Warning: I can't give you full disclosure here without spoiling some of the plot. So I'm going to give a blanket warning: This story is of an adult nature. There are elements in it that some may find disturbing. Others may find these same elements enjoyable.
Reader discretion is strongly advised.

the set-up: This fic is all Human AU, and it is whore!fic. Angel is a hooker.
Also, there are explicit descriptions of sex between men, and drug abuse. Depending on your point of view, it could be argued to go downhill from there.

Pairing:Angel/Xander, Hints of Angel/Spike

Pretty Baby

by
Madame Meretrix

Angel pulls off and spits into the dust. Standing up slowly, he rotates his jaw back into alignment and brushes off his knees.

He nods and turns away. Heads out of the playground, filled with broken glass and long forgotten swings, back to the corner. He feels his pocket for the cash, even though he knows it's in there.

He scans the street. Dead like always. The one working streetlight stutters out, and for a second the whole world is a dull, toxic yellow. The light flickers back on, and he sees the outline of a long black coat and short blond hair beneath it. He crosses the street.

Spike sees him coming and gestures toward the alley behind him.

Angel follows him into the dark and finds him behind a dumpster, leaning against the wall.

Sulfur fills the air as match head meets brick. Angel touches the flame to his cigarette.

He blows out a lungful of pale smoke and the light flutters and dies.

“Slow, yeah?”

Bringing the filter back to his lips, Angel nods.

"What do you need?"

"What've you got?"

"Little bit of Flexeril 'n some Vicodin."

"That it?" Angel sighs.

"Unless you want something stronger."

Angel shakes his head. Spike always offers and he always says no. Nothing stronger. He's no addict. "What do you want for the Vicodin?"

"Twenty."

"Make it ten and a dimebag."

"Alright."

Angel unbuttons his coat and searches an inner pocket, pulls out a baggie. "That Flexeril is crap."

Spike shrugs. "Some like it."

Angel takes the pills and adds them to the small plastic aspirin bottle that goes back into a pocket. Takes a last drag off his cigarette and flicks it into the darkness.

"D'you eat yet?"

Angel shakes his head no.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Another head shake in the negative.

"Angel, ya git, you've got eat. Keep your strength up, yeah?"

Spike watches him expectantly. When no response seems forthcoming, he sniffs and pushes off the bricks behind him.

“Think I’ll go check out the men’s in Salisbury Park. Heard it was busted last week. Should be safe. See ya back at home later?”

“Yeah. See ya.”

“Alright.”

Angel watches his silhouette turn grey and evaporate into the surrounding night.

Zipping his hoodie up to his chin, he pulls his jacket tighter and rubs his arms. He's looking forward to spending an entire night indoors. Well, an entire night in the real indoors, as opposed to a broken-down squat with half the roof missing.

He feels a little bad for not telling Spike about his call, but it was only for one, and if he shared, he knows Spike would have figured out a way to take it from him.

So he's being selfish, and not telling anyone about the overnight gig. They're rare enough, he figures, that keeping it to himself is alright.

He's pretty sure the bus driver is high. They've got to be going at least 60 and it's a residential street. Plus, he's talking to himself. Loudly.

Angel's attention is dragged away from the blurred landscape flying past the windshield to focus on the arm suddenly flapping two inches from his face.

The seat in front of him is occupied with a person. He's not sure if it's a man or a woman. It's sucked-up looking and covered in a crust of… something. He or she has a garbage bag and a suitcase with a busted zipper, spilling out dirty, soiled clothing. They smell like piss.

The hand is invading his space. The person in front of him is rhythmically flailing back and forth. They're moaning… or maybe singing. Definitely in a good mood. But if that hand touches him, they're gonna lose it.

Angel scowls and leans back in his seat. Freaking addicts.

He digs into his pocket and pulls out the aspirin bottle. Shakes a few pills into his palm, decides on the Vicodin. Puts the rest back and dry swallows the two enormous horse pills.

They barely take the edge off anymore. Maybe tomorrow he'd see if he can find some Ativans. Or Percocets, those were good too. He really needs to mix it up.

He watches the night fly past. Buildings with boarded up windows and graffiti give way to pawn shops and nail salons. Those turn into coffee shops and vintage stores, and by the time the window is filled with palm trees and restaurants, he's feeling mellow.

He gets off the bus at a wide street, lined with plate-glass shops filled with diamonds and mannequins with no heads.

His legs are rubber and his spine is long. He stretches up and grins. He takes a deep breath and can smell the ocean.

Checking his teeth in the mirror, he decides he should floss again. He pulls out a length of waxy twine and leans into the sink. He watches himself contort into strange monster faces as he works it between his back molars.

He pops the green string from his mouth with a twang and stares at his own reflection.

"Oh god. I’m hideous. He’s gonna take one look and run away screaming."

Slowly he turns to study his face in profile, letting his eyes run over his chest and down to his belly. He sucks in a breath and holds it. No six-pack here.

Hm. Put on more clothes? Or take them all off?

Dropping the floss into the wastebasket, he scrubs a hand through his hair. Stupid, floppy hair. He sighs and hits the light as he exits the bathroom.

He runs sweaty palms down his slacks; decides to take off his shirt, but leave on the pants. Show he's ready to go, but not a demented horndog. Play it cool. Yeah, no shirt would be good.

