Hmmm,
my series' just keep getting longer and longer, aye? This one
is long. Definately. Keep reading though
guys, and truly, loving the
fb. I try to write back to everyone who
feeds me, but if I havent,
its because I seriously couldnt think of anything
cool to say.
Title:
Author: Inca
Feedback: Turns the music blue - slasherphiles@y...
Rating NC17
AU Liam/William
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, I
just like to play with them
Spoilers: AU
Summary: Risen from the ashes, as an
Angel
Authors notes: Thankyou for feedback, as
always, cause, like I say,
it turns the music blue. I hope my fb
themes are making you all
smile enough to feed my inbox!
~~~~
He had seen Wesley the night after the
phone call. He had picked the
man up and they'd gone for hot dogs which
Will had claimed, was very
Californian. He'd given him a tour at
night, they'd walked down some
of the Boulevard,
see the Walk of Fame and the Chinese
Theatre which he loved, and
then he'd even convinced the proper
Englishman to come into an
arcade with him.
Afterwards, Wesley had invited him back
to his hotel room and had
fumbled with a bottle of wine for about
six minutes once they got
there, before Will had taken it from him
and kissed him, pushing him
back towards the bed. He had been quite
happy with himself. This was
good.
Normal relationship.
Not sick in any way.
He grinned as he devoured Wes's open
mouth, waiting for his arousal
to pick up.
It didn't.
Wesley had been compliant and eager,
straddling Will as he slipped
out of his shirts. The shy persona wasn't
an act and it was very
endearing, but it hadn't fluttered
William's libido as it used to.
He took his time undressing Wes and
playing with him, but found
himself scarily disinterested. He pulled
Wesley to a climax as the
man panted and squirmed for him, trying
to let the images and the
sounds wash through his body and wake his
crotch up.
Nothing.
Wesley was undoing his pants and grinning
up at him and it was about
to be a very embarrassing situation
because Will wasn't excited at
all, he just wanted to go home, just
wanted to sleep, when, Wesley
had become someone else
Shapeshifted.
And it was so real.
Little bit shorter but more muscled, wide
shoulders and chocolate
eyes instead of English grey. Chocolate
eyes with an obliviously
pure beautiful look in them. A mouth that
whispered about stars
before it wrapped around his now
painfully hard cock. He picked Liam
up and threw him on the bed, spreading
his long thighs and sliding
into the body as it sang out beneath him.
Liam's head rolling on the
pillows, Liam's artist's fingers gliding
over his body, Liam's voice
murmuring his innocence in his ear and
Liam's cock sliding wet along
his stomach as he thrust.
Will had left Wesley sleeping on the bed
– a small smile still
painted on his face even in slumber,
dressed and driven quickly
home. He had managed to make it inside
before the tears started to
fall.
**~~**
Will hadn't been to see him for a while.
He couldn't remember how
many days, there was no time. Only not
now … and now.
Maybe he'd come to see him - now. He
decided he liked this idea and
arranged himself prettily on the bed. He
licked his lips but got
distracted.
"Where are my pens?" He asked
Will, only to remember a second later
he wasn't there.
"Right. Sorry. I'll ask later."
The stars were still singing, it sounded
like an old church carol
this time, but it was very quiet. Almost
nothing.
Someone knocked on the door and Angel
froze.
"You are NOT invited!" He
screamed at them, they who looked like
people, but Angel knew better. He jumped
off his bed and stop next
to the door. "GO! GO! GO AWAY!
THERE'S NO ONE HERE!"
"Angel, its just me." Doyle
said, muffled through the door.
Angel gathered the courage to look
through the window. Doyle smiled,
widening his eyes and raising his
eyebrows playfully. It looked like
Doyle. Did he know better? What if they
already got him? What if
they knocked on his door and he invited
them in and then …
He willed the memory away; tears pushed
out between his eyelids with
the effort. He sniffed.
"Angel."
Doyle wasn't a vampire. It was daylight,
and the stars would've
screeched the … he lost his track of
thought and opened the door.
Doyle sauntered in.
"Thanks. Haven't seen you in a
while." He said, sitting on the bed.
