check out the room. Not that it was much to look at - a basic studio apartment, bed, sofa, a small television on a TV cart, and that was it. Angel knew the boy was wondering how he could afford that wad of cash if this was how he lived, but he didn't offer any explanation. There was no explanation that would make sense to the boy. He lived like this because he wanted to.

"Oh, you have pet rats!" Dirk exclaimed, noticing the large cage in the corner. "Rats are cool," he said as he went over and crouched down, tapping the glass to get their attention. "You must really like them, huh? What do you have, like a dozen here?"

Angel didn't comment; he knew Dirk really wasn't that interested in the rats. He wanted to tell the boy it was okay, that he had nothing to be ashamed of, that it wasn't his fault those guys had turned on him. But words of consolation and reassurance were far too intimate for the commercial relationship the two of them had established. So instead he asked, "Do you want to go to the hospital?"

The guy's voice was steady, but Dirk had seen the outright dismay in his eyes when he'd gotten a good look. The words, meant with consideration, nevertheless caused a mild panic in Dirk. He was afraid to go to the hospital, afraid that the guy would want his money back; and Dirk couldn't give up the money that was comfortably nestled in his front pocket against his cock. He got himself under control and managed to flash a grin as he turned back. "No, I'll be okay." He tried not to wince and let the smile fade, then added, "I just - do you think it would maybe be alright if I took a shower?"

"Of course," Angel replied. He showed Dirk to the tiny bathroom. "I don't have any clean towels, I'm sorry. This is the only one I own," he apologized, indicating the graying towel hung on the back of the door.

"That's cool," Dirk said, barely giving it a glance. "Thank you," he added, and Angel nodded as he left, shutting the door behind him. Dirk stood there for a moment, hand resting on the doorknob. Finally, he pushed in the button to lock it and went over to the shower stall, pulling back the curtain and turning the knob all the way to "hot." He wanted the water to get really hot, so hot it would make his skin pink all over; really hot showers were one of his favorite things, and he could never get the water hot enough when there was a chick in there with him. He liked private, hot showers to relax.

He stripped off his clothes while he waited and took a look at himself in the mirror. He wasn't shining right now. He was - what was the word for it, when something got scuffed and dulled? Tarnished. That's what he was. He was a tarnished star, but all he needed was a hot shower to shine him up nice and clean. He had to shine for this guy, that was for sure.

As he stepped into the stall and pulled the curtain back in place, felt the hot water pounding into his sore muscles, washing away the dirt and stink, he wondered why he cared. Why it was so important to shine for this guy. Besides the obvious, of course - which was that he always liked to shine. That's what he did, that was his thing. Fucking shining. Shining and fucking. Didn't matter that there weren't cameras around; this guy was paying for a private show. And that's what Dirk intended to give him.

Running his soaped-up hands over his body, caressing his arms, his chest, his abs, lingering with special attention as always on his cock, he wondered if he was right to trust this guy. Not that the guy had done anything weird or scary - not as far as guys who went to pick up other guys and pay them for sex in parking lots went - but then, wasn't doing that creepy enough? Still, he did trust the guy for no reason he could put into words. It was something about his aura, Dirk supposed.

He wanted to stay under the soothing wet heat just a little longer, but he knew the guy was waiting. Reluctantly, he turned the water off and stepped out, dried himself off and then wrapped the damp towel around his waist. He looked at himself in the mirror again, skin pink and clean. Yeah, he was shining now. He was almost ready. He reached down and started fondling himself, striving for an erection. When he was as hard as he thought he could get, he flashed himself a smile. Dissatisfied, he shook it off and tried again. **Come on,** he pleaded, **come on, where are you?** On the third try, he saw a glimmer in his own eye - there he was, Dirk Diggler. Yeah. Okay.

He gathered up his clothes, feeling the jeans pocket for reassurance that the money was still there, and then checked himself in the mirror one more time. He didn't look right holding the clothing, so he deposited it by the door and straightened up again. Much better. **You can do this. You're a star.** He swept his arms in the karate move he always used to psyche himself up, and opened the door.