He folds his shirt neatly and lays it on the dresser. Crouching in front of the mini-fridge, he scans the contents.

Chocolate always calms him down. He's in the middle of swallowing a single serving Snickers, when the inevitable knock finally comes.

He scrambles to put his shirt back on as he runs over to the door, eye pressing to the peephole.

Whoah. The guy isn't ugly. But he looks kind of mad. He probably doesn't want to be here. Maybe opening the door is a bad idea. Maybe if he pretends he's not here, he'll go away.

But then he'd go away. And not be here. To do the thing that he came here for. The thing that he's saved up all of his money for.

Angel shakes out his pants leg and pulls on his collar, unconsciously straightening his clothes. The white jeans he borrowed from Spike are way too small. At least two inches too short and binding. He couldn't've even tried to put on underwear. Not that he wears any.

He scowls at the door. Fucking desk clerk, giving him that look. Like he's any better? Fuck it, they're both in the service industry. Angel's just a little more honest about it.

He takes a calming breath. Not going to let the asshole ruin his buzz. Besides, this trick's paying a lot of money. Gonna be cherry.

The door opens. It's a kid.

Angel sizes him up. Can't be more than sixteen… seventeen at the outside. Tall. Dark hair. Huge eyes. Looks scared as hell. Yep. Cherry alright.

Angel holds out his hand, "Hi. I'm Angel."

The kid's a statue in the doorway. Angel smiles reassuringly, "And you are?"

The kid blinks and steps back, throwing the door wide and making a welcome gesture.

"Uh, hi. I'm… I'm Xander. Come in."

Angel watches the kid's Adam's apple bob up and down and gets a little tingle. Not bad.

He takes in the room with a cursory glance as he advances past Xander's outstretched arm. Same old boring hotel room. Remote control bolted to the nightstand – and who the hell wants to steal a remote? – pseudo-Diebenkorn screwed into the wall above the bed. A mini-fridge and probably a bible in the dresser.

The door falls closed with a snick and he turns around to appraise the John.

"In town for long?" The kid hasn't lost his deer in the headlights look.

"Nope," he swings his arms, "Just a few days. I'm uh, here on business."

Angel nods slowly. Sure he is. He's here on business just like he didn't pay for this room with daddy's credit card.

"Huh. What line of work you in, Xander?" With only a hint of a smirk, Angel turns away and heads over to the table and chairs in the corner.

Without eye contact, the kid seems to relax. He doesn't move from where he's standing, but his shoulders lower a bit, and he puts his hands in his pockets. Angel lounges in his chair, legs spread apart.

"Hm? Oh… computers. Yeah. I'm here for a convention."

Angel nods.

"So, how do we do this? Should we uh, make with the birthday suits right away or… you know I watched Klute last week, trying to get a feel for how this works, but," Xander lets out a small laugh, "Pretty much all I got was that Jane Fonda doesn't like to wear bras and Kiefer Sutherland's dad has really big ears…"

Angel suppresses a smile. Where's this kid from? He's got a nervous head-ducking thing that's almost cute. A few more years and he'll be breaking hearts.

He digs into his pocket and pulls out his smokes and a lighter. "Mind if I smoke?"

Xander shakes his head no and his eyes skitter away to examine the pattern of the drapes.

Angel lays the pack and lighter on the table and leans forward.

Xander watches Angel sit forward and lean his elbows on his knees. He's graceful, for a big guy. And he looks cool. His clothes are way different from Xander's own. He's got on combat boots, and one of those army surplus coats with a bunch of pockets. His jeans are almost see-through, they're so tight. By comparison, Xander feels like a hopeless dweeb. Ugly and dressed like his mother picked out his clothes. Which actually wasn't far from the truth.

"Usually I get paid upfront."

"Oh. Oh! Right. Uh-" Xander reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. He notices that his hands are shaking.

He pulls out three bills and hands them over. Angel's hands are huge as he envelopes Xander's own and the cash. There's a tattoo on the back of the right one. It's kind of greenish and blurry. Xander's mouth goes dry and he feels himself stiffening at the thought of those hands on his body.

Angel takes the money and leans back, sliding it into a front pocket without counting.

"Thanks."

"So… should we?" Xander motions to the bed.

"Yeah, we'll get there. Let's unwind a little first. There anything to drink?"

Xander nods and springs into motion. He kneels in front of the mini-fridge and pulls out a tiny bottle of Chablis and one of whiskey, holding them up for Angel's inspection.

Angel takes the whiskey, puts it on the table and shrugs out of his coat.

Xander puts the wine back in the fridge and stares up at Angel expectantly.

Angel pulls a joint out of his cigarette pack. "You want a hit?"

Xander shakes his head no. He's never been around anyone who smokes pot before.

"Mind if I...?" Angel waves the joint vaguely.

"No, go right ahead. I don't indulge but that doesn't mean other people shouldn't. I'm not against it or anything. It's just not for me. Once my cousin got me to try a puff of a cigarette and I coughed so hard that I threw up. Boy was my aunt mad. She made me and him clean it all up. And it was shag carpeting. Blegh. I got off easy though, my cousin got a whipping when she found out that he was smoking… uh, do you need anything for it? A lighter or-"

"Mm. You got an ashtray?"

"Yeah," Xander gets up and scurries into the bathroom. Real smooth, Xander. Note to self: talk less.