Angel nodded and sat down at the desk,
turning the small chair to
face the visitor. "Hello."
"Hey. So what are you up to? Want to
go with me to the library?"
He wondered if the library was dark
enough. If it were dark, teeth
and knives could hide there.
Is it dark …
"in the library?"
Doyle smiled, pulling a cigarette out and
focusing on it while he
talked. "Ags, I know you said the
whole thing in your head, only
problem is, I'm out here, so could you
ask that again?"
"Is it dark in the library?"
"Nope, bright. You've been there
heaps `a times." He chuckled a
little, gazing at Angel fondly.
"Have I?"
"Bright as the art room."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "All
right." He picked up the tin holding
his pencils.
He followed Doyle to the smallish library,
and yes, he had been
there before. He remembered it. Doyle was
looking through a stack
off books near the door, chatting to the
person running the library,
and Angel got drawn away. Something was
singing a siren song to him
and he followed the music. He wandered
through the short stacks, not
really looking or reading, but enjoying
the songs. He laughed and
clapped as a really good one started,
about the sound of grass and
the emotions a book has when you read it.
Quite appropriate song
choice he thought. He felt himself
swaying to the music. He'd have
to remember the tune; William would like
this song. He'd sing it to
him.
He pulled out a book, didn't look at the
title and put it back, all
in time, part of his dance. He picked out
another and pushed it
back, but the shelf was crowded and he
had to push hard and he felt
a sting along finger. He pulled it back
and saw a shallow little
stinging cut. The music stung in time to
the throbs in his finger
and then stopped.
Angel slumped.
He could hear everything now. Every
little scritch of book or page.
He didn't like it, it was eerie. The
blood on his finger was letting
off a slight song. Blood always sings.
He clenched his jaw.
Sometimes it would sing a lovely soothing
song.
Sometimes it screamed like a thousand
children under knives. He
trembled inside. No, like two children
under knives. He visibly
shook.
This is what happened when the music
stopped.
He pulled out one of his sharpest pencils
and stabbed it lengthways
into his wrist, across the little blue
lines, before pulling it out.
"Ow." He said, looking at the
small hole squeezing out blood.
"Ow!" he said again, louder. He
dropped the pencil and held his hand
over his wrist to numb the stinging. The
blood let out a few low
notes before kicking into a voice, a
voice of a star – maybe two,
singing to him, telling him he'd be
alright.
"Find anything Angel?" Doyle
asked, coming up behind him in the
aisle, holding two or three paperbacks.
"My wrist hurts." Angel told
him.
"Why's that?"
He turned and held his arm out, the blood
running in little rivers
between the fingers holding the stinging
wrist. He released the
pressure and Doyle swallowed, his eyes
widening at the wound.
Quick as lightening, Doyle had a hand
around the sore wrist and was
dragging him to the first aid room,
screaming for Sally or Marge,
and wrapping strips of material around
his wrist.
He watched placidly as the music became a
little duller, the words
overlapping, as Sally ran towards him,
her face tensed horribly in
anxiety.
**~~**
"Hello Angel, long time, yeah?"
Will said, closing the infirmary
door behind him.
Liam beamed at him from the bed, the only
one in the room. His left
wrist was heavily bandaged.
"Hey Will, what's happening?"
"Nothing much. What happened with
your wrist?"
Liam looked down in surprise at his wrist
and lifted it up so he
could get a better look at it.
"Oh! Um, I don't really
remember." He grinned goofily. "I think I
was trying to start the music again. It
stopped. I haven't seen you
for a while have I?"
Will came forward and sat on the bed.
"No, Pet, not for a while."
Will had been at home, moping, when he'd
gotten the frantic call
from Sally. He could still her the
shrillness of her voice. – Liam's
tried to kill himself, he's cut his wrist
open! – He arrived at the
infirmary in record time, to see Sally
stitching up a nasty looking
rip in his wrist, the floor and bed
littered with bloodied towels
and material. Liam was on the bed in the
surgery, leaning against a
wall, slack jawed and dark eyed. They'd
stopped the bleeding; pulled
out the shard of lead in his wrist and
they were all praying
everything went alright.