Warmed from the rats he'd drained and stretched out on the sofa because he thought the bed might be too presumptuous or threatening, Angel turned in the direction of the door opening. For a moment he was perfectly, preternaturally still. The sight of the vulnerable boy in the doorway, backlit angelic by the glow from the bathroom, brought his predator instincts to the fore. With difficulty, he forced his eyes closed, fought the demon back down. When he felt in control again, he opened his eyes.

**Beautiful,** he mused, drinking in the moisture glistening all over the boy's body which was on display as he leaned in the doorway, one arm stretched along the frame; his hair wet and tousled, probably combed with his fingers, making him look younger; fingers on his hip, bunching the material around his waist to hold it closed... **More than beautiful.** The boy took a step forwards, twisting slightly to flick off the bathroom light behind him, and then he was fully in the room. In the overhead light Angel saw that his body was clean of blood - but the bruises were darkening to purple at the center, yellow and green ringing the ugly marks. Something tried to come up in him at the sight of those marks, something that didn't find them so ugly - but again Angel closed his eyes and won the battle with himself.

When he opened them again, he saw that Dirk had dropped the towel without being asked - and Angel had no choice but to come to his feet only to drop to his knees. With a slight nod, not daring a larger gesture let alone a word that might disrupt the mood by pointing to the real balance of power; with a slight nod, Angel brought the boy to him. Luxuriating in the idolatrous gaze shining on him, Dirk strode across the room and claimed his place before the kneeling Angel.

Angel took his time, just admiring the extraordinary cock before him. When he felt fingers tangling in his hair, pressing him forward, he opened his mouth and took Dirk inside, hands resting on the boy's hips for support. His tongue swirled around the head before moving down on the shaft, his lips forming a tight seal around the shaft as he began to bob up and down, tongue in constant motion, careful not to use his teeth - not yet. Dirk moaned lightly, rocking into Angel's mouth, and Angel gradually increased his pace, tongue lashing around the cock, pulling back to lavish attention just on the tip, then plunging down to take Dirk, all of him, as far as he would go.

As Angel deep-throated him, Dirk was surprised and intensely aroused at the same time; no one had ever gone that far down on him before. He tried to be gentle, but the sensation was almost overwhelming and he couldn't stop rocking, thrusting into Angel's mouth and moaning, "Oh fuck, yeah, that's right, baby, suck it, fuck me."

Angel felt crushed by Dirk's cock, crushed inside-out, but not for anything would he stop. The damage to his esophagus didn't matter; nothing mattered right now - nothing was permanent, there was only this moment. This moment, and the cock in his mouth. With Dirk down his throat, he swallowed twice in quick succession, moaning himself, only dimly aware of his own throbbing erection as he concentrated on the cock he was making love to, releasing it from his throat to once more lick and suck the head. Dirk continued his encouraging moans, one hand on Angel's shoulder now for leverage as his hips thrust.

As Angel's mouth moved along Dirk's length, cheeks hollow with the force of suction, he added the friction of his teeth scraping along. He was getting a sense of what Dirk liked, how he really liked it, but Angel kept his movements teasingly shallow - Dirk wasn't going back in his throat until he asked for it.

He didn't have long to wait, as Dirk's fingers twisted insistently in his hair, urging him forward. "Do it again," Dirk said softly, "swallow me, come on, take it, take me, fuck yeah." Angel let Dirk's cockhead slide between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, tilting his head to the right angle to take him all the way down, keeping his throat perfectly relaxed as his lips and tongue worked towards the base of the shaft. Dirk began to buck more frantically against him, grunting and moaning, fingers tightening in Angel's hair. Feeling Dirk on the edge, Angel again began swallowing rhythmically - and then shivered as he felt the cum sliding down his throat. Driven by his need to taste the boy, he let the head slide back into his mouth, lapping at the fluids gushing from the tip as his hand moved from the boy's hip to curl around his pulsing shaft until he was spent.

His own hard-on unrelieved, Angel got to his feet, hands in pockets. Still trying to catch his breath, Dirk swallowed, eyes closed. Angel glanced at him, then looked down to rearrange himself a little more comfortably in his now-too-tight jeans. Returning his attention to the boy, he licked his lips, cleaning up traces of cum. "You can sleep here tonight if you need a place to stay," Angel offered casually. "The sofa's not that comfortable, but it's better than the street."