He looks around, but there's nothing even vaguely ashtray-like. Miniature bottles of shampoo-and-conditioner-in-one... plastic cups wrapped in saran wrap. There's the ice bucket, but that's probably stupid. Finally, his eyes light on something and he grabs it.

He comes back out holding the soapdish. "Well, no, I guess I don't have an ashtray. Will this work?"

Angel takes the soapdish and sets it on the table, ashes the joint and lays it down, blowing out smoke. "Thanks. How about a drink?" He twists the cap off the whiskey and points it at Xander.

"No, thanks." Xander laughs nervously. "I know I must seem kind of square, but I'm not supposed to mix anything with my meds."

He crosses the room as he speaks, and rifles through a small black bag on the dresser. He turns around and holds up a plastic amber bottle.

"They're for anxiety."

Angel stretches out his hand, "Can I see that?"

"Oh. Sure." Ducking his head, Xander hands the pills over.

"Xanax? Whoah. Those're heavy-duty. You get panic attacks a lot?"

Xander watches as Angel twists the cap off and shakes a couple into his palm.

"Um, yeah, ever since I was little."

Angel brings two small round tablets to his lips. "Mind?"

Xander wrinkles his brow. "But you're not supposed to share other people's prescriptions."

Angel washes the pills down with the rest of the whiskey, "Yeah, that's what they tell you."

Xander takes the bottle and cap out of Angel's hands and shakes out a pill for himself, feeling the anxiety welling up inside. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. This guy's a little scary. What's the deal with the mixing of substances? That just can't be good for him.

He's pretty sure he'll never be able to actually do the deed because he'll always hyperventilate first. And won't that be nice? Yes, Mr. Paramedic, I know that I'm naked in a hotel room with a complete stranger, but you see, every time I think about having sex, I freak out. Him? Oh, he's just the guy I had to pay to fuck me because I'm too much of a freak for anyone else to want me.

Xander takes a deep breath and puts the bottle back on the dresser. He runs his hands through his hair and sits down on the foot of the bed with a bounce. It'll be okay. Just take calming breaths and wait for your meds to kick in. You can do this. This is what you want. You gotta take the bull by the horns. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. And just what exactly are bootstraps anyway? Did they used to put straps on boots? Maybe those old-fashioned ones with a hundred laces. He flashes on an image of big, hobnailed boots with suspenders sprouting out of the tops. But then what do you attach the suspenders to?

Anyway, he's going to die a virgin if he doesn't get over himself. And there's not really any turning back at this point. There's nowhere else to go. He crossed his bridges while merrily flicking lit matches over his shoulder.

Angel pinches off the end of the joint and gets up. He stretches and goes over to sit next to Xander, rubbing gently at his back.

"You alright?"

Xander starts out of his little mental whirlpool. He can feel every muscle in his body lock up at the unfamiliarity of someone else's hands on his body, but it's just for a second. He exhales loudly and leans into the feeling. It's nice, in a foreign, dream-come-true kind of way.

He wants to question Angel about the wisdom of mixing pills with booze and pot, but the feeling of Angel's hand on his back is too good. He can't think about anything else. Besides, the guy seems to know what he's doing. Probably does it all the time. He's got tattoos and he makes his living as a hustler. There's no way Xander could know more about this stuff than he does.

"So… uh, what happens next?"

Angel grins as he leans in and kisses the boy softly. Xander's lips are rigid and unyielding, and his posture is ramrod straight. Angel pulls back and brushes the hair out of Xander's eyes, searching his face.

"Now, we do what feels good."

Xander returns the stare with bright, wide eyes for a moment. Angel rubs his lips together and rolls his tongue around in his mouth. He can already feel the whiskey and Xanax taking effect. He feels loose, but centered. Completely present in the moment. The Vicodins are melting his spine, and the pot makes the edges fuzzy, but the combination of all of it, coursing through his blood, makes everything wonderful. He's approaching that golden state, where he doesn't mind anything.

He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, tasting the boy there, and blinks, slow-eyed and lazy.

Xander jumps up and tears his shirt up over his head, tossing it aside as he kicks off his sneakers and unbuckles his khakis. He slides his pants off and stands stock-still for a second, then leaps back onto the bed, stretching out on his back, legs splayed, wearing only boxers and black socks.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's do it."

Angel laughs. He doesn't mean to sound cruel, but the boy's so nervous. Adorably awkward and genuine. He tries to remember the last time he was with someone so… untainted.

He turns around to look at the kid, and sees that his feelings are hurt. Xander's sort of drawing into himself. He's shrunk down in his skin, and his are eyes closed, his mouth is pulling down at the corners.

"Hey." Angel rubs lightly on a shin. "Hey, Xander. Look at me."

Xander's eyes flutter open, but he turns his face away so he's not looking at him directly.

"Is this your first time?"

Xander closes his eyes again and rolls onto his side, away from Angel. He brings up an arm to shield his face.

"Yeah." He whispers it to the pillow. A virgin. Shit.

Involuntarily, Angel flickers to the scene of his own lost virginity. He shuts that down quickly.

"That's cool. Everyone's gotta have a first time, right? We'll go slow. Make sure you enjoy it, alright?"

Angel's massaging the kid's thigh now, watching for a reaction. Finally it comes in the form of a tiny little nod.

He sits back and smiles. "Alright."