Will had sat by his bed as he slept that
night, terrified he
wouldn't wake up. He just lay there, face
blank and body unmoving,
like he was already dead. He'd spent the
night fantasising that Liam
would slip into a coma, his face never
lit up again by a smile or a
flutter of his eyelashes. It had suddenly
hit him. How attached he'd
become to the man after four months.
"Were you feeling bad, the day this
happened?"
Liam looked at him with his big puppy
eyes. "No. Why?"
"Do you know why the music
stopped?"
"Um, no. It just does
sometimes."
"And that upsets you?"
"I like it better when there's
singing."
Liam looked out the wide window at some
noise he heard and Will saw
the patch on the back of his neck. He
laughed and Liam turned back.
"You're having a bad time of it,
aren't you Pet? First the one on
your neck, now your wrist. You always
like this?"
Liam laughed and shrugged. "…to do
it."
Will left some time for Liam to realise
he hadn't completed his
sentence. He didn't, just stole glances
at him coyly. Couldn't be
arsed asking, he probably wouldn't
remember anyhow. He smiled at him
indulgently.
"The next time the music stops …
come see me alright?"
"See you?"
"Yeah, don't try to start it, just
find me." Will said sincerely. He
was upset. He knew how close he had come
to losing Liam. He managed
to not drown in the guilt as he his mind
pondered why he really
didn't want to lose Liam. Manage to keep
his head above the
slurping, wetsand-like emotion as he
realised he couldn't bear not
seeing him again. He liked Liam.
But this was alright, just them talking.
Sitting close to him.
Breathing him in.
He just wouldn't touch him. Liam would
never know.
"Would you sing to me? If I found
you?" Liam asked, bedroom eyed and
smiling wickedly.
"Yes. If that would make your music
start again."
"Will you sing to me now?" Liam
asked, his face heart-breakingly
vulnerable.
He had to make Liam happy.
"What do you want to hear? I'll be a
jukebox."
Liam smiled. "Umm, `Mandy'?"
"You want me to sing Manilow?"
Will laughed.
Liam nodded childishly and tried to pull
Will up to sit next to him.
Will hesitated, and Liam winced at the
pain - he was using his left-
hand tug at him. Will's stomach did a
flip-flop at the flash of pain
on his face and he crawled up the bed to
rest against the headboard
with Liam.
He prayed no one would come into the
room, as Liam rested his warm
head on Will's shoulder. Will reached up
to pet his hair.
"I remember all my life ... Raining
down as cold as ice…"
**
He sat in his office, some more, and read
over the doctor's reports
of the day Liam was arrested. Some more.
He sighed.
Some more.
(…Shallow and deep wounds all over body,
disorientated, paranoid,
rectal tearing/bleeding, two broken ribs,
anal swelling,
concussion….)
He plucked his glasses off and threw them
onto the desk, rubbing his
tired eyes. He picked up the desk clock and
pulled it close.
thirty-six
noting the wood-panelling motif looked
quite nice. He frowned at
himself and decided to go home. He'd drop
by Liam's bed in the
infirmary before he left.
Just to make sure he was still okay.
**~~**
Angel had his face tucked into his
shoulder as he lay under the
covers in the white-sheeted bed. His eyes
were wincing closed. The
moonlight shone in shards, drifting bars
over the made up beds in
the large empty ward.
It was quite scary.
The light still shone in through the door
connected to the nurses'
station. He could hear Sally outside
rummaging through things, which
was comforting.
The infirmary was large and wide, so
unlike his room in the inmate
ward, so unlike what he was used to. So
dark.
He breathed in sharply at the thought,
his hand tightening a bit.
Will. Think about Will.
( …You came and you gave without taking
…)
His voice joined the harmony of the
stars. They weren't singing
Mandy though. It didn't matter what they
were singing; Angel always
seemed to know the words anyway.
His hand started gently stroking again.
He could smell Will in his nostrils.
Could feel his hand in his
hair, petting him. Telling him it was
alright.