Dirk opened his eyes then and started to explain that he wasn't living on the street, but instead he tilted his head curiously. This guy had paid him a lot of money... "That's it?" he asked, a puzzled eyebrow raised. "That's all you want? You don't want to do anything else?"

**All that innocence,** Angel mused, wondering again how it could still be intact after all the boy had been through. He hadn't been through *this,* though; he was a newcomer to the streets, and a part of Angel - the part that was not aroused so much as charmed by the innocence - wanted to save the boy from ever becoming experienced.

The side of him that was aroused, however, merely feigned an innocent look of his own and asked, "What do *you* want to do?"

With a small shrug and a slight shake of his head, Dirk replied, "Whatever you want." Even as the words came out of his mouth, he felt like it was someone else saying it. Not Dirk Diggler, not Eddie Adams, but someone else offering himself over entirely to this guy. Donkey Dick was back. He shifted his weight and dropped his eyes, unable to look at the guy.

**Fucking beautiful,** Angel thought of the awkward young man before him who was shy not of the exposure of his body but of his raw need for money. To ease the tension, to belie the depths of his own need for that very body, Angel couldn't help but tease, "What if I want you to kiss me?"

Dirk was quiet; the silence went on for so long that Angel realized Dirk was actually considering it, struggling with himself, searching for the right answer. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to be anxious around him, so he smiled and said, "No? Then how about fucking me instead?"

A new tension followed in the wake of the relief that swept across Dirk's face, as he registered what Angel actually wanted of him. But he had said "anything," and it wasn't like he hadn't considered the possibility that that's what the guy would ask for. He could do this. It wasn't like the guy wanted to fuck him.

Still, he hesitated. This guy had probably had lots of fantasies about him, and he didn't want to disappoint. He had a reputation to uphold.

"I never fucked a guy before," he confessed almost shyly.

**I bet you're a natural,** Angel thought. Aloud, he said, "Nothing to it. Just do your thing."

His thing. Fucking. Yeah, Dirk could do this. He cast about for something to look at while the guy got undressed, and looked again at the rats milling about in their cage.

"Heads up," Angel said, and Dirk turned back just in time to catch the tube tossed to him. He looked at it, registering that it was a lubricant, and blushed slightly. He unscrewed the cap, squeezed a generous dollop into his palm, and coated his cock liberally, stroking himself until he was completely hard again. He approached the bed, putting the tube on the nightstand and flicking off the light. There was enough light coming through the window for him to see what he was doing, so he climbed onto the bed without touching the guy.

"Should I, uh, just start?"

Lying on his back, Angel smiled in the darkness. "Whenever you're ready." Dirk knelt up and moved into position between Angel's legs, cock in hand. He rubbed it along the guy's crack, not entirely sure how to proceed. He wished the guy had some coke, or at least a beer to help loosen him up. But it was just him. Just him and all him.

Angel shivered as the hot cockhead brushed against him. When he realized that Dirk was not teasing him but, in fact, didn't know what to do, he reached down and placed his hand over Dirk's. "Here," he said in a low tone, moving the cock into position at his opening. He thought it might be too much for the boy to finger him first, so he pressed the head inside himself, gasping as body tried to accommodate it. Dirk pushed into him slowly, as far in as he could get, and Angel wondered if the boy was always this gentle or if it was nerves. He'd seen enough films to know Dirk Diggler wasn't a gentle lover, but maybe the boy was different in real life.

Real life. God, he was fucking Dirk Diggler in real life. Well, Dirk Diggler was fucking him - but it was real life. Suddenly, he couldn't bear the dark; he had to see.

"Dirk," Angel said. "Turn on the light. I want to look at you."

"Sure," Dirk obliged, leaning over while still inside Angel and turning on the table lamp. When he returned to position, he surprised Angel by pulling out of him and taking his cock purposefully in hand. At the loss of contact, Angel started to explain that that wasn't what he meant - he just wanted to look at Dirk's face when he came - but before he could form words, he was distracted by the sight of Dirk's cock, and his hand moving on it.