Xander's mortification is only slightly lessened by the feeling of Angel's hands all over him. Good hands. Big.

Xander's gradually loosening up under the combined effects of the insistent massage and the spell his meds are working. Fingers like hammers pound into his neck and he shivers; feels small.

"How's that?"

"Mmm." He rolls onto his belly and buries his face in the pillow.

"Want me to go harder?"

"Sure."

More pressure, and moving lower, fingertips coast down to his waistband. Xander stiffens and sucks in an alarmed breath.

"Sh. Sh. It's okay. Don't have to do anything you don't want."

Angel's warm, dry palms are rotating his shoulders. Xander stretches when he feels a brush of lips against his neck, a tickling of exhalation. The bed shifts beneath him, and Angel pulls him over, draping him over a broad chest and along wantonly sprawled legs.

"You tell me how fast to go."

He melts into the lulling effect of Angel running a hand through his hair, and turns to rest his cheek in the crook of Angel's arm.

As Angel continues to pet him, he calms down enough to brave opening his eyes. He looks past the hard stomach slowly rising and falling with even breath, past the trail of dark, coarse hair, to the bulge in tight white jeans.

Tentatively, he reaches out and lightly runs the pads of his fingers over the snap and along the fly. He feels more than hears a low rumble in the chest below his ear.

Angel's heartbeat picks up, and it makes Xander feel daring. He coasts along the zipper, hand trembling, and then dips his fingers lower to follow the path of the inseam.

A hand comes into view, and Angel's unsnapping his jeans, sliding the fastenings apart, peeling the fabric away.

Xander helps, pulling the material aside and letting the hard cock within spring free of its confines.

He feels himself taking deep, rapid breaths, and for a second, registers all of the familiar symptoms of an oncoming attack. But this isn't panic. It's the opposite. It's serenity. And trepidation, and satisfaction, and a voiceless, silent "yes" in the back of his mind.

He realizes that he'd reached out and taken Angel in his hand when he hears the moaning, although he couldn't have said how long he'd been unconsciously stroking before it registered.

In the act of touching, his fear dropped away. No more worrying over the strangeness and sheer terror of what he wants. His desire sets him free. He has no body; he takes up no space. He is only hands to touch and eyes to see.

Angel closes one fist in his hair and the other around his hip, rolling him onto his back. He blinks up into a handsome, strong face. Jaw set in determination.

"Okay. That's good. That's uh… boy you're not shy once you get started, huh?"

Xander licks his lips and blinks again, understanding that a question has been asked. He shakes his head slightly and reaches out again towards Angel, who captures his hands gently and pins them to the bed.

"It’s my turn. Let me."

Releasing his hold, Angel slides down the bed and lowers his mouth to Xander's groin. At first it's a little weird. But gradually he feels the heat of breath spread through cotton. It makes his already hard cock harder. Xander shudders and reflexively lifts his hips up, eager for more.

Angel seems to sense that he's ready and tugs down his boxers, exposing him. Xander shuts his eyes and waits for words of mockery. Being the focus of Angel's attention snaps him back into his body, and the familiar blanket of dread starts to creep up around him.

Instead of harsh words, though, he feels warm, wet suction as Angel takes him all the way in.

Oh Christ. This is what it feels like.

No wonder.

Angel slides up slowly, sucking hard, and when all that's left in his mouth is the head, he swirls his tongue around and down, flicking at the slit.

It feels like being a piece of candy. A Jolly Rancher, maybe. Suddenly all of those candy metaphors for sex make sense. Except for jellyroll. That he still doesn't understand.

He's twisting huge tufts of hair in his grip and lurching up mindlessly, demanding that the good feeling stay put where it belongs, on his cock, forever and all time.

He groans. He didn't think it could feel any better, but then it does.

There's a light tickling on his balls that turns into firm, kneading pressure. Xander spreads out like a starfish, arms thrown wide and legs as far apart as he can make them.

"Oh… guh- ah! Wait! Wait… stop, I can't-" He looks down the length of his body to where Angel is still working his cock in and out. Angel looks up at him and he almost comes right there.

He frantically pulls at Angel's shoulders, "Stop! I gotta… gotta slow down." He sucks air through gritted teeth and shuts his eyes tight.

Angel releases his cock and bites gently at the top of his thigh. "Too much?"

Xander's panting and multiplying sixes in his head. "Yeah. Uh, whew. That feels really good, but… uh…"

"You want to last through the main event?"

Xander opens his eyes and catches the smirk as Angel sits up. He nods and can feel himself blush.

"Don't worry about it. It just means I'm good at my job, right?"

Xander hadn't thought about it that way. But it makes sense. He'd forgotten about the… professional aspect of the arrangement.

Angel gets off the bed and kicks off his shoes. He hastily unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. He stands there for a second, looking at him. Guh. The paper-thin wife beater he's wearing sets off his shoulders and enormous biceps nicely. There's a faint glimmer of shine from the thin silver chain circling his neck and disappearing under the neckline.

Xander feels a heavy punch of want deep in his gut and tendrils of desire spiral out through every limb and down into his balls. And then Angel strips his shirt off over his head, keeping his eyes trained on Xander's with a burning heat of focused intensity that almost makes him start to beg.

Jesus. He's got tattoos on his neck. And his stomach, and his arms. Xander watches as Angel very slowly peels his jeans the rest of the way off. Xander's mouth waters and his stomach drops. He's a little bit intimidated and a whole lot turned on. Angel looks… dangerous.