His thighs spread under the covers
Could hear his voice like a million
fingernails gently teasing his
body, till his hair stood on end, till
his skin goose-pimpled and
his nipples tightened. He reached his
other hand up to scrape along
his chest, circling and flicking. The
sheet pulled down a bit and
exposed his nub to the cold of the ward.
He shuddered and tucked his
face further into his shoulder.
He could feel Will's shoulder as he
rested his face on it, could
feel the curl of his arm around him.
He moaned and tickled his fingers across
the hard flesh. He slowly
moved his hand down from his chest to
spider-tap lightly across the
small strip of skin and down even lower,
hiding under the covers.
He groaned and threw his head back baring
his teeth.
The music in his head went blue and
swirled past his eyes, feeling
like velvet wrapped around inside his
skull.
He giggled as he panted, hearing his
breath through the pillow.
Another wave built up in him, emanating
from his lower belly and he
bit his bottom lip to keep from crying
out.
His wrist was hurting so he pulled it
from between his legs, pulling
the covers down, to rest on his thigh and
let his fingers run
circles around his sac.
The music was loud, way too loud, He had
to wince against it but he
kept pulling, his hips thrusting into his
hand, his stomach tensing.
A flame flashed through his body and his
lips were quivering. His
ears hurt from the noise, his eyes
blinded by the yellows and
purples of the sound. He saw something
out of the corner of his eye
and rolled his head towards the door
connected to the hallway.
Framed in the small glass square in the
upper part of the door, was
Will's face, blank and mouth open. Angel
stared at him, knowing he
was watching, with his blue eyes and
nails and hair and lips and his
skin like warm satin. His eyes were on
Angel's, but he didn't look
away.
Watching me ... Will…
Angel kept the gaze as the last wave
thrashed through him, making
his hips rise from the mattress as he
released over the bed and his
hands, his mouth open silently, his whole
body hot from his toes to
his eyelashes, and he became blind except
for the little amount of
Will and blue eyes he could see through
the glass.
He slumped when the crescendo ended,
panting loudly in the room,
still watching Will.
Would he come in now?
Would he play, with warm hands and soft
hair, and gentle eyes?
He saw Will swallow, as if he had
something difficult in his mouth.
Angel lifted his spend covered hand to
his mouth and licked it,
tasting the rain and the heat of the
summer that had been inside his
body, smiling coyly at the blue eyed
statue.
Will stayed for a moment, blinking,
before turning quickly and
disappearing.
Angel sucked on his index finger and
pulled up the covers.
**~~**
FUCK!
"FUCK!" Will yelled out,
jumping into his car.
He squealed out of the space, and gave an
almost manic smile to the
guard at the gate.
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
"FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
He checked his reflection in the mirror
and almost drove his car off
the road in shock. His eyes were wide and
terrified, his mouth taut,
face pale. A stranger. Not the calm and
collected man he usually saw
smugly staring back at him.
"FUCK IT ALL!"
He breathed heavily.
Liam.
His cock twinged in its over sensitive
state.
He'd looked through the small window into
the ward and saw him, lust
and silk, layed out on his bed, hand
around his cock pumping, head
rolled back and muscles tensed, pale
blue-yellow bars of moonlight
painted over his body.
His breath fogging up the small square of
glass as he watched him
roll and grimace with pleasure, cheek
flat against his shoulder. His
hand pressed and rubbing at his jean
covered crotch as he watched
smooth bare thighs spreading, widely,
wantonly, the sheet down to
his knees.
His shadowed eyes meeting Will's. The
knowing look, knowing he'd
been watching, knowing he wanted to
watch.
The wetness spreading from his crotch as
Liam licked his palm,
cleaning it with a smile that was now
burning behind Will's eyelids,
and he'd never get rid of it, always see
a nymph with tired relaxed
shoulders smiling at him playfully as he
made a show of tasting his
come, everywhere he looked, every time he
closed his eyes.
Playful grin and a swipe of red tongue.
His cock hardened again,
against the cold wet of his jeans.
Will parked at his apartment and slammed
his palms onto the steering
wheel, panting in frustration and anger.
"FUCK!"
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