Kneeling between Angel's legs, Dirk curled his tongue inside his mouth, gathering up saliva, and then spat into his hand before wrapping it around his cock. He didn't need the extra lubrication, but he thought it might look sexy. He watched his own hand moving from the head down towards the base, stroked himself nice and slow a few times before he risked a glance up and saw the guy watching him, lips parted, eyes transfixed in a worshipful gaze. The guy's cock - nowhere near his own but still pretty nice - was rock hard, twitching even. Obviously, the guy wanted him, and badly. The guy couldn't do anything, though, but lie there helplessly and watch and want Dirk. Dirk had all the power. With a heady rush, he felt the blood surging through him into his cock. He was Dirk Diggler, and he was the king, the fucking king, yeah.

Lying there, legs spread, himself now vulnerable and at the boy's physical mercy, Angel just watched the boy, watched that hand curled into a fist, watched the smooth, practiced strokes covering the length, the almost unbelievable length of the shaft. When Dirk started to moan, Angel's attention was dragged from the boy's cock to his face.

And when he looked, Angel wanted. He fucking *wanted,* in a way he couldn't remember wanting for a long time. He just wanted, purely wanted, and it didn't matter what he wanted for a moment because the desire itself was the thing.

Then he wanted to breathe. He wanted to take deep, hard breaths; he wanted to pant. He wanted to breathe just so that he wouldn't be able to, so that his breath could be taken away. He wanted to look at the face above him, that darling face, so incongruous set against the mighty cock - he wanted to look at that face and let it leave him breathless. He ached to be breathless because he was powerless to breathe; he needed to be unable to breathe, for gazing upon that face.

He knew he was an anomaly among porn connoisseurs, but he'd never really cared about the money shot, the cum shot. He liked facial expressions, that's what really sent him. So when the boy's face, tilted back, eyes closed in ecstacy - when that face started to scrunch and twist as orgasm approached, Angel felt like he might go crazy with a wanting that surpassed desire into downright *need.* He didn't care about a goddamned thing except having the boy inside him, filling him, *now* -

"Fuck me." It was loud, but it was commanding enough to bring Dirk back from the brink. "Fuck me," Angel said again, pushing against the boy as Dirk entered him easily this time. "Fuck me," Angel repeated as Dirk began moving inside him. "Make me bleed."

At those words, Dirk froze in consternation. He didn't like hurting people, not even play, and he wasn't sure what to do. Reading the hesitation, Angel smiled and softened his request: "Just fuck me, Dirk. Fuck me hard."

Before he started moving again, Dirk said, "Do you think you could call me by my name?" Angel didn't answer at once; hadn't he just done that? Seeing the confusion, Dirk clarified, "By my full name, I mean?"

Again, Angel felt a smile come to his lips; he hadn't smiled for he couldn't remember how many years before tonight, and in this one night alone the boy had made him smile at least half a dozen times. "Fuck me, Dirk Diggler," Angel said, letting his voice vibrate at a lower tone than normal. "Fuck me hard."

Angel's reward was not only the fulfillment of his request, but a dazzling smile that graced the boy's face as he began to pound into Angel. It wasn't long until they were both moaning and on the verge, Angel careful to keep up his "Dirk Diggler" litany, Dirk amazed again at the way the guy was taking it, the way he seemed to be thriving on it, ready and willing to take whatever Dirk could dish out; rarely had Dirk ever been able to really let himself go without fear of hurting his partner, and he was terribly excited by it. Ramming with full force, his eyes were drawn to the hard cock slapping against the guy's stomach as he drove into him, and he remembered that the guy hadn't come yet tonight...

"Touch it," he said permissively between breaths. "You can touch yourself if you want to." Angel didn't have to be told twice, and immediately wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock, jerking himself off in rhythm with Dirk's thrusts, matching the boy stroke for stroke and in counterpoint moan for moan... until he heard Dirk's grunt and sustained groan, felt the boy's warm cum gushing into him ass, and in turn let himself go, splashing his stomach and chest with his own cum.