He turns and Xander gets an eyeful of perfect ass as Angel walks over to the table. He feels a little bit like he's watching a show. A private show, just for him.

Angel feels loose now. The stuff's doing what it should, and he feels ten feet tall. He feels sexy and connected to his body. Like he's inhabiting every cell of it. The moment is perfect, and the kid waiting for him on the bed is a precious human soul who's in pain, and Angel thinks there's something he can do about that.

Angel pulls a condom and some lube out of his coat pocket and crosses back over to the bed. He kneels over the boy and kisses gently down the side of his face, down his neck, and back up to nibble on an earlobe.

"How do you want me?" He whispers.

The kid takes a shallow, shocked breath and then moans at the attention given to his ear.

"You want me on my back?"

Xander pulls away and looks up into Angel's face. "What's the best way for you?"

Angel considers for a moment.

"Do me from behind. It's the easiest."

Angel pulls the kid up to his knees and switches places with him. Keeping his gaze locked on Xander's, he coats two fingers with the lube and reaches behind himself. He's always preferred doing this part himself. And he's glad that the kid doesn't know any better than to let him do it. Sometimes, if he gets a guy who's a little too enthusiastic, it can hurt.

He keeps his eyes on Xander's face as he circles the tight muscle of his sphincter. The gel is cold, and he takes a long breath in through his nose.

The kid's mouth is open and his eyes get huge. He starts to pant. He's so focused on what Angel's doing to himself that he's forgotten to be shy.

Angel smiles at that thought and reaches out his free hand to run down Xander's chest. He draws a finger down the faint trail of coarse hair that’s just beginning to come in on his belly. He wraps his hand around the kid's cock and slowly starts to jack it in time with the fingers he's penetrating himself with.

Angel breaks the hush of the room with a moan. This is usually the hardest part of the job, getting himself worked up and ready. But tonight's been… different. Unusual from the start, and this is no exception. He's looking forward to it. He wants this to feel good for both of them.

The kid's on his knees facing him, breathing through his mouth, and Angel opens his eyes to take in the spectacle of lamplight gilding smooth unblemished skin; long, well-toned muscles under a thin layer of baby fat… dark eyes that are huge and trusting; and a gorgeous, thick cock hard and ready, wanting him.

Xander's swaying a little bit to the rhythm of Angel's stroking.

"Okay?"

The kid nods and Angel gets into position, on his hands and knees. He looks over his shoulder at Xander, who is staring at his ass.

He laughs a little bit. "You gonna put on that rubber?"

The kid's eyes are glassy, and he nods again, breaking his stare and fumbling in the blankets for the condom.

Angel turns back around and leans forward, resting his head on his arms and arching his back.

He feels the kid's thumb gently start to rub at his hole and he moans. This one'll need a little coaching.

"Oh yeah, that feels good. Slip it in. Stretch me a little."

There's more pressure and then he can feel a finger sliding in, stroking in and out on the lube.

Angel rocks back, showing his appreciation at the feeling.

"That's right. More. Use two fingers. Slide them in and out."

He hears the kid make a broken, wondering noise and feels the easy glide of two fingers inside him.

"Oh, yeah. That feels so good. You like that?"

"Uh huh."

"You want to be inside me? Want to have that tightness on your cock?"

Xander whimpers.

"You can do it. Slide in. Unh. I want to feel you. Feel that big hard cock fuck me."

Angel's got his eyes closed, and he's fucking himself on the kid's fingers. And even though he's pretty much reading a script, he's surprised that he means it. Listening to what he's saying is making him hot. He does want the kid to fuck him.

He's peaking on the pills now and every brush of fingertips is like an earthquake of pleasure rippling through his body. Feeling that cock inside of him is going to be amazing.

The fingers disappear, and he feels the blunt head of Xander's dick nudging at him. The kid is breathing heavily behind him. He holds still to make it easier.

"Yeah, that's it. Slide in. Do it. Want you."

There's fumbling. He feels Xander's dick miss his hole and slide down to his balls. Then it's gone for a second. He feels it again, this time accompanied by an embarrassed grunt.

He should have known. The first time's hard. He curses himself for getting carried away with his own internal sensations and leaving the kid to figure it out on his own.

"Here, let me help." Angel sits up and turns around slightly.

Xander's gone soft.

Angel turns completely around to face him. "Sh. Sh, it's alright, here, let me."

He strips the condom off and tosses it to the floor. The kid won't look up, so Angel wraps one arm around him and draws him closer, with the other he strokes him.

Xander rests his forehead against Angel's shoulder and brings his hands up to Angel's hips. He doesn't say a word, just lets Angel move him around.

They stay like that, in a sort of quasi-embrace, for awhile, Angel jacking Xander's cock in one hand and petting his hair with the other.

"It's just nerves. It's your first time. It's no big deal." Angel's using up all of the comforting phrases he knows.

And he's not getting anywhere. The kid's still soft, and Angel hears a muffled sob against his neck.

"Hey, sh. It's alright. We don't have to do it like that. It'll be okay. Sh." He stops groping the poor kid and hugs him tight to his chest. Christ. This is weird. His own erection is deflating, and the room is spinning slightly.

What's he supposed to do?

Gently, he disengages himself from Xander and pushes on his shoulders until he can look into his face. His eyes are red and his cheeks are tearstained.

Xander won't look at him, though, so Angel lays him down on his back and curls up next to him. He runs a soothing hand in circles on Xander's belly and slides his other arm underneath Xander's head. He nuzzles into the kid's neck and hums softly.

Gradually, the sobbing slows down and the kid breathes normally. Angel doesn't stop petting him.

Xander turns his head a fraction, so that his lips are pressed to Angel's forehead.

"Sorry." He whispers.

"Don't be." Angel whispers back.

"I think… maybe could we… do you…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we could try it… the other way?"

Angel can feel the kid get rigid again beneath him. He's scared.

Without a word, Angel sits up and turns the kid over onto his belly. Xander lets out a sigh and cradles his head in his arms.

Angel gets up and snags his coat off the chair, not wanting to leave the kid alone for the time it would take to find another condom.

He sits back down on the bed and rubs Xander's back while he searches through his pockets. When he finds what he needs, he lays it on the nightstand and turns his full attention back on making Xander feel good.

He rubs at the knots in his neck, down either side of his spine, and further down to the plump muscles of the kid's ass.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?"

Xander shakes his head no and buries his face further into the pillows.

"Well, you are. What can I do to make you believe it?"

Xander doesn't answer.

Angel spreads Xander's legs apart and slides down until he's resting between them. He kisses first one cheek, then the other, and gently parts them to lick down the crack.

Xander freezes.

"Breathe, Xander." Angel whispers, then returns to his task. He nips gently at the almost hairless sac, and runs the tip of his tongue up in a feathery glide along his perineum.

He breathes in the salty musk, with the underlying clean, pure scent of boyness. He circles the kid's hole and flattens his tongue to push hard, then flicks it in and out against the muscle.

The kid's writhing and making noises that don't sound like English. Angel adds a finger, gently rubbing it over and around, using both finger and tongue to relax the tight ring.

Xander's hollering into the pillow and gripping the sheets in tightly clenched fists.

Angel slips the tip of one finger past both rings of muscle and inside. He slowly pushes in further, then saws it back out. The kid is sweating and cursing now, but hard as a rock.

Angel pushes back in and crooks his finger, searching for the spot. Xander's bucking wildly, though, and he can’t find it. He goes back to rimming, licking around the outside and sliding the tip of his tongue inside.

When he's pretty sure the kid's about to pop with need, he sits up and grabs the condom, rolling it on quickly and lubing himself fast.

The kid's resting his head on his arms and his ass raised up like an offering. His knees are spread apart and he's absolutely wanton. Debauched. Angel reaches out and cups one cheek in a squeezing caress.

Xander twists around and looks at him. He's so beautiful. His hair is matted with sweat, and the muscles in his back and arms are straining. His dark eyes are huge and dilated.

Angel takes a deep breath. It's been a long time since he's been in this position.

"You ready for me?"

Xander nods. "Yeah, just… go slow, okay?"

Angel grunts as he lowers himself. He lines up his cock and pushes forward.

Xander yelps.

"You gotta relax for me. Relax. I won't hurt you."

He feels Xander's chest expand beneath his weight, and the muscles constricting Xander's passage give way to the insistent pressure of his cock.

Angel slides in a little further and groans. God it feels good.

Xander lets out a tiny sob and clutches harder at the sheets as Angel pushes all the way in. He can feel the walls flutter around his length, accommodating the intrusion.

He rests his weight on one arm and his knees and pulls out slowly. As he thrusts back in he hears a muffled whimper from the kid.

“Daddy.”

Angel pauses.

"Daddy… please." It's the barest whisper, but unmistakable the second time. Christ.

With a mental shrug, Angel slides all the way back in and leans over the kid, whispering into his ear, "You like that? You want daddy to fuck you?"

He pulls back out and slams his hips flush to the kid's ass. "Gonna be a good little boy for daddy? Gonna take me all the way in?"

Xander hollers and thrusts his hips back to meet Angel's.

"Yes! Yes, please, I'll be good. Do anything you want. Just please. Please fuck me."

Angel pulls the kid up on all fours and grabs a tight hold on his hips.

"I'll fuck you. I'll make you feel good, baby. Show you how to do it. Touch yourself. Touch your cock for daddy."

Xander reaches down and starts jerking off. He's moaning and… Jesus.

"Like this? Is this right, daddy?"

Angel's groaning and panting and speeding up, fucking Xander harder and faster than he probably should.

"Yeah, just like that. You're daddy's nasty little boy. I want you to come for me. Can you come for me, Xander?"

Angel bends and drapes himself over Xander's back. He buries his face in the kid's hair. He can feel the fine threads of it catch in his stubble.

Tight, golden light unspools from his belly and twists up his spine like smoke. Everything is beautiful and fine. Everything feels great, and Angel wants to laugh at how perfect it is.

He hugs Xander tight in one arm, pulling his torso closer and nibbling on his ear, breathing out a moist, hot fog against his neck.

"You're perfect." He pants, "You’re beautiful… Xander. I can feel you. So hot… so good… ah… gonna make me come."

The kid loses the rhthym and his hips stutter to a halt as he shoots his load. He yells, deep and throaty, and Angel feels the muscles clenching down on his cock.