Dirk knelt between Angel's legs, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. He felt confused; he felt good, and that's what was so confusing. He'd just fucked another guy, and he'd loved it. Dirk Diggler wouldn't fuck another guy and love it... would he? Maybe he would. He'd felt like Dirk Diggler when he was fucking the guy. He'd felt like the King of Dirk, in a way he hadn't for awhile. So... maybe Dirk Diggler liked to fuck guys. Maybe Dirk Diggler was the king of fucking, period.

When he felt Angel shift beneath him, Dirk opened his eyes and pulled out carefully, rolling over onto his back. "You could be in the business," he told Angel, hands behind his head as he looked at the ceiling. "You're good-looking, you have style and a nice cock." He made no move to leave, content to lie on the bed for the moment.

Angel barely heard the words, propped on his side, just looking at Dirk's face, at his mouth moving around those words. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked, not quite rhetorically. "Not just your cock - all of you."

With a shy, disingenuous smile, Dirk turned his head. "Yeah?"

Angel nodded solemnly. "Beautiful," he affirmed, unconsciously moistening his lips.

Dirk rolled onto his side and looked at Angel. Not giving himself a chance to think, he closed his eyes, leaned over, and pressed his lips lightly and swiftly to Angel's. When he started to pull away, he felt Angel's hand on the back of his head, drawing him back gently, and with a small thrill fluttering in his stomach, Dirk allowed it. He sighed as Angel's tongue traced his lips, and parted them when the tongue probed permissively for entry. His own tongue met the other, caressing wetly, following the invitation back to an unfamiliar but welcoming mouth, gliding over teeth to explore the recesses.

When Angel finally let the kiss break, Dirk's eyelids fluttered open and he met Angel's eyes, really met them for the first time; the unconscious smile that crossed his lips was slight and shy, but more real than any other that Dirk had flashed at Angel that evening.

Desire was a dangerous thing. Angel knew that, and now he remembered why he knew it. Angelus was close to the surface with all the wanting so thick in the air, as heavy as the scent of sex and sweat. He wanted Dirk, wanted to keep him - wanted to keep him young and beautiful, wanted to keep him around. Angel could look at his face forever, and Angelus could forever have that cock...

"Okay," Angel said, releasing Dirk abruptly and getting off the bed. "Get out."

The bewilderment on Dirk's face nearly broke Angel's heart - but his heart didn't beat, and it was impossible to break a dysfunctional thing. He made himself as hard as he could on the surface, put all the coldness of his dead body temperature into his eyes. "You heard me. Get out."

"But," Dirk said, sitting up. "I thought you said I could stay here tonight."

Angel's answering laugh was hollow. "I said whatever I thought you needed to hear. Now get the fuck out." Dirk started to get off the bed, but he wasn't moving fast enough. "Hurry up, little boy. And let's not play out the 'Gone With the Wind' scene, because frankly my dear, I truly do not give a fuck. If you think there's anyone in the world who gives a good goddamn about you, you should go there. Fucking run there. Because you're not welcome here."

Wracked with confusion, Dirk scrambled off the bed and grabbed the pile of clothing from the floor by the bathroom door. He started to pull them on, but he caught a glimpse of something that looked worse than murder in the guy's eyes, and took off running.

Angel stood in the middle of the room, letting time stretch silently, endlessly, meaninglessly around him. Unconsciously, he sank to the floor, the simple physical fact of gravity proving overwhelming. The hard coldness evaporated from his surface, and he began to shake. With concentrated and inarticulate feelings of self-loathing, he berated himself for allowing himself wants and desires. No good could come of it. It could never happen again, ever, for eternity. Over the course of the remainder of that night, he let the evaporation process work down from the surface, down under his skin, into his mind and heart and soul, taking all feelings away. As dawn broke, he coated himself in the cold hard surface again and closed up, locking everything outside himself but the emptiness.

Everything except the emptiness and the lyrics. "Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was. Same as it ever was."

+++

Dirk stood outside the house for a long time after the cab let him off. He saw movement through the kitchen window and waited to see who was home. He practiced one more time what he wanted to say, beginning with, "Jack, can I talk to you?"

When he felt ready, he started up the driveway. There was no mirror to check first, but walking the familiar path to the front door, he knew he was Dirk. Here, he was Dirk to all of them, no matter what.

THE END