With the feeling of the kid surrounding him, and the sounds that he's making, Angel loses it way before he's ready for it to be over. He's quiet, though, as he feels his balls draw up and the explosion of electricity zings out along every nerve radiating out from his cock, racing up to his head and blanking out his vision to the white nothingness of shear bliss.

Xander slumps over facedown on the bed and Angel collapses on top of him. They're a mass of sweaty limbs, panting in exhaustion.

Xander doesn't move, but Angel figures that it's got to be uncomfortable, so he pulls out and rolls off of him. He carefully strips off the condom and knots it, then takes it to the bathroom and cleans himself up.

When he comes back in, the kid's snoring. Angel sits at the table and smokes a cigarette.

Oh man. That was fucking hot. Weird, but hot. Calling him daddy... Angel has beaten middle-aged businessmen with hairbrushes, crawled on all fours wearing nothing but a bib, hell. He'd done a lot of kinky shit. But Xander was a kid. He shudders. It's too wild of a thing. He really hopes the kid's not working out some deep inner demons or something. But then, it's not really a topic he wants to get into.

He finishes the smoke and scratches his belly. He contemplates leaving, but decides against it. The kid paid for the whole night, and Angel isn't going to pass up a nice, long sleep in a real bed.

Everything he's taken is starting to catch up with him. He realizes that he's tired. Bone tired, and the semi-permanent fog he's accustomed to is starting to lift. The halo of clarity he'd been wrapped in is dissipating and he's gonna feel like shit pretty soon if he doesn't do something about it. Sleep is sounding really good.

But first he pads softly across to the dresser and opens up the black bag. The kid's prescription is laying on top. He glances over his shoulder. Xander's out cold. He shakes out a little less than half of the Xanax and stuffs them into his jeans pocket, popping one to get him over the hump until morning.

He stuffs the bottle back into the bag and stretches. He turns off the light and crawls under the covers, drawing them up over the both of them.

Angel wakes up to a warm mouth on his dick. It's sticky and humid feeling, more enthusiastic than expert. He rolls his head on the pillow, enjoying the attention. The clock on the bedside table says that the night's not over yet.

He reaches down, carding his fingers through soft, wavy hair. It feels good, but his dick isn't responding. He pets Xander gently and throws the covers back to let the kid have some air.

He massages the back of Xander's skull and lets his eyes drift closed, going with it until there's a slight pressure of teeth, and he winces.

Xander pulls off with a look of contrition. "Sorry, am I doing it wrong?"

"No, you're doing great. Really. I think I just need a minute to uh… recharge." Angel sits up and disentangles his legs from the kid. "I gotta take a piss."

He grabs his jeans off the chair and takes them into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. He really does have to piss, but first he digs out a couple of pills and washes them down with a handful of tap water.

He lets go with a sigh. Rolls his head on his neck. The creeping twinge of tension is starting to coil in the back of his skull. The Xanax should help. He finishes pissing and runs his hands under the faucet, staring at himself in the mirror.

He's gakked. His mouth is chalky and everything's dried out and stringy feeling. He recognizes the jittery ache that's like the coating on his nerves has been peeled back, and everything is raw and exposed.

The fan is a harsh whir pressing down sluggishly on his eardrums. The fluorescent overhead light flickers like a strobe, out of phase with the fan and it's creating a white-noise static that jumbles up his head, jangling down his spine. He blinks rapidly, trying to get moisture to his eyes, and leans in close, tilting his chin. His pores are huge, and in this light, he's a little bit green.

He needs a shave. And a shower would be good. But his arms and legs are full of itchy grey wool, and the act of walking over to the stall and twisting the knob is miles away from where he's standing. He gives up and heads back to bed.

He stumbles over something hard in the dark. It feels like a shoe.

He makes it back under the covers, shifting slightly to recover the warm spot he left, and Xander sidles over until they're almost touching.

He yawns and turns so that he can spoon the kid, rubbing a hand in slow circles over his sternum.

"Angel?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you…"

"Huh?" His eyelids have sandy weights in them. They're itchy and there's no way he can keep them open.

"Can I ask… why you… why do you do… what it is you do?"

Angel stops rubbing and holds still, not even breathing.

"Sorry, forget it. You don't have to-"

"You wanna know why I trick?"

"…yeah."

Angels shifts away, rolling onto his back. He cradles his head on his arms, crossed on the pillow.

He murmurs into the dark, "You want the real reason, or what I tell myself?"

"There's a difference?"

Angels snorts a short, sharp laugh. "Sometimes."

"Oh."

He can feel the kid start to fidget, so he unfurls one arm to wander over the rough landscape of polyester bedspread and reaches underneath, making contact; seeking to reassure him through touch. Soothe his tormentor.

Xander can hear the rustle of skin against sheets, and feels the bed shiver as Angel shifts position. Dry, warm pressure of a palm coming to rest on his belly, rubbing soft circles. It feels nice. Comfortable.

Words float up in a quiet, lulling tone to fill the black void of nothing hovering just above their heads.

"You're glad I'm here."

It doesn't sound like a question, so Xander waits to see if there's more.

Angel's breath is warm against his shoulder. It's radiating out and wrapping him up in a cocoon of strange intimacy. He stretches his lax limbs and basks in the good feeling. He's spent and his mind is at a background hum; it's so different from what he expected. It's so not-ordinary.

"It's what I'm good at. I help people feel a little less alone."

Xander blinks into the darkness, focusing on the words and their meaning.

"So, tricking is like a noble calling?"

There's a moment of silence that swells to deafening proportions, and Xander understands that he's said something wrong.

"When I ran away, there was this… gang. Group. Of people who took me in. I didn't have any skills, didn't know how to do anything. They hooked me up. Showed me the ropes. I'm good at it."

He'd said that twice now, that he was good at his job, and Xander wondered which one of them Angel was trying to convince. But he noticed something else, too.

"You ran away?"

"Yeah."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

"Was it bad at home?"

"…You could say that."

"Me too."

"Hm?" Xander can hear the sleep crawling into Angel's voice.

"It was bad, at home… for me, too."

"Mm. That's rough."

"G'night, Angel."

He gets no response except for a slight twitch of the fingers resting below his navel.

He listens to the deep, even in-and-out of Angel's breath for a long time. After awhile, Angel rolls away from him and starts to snore.

Xander lays very still. As he watches the square of slightly lighter grey that is the window gradually turn a pale pink, he formulates a plan.

Until tonight, he hadn’t really had a choice in how his life was going. Now he had options, and he thought that it was a pretty decent trade off. Standing up for himself and making a choice had gotten him this far, maybe he should try making a few more.

He still had quite a bit of the cash he'd lifted from his parents as he'd left. There wasn't any reason for him to go back. At least not yet.

It feels big, and terrifying. Worse than carrying out the plan of hiring a hooker, even. His guts are in knots and he's trembling, but he isn't changing his mind either. After all, bravery doesn't come from not being scared. It comes from being scared and doing it anyway.

Silently he shoves off the covers and crosses the room. In the faint traces of daylight he packs his bag. Putting on his shoes, he notices Angel's coat.

If he's really going to do this, he probably should get a coat like that. His own brown leather one would stand out way too much. Plus, it was just cooler looking.

He's biting his lip, in the middle of tying the last bow on his sneaker. Could he? He pulls it slowly off the chair, running his hands over the fabric. It's soft.

Maybe just try it on for a second.

He slips his arms into the sleeves and smoothes it down over his chest. It's nice.

He puts his hands in the pockets. There's a lot of stuff in them. Not wanting to make noise and risk Angel getting pissed off, he goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.

He blinks against the shock of the fluorescent light and winces at how loud the fan seems compared to the previous silence. He stands frozen for a second, trying to listen beyond the drone to see if woke him up. There's nothing.

One by one he unloads the items in Angel's coat pockets onto the counter. There's a bottle of aspirin, a lighter, a plastic bag with what's probably pot in one. In the other there's a couple of stubs of pencils, a half-torn ticket from "The Gold Club," and a spiralbound black notebook.

He leaves most of the stuff on the counter, but he holds the notebook in the flat of his palm. Gingerly, he opens the cover. There's no writing in it, only drawings. On the first page it's a pencil sketch of a park. There's a fountain in the lefthand corner, and beyond it a carousel. A winding path cuts across the middle of the picture diagonally. It's really well done.

Xander flips through a few more pages, and is startled by one of a balding man, lower down on the page, looking up. He's got wrinkles and puffy, sad eyes. His few wisps of hair and speckled scalp are rendered in almost picture-perfect detail. But what's shocking is that his face is framed by hairy, well-muscled thighs, and his cheeks are hollowed because he's sucking a hard cock. Xander squints and tilts the book up toward the light. He can see dimples in the man's pudgy fingers, wrinkles in his knuckles, and there are slight shadows from where his grip digs into the legs surrounding him. The man's eyelids droop, but on closer examination, his gaze seems more adoring than sad.

Xander feels his cock start to stir. It's like looking at a nudie magazine, but better, because so much care was taken in the rendering. Angel's a good artist.

He flips a few more pages, and almost at the very end, there's a sketch of Angel himself. It's rougher than the others, like he'd spent less time on it. He's sitting in a chair, face full on toward the viewer. There's no graceful angle or artful posing, just Angel's face and shoulders, arms and torso. He looks determined. His eyes are part way in shadow, and the planes of his cheeks and forehead are contrasted in broad strokes of black and white. There's a term for this technique, Xander knows, but he can't remember what it is. Something Italian.

He traces a finger gently over the curve of the eyebrow and down the nose, smudging the lips just a tad. He yanks his finger away like it's been burned, and involuntarily spins to look at the door, as if he's about to get caught.

Nothing moves. Angel doesn't come storming through the door. Xander chews on his cheek; rests the sketchbook gently on the sink, and studies the drawing some more.

With index finger and thumb, he reaches out and picks up a corner of the page, pulling slightly. It tears easily from the spiral and peels away. He tucks it into the righthand pocket of the coat and grabs a pencil, flipping the notebook open to a blank page.

He scrawls: Angel, thanks for everything. I'm sorry I took your coat, but you can have mine. Maybe I'll see you around again someday.

He stops, pencil hovering inches from the paper. Sincerely? Best Regards? The sex was awesome?

Finally, he decides not leave any closing at all. That seems cooler. And more manly. He takes the keycard out of his back pocket and lays it on top of the sketchbook, open to his note.

He glances around the bathroom one more time and hits the light, hefting his bag over one shoulder. Creeping out to the front door, he pauses for a moment, listening to Angel snoring in the dark.

Everything's going to be okay.

The End

Feed the Author