In Control by Dannyblue
Summary: Angel claims Billy's touch had no effect on him. But was Angel telling the truth?
Spoilers: Season Three up to "Billy."
Notes: Takes place during the third season episode "Billy."
Fred was fast asleep.
Cordelia Chase
watched from the doorway with a worried frown.
Because, even in sleep, the older girl looked shocked. Frightened. Vulnerable.
When
invisible hands tucked the covers closer around Fred's shoulders, Cordelia
smiled a little.
"Thanks,
Dennis," she said. "I think you can turn off the lights, now. But, if
she wakes up, or it sounds like she's having a bad dream..."
The lamp clicked
off, then on, then off again. Dennis's
way of telling her he got it. After all, it wasn't
like the ghost hadn't done this kind of thing
before. Like when a
particularly nasty vision filled
her slumber with
nightmares. Images of death, and blood.
The sounds of screams. Of bones snapping.
Shaking away the
dream echoes, Cordy wandered out into the
living room. Angel had been right. Getting Fred
out of the hotel,
away from memories that were way to
fresh and raw, had
been a good idea. As tightly wound as
she'd been when they got back from the airstrip,
Cordy doubted Fred
ever would've relaxed enough to go
to sleep at the
Hyperion.
Cordy could
understand. she remembered what it had been
like after Angelus got "out" the last time.
Listening to a
stranger, with her friend's face, say
all of those
horrible things. Looking into his eyes and
knowing-*knowing*-what he would do to her if she
didn't get away
somehow.
Going back to the
old office the next day hadn't been easy.
Even after the little pep talk she gave Angel
the night before,
about how she was okay, she didn't
blame him for what
happened. Things like that were easy
to say, but it took a while to feel them. Completely,
anyway.
From what the
physicist had said, what happened that night
at the hotel between her and Wesley had been so
much worse. And
Cordy wondered if Fred was strong
enough to face
Wesley again, and without blame. To realize
it hadn't really been him...
When the 'phone
rang, Cordy hurried to the living room to
answer it. Before it woke Fred up.
"Hello."
"Hey. It's
me."
"Angel. How did
it go?"
"They're both
going to be okay. Wesley's in much worse shape
than Gunn. But the doctors will probably release
them both sometime
tomorrow."
"Good,"
Cordy sighed with relief. They were okay. A little
battered and bruised, but okay. "That's good.
And you're sure
Billy's mojo has worn off?"
"Yeah. From
what I've been able to piece together, the men
effected by Billy return to normal pretty soon
after they have
they're...outburst. Once they're able
to act out whatever
impulses he stirred up in them." They're
was a long pause. Like he wasn't sure he should
say what he was going to say. "And how are
you?"
Did he mean, had she
stopped feeling guilty about the women
*and* men whose lives were now broken because of
Billy? Because of
her? Then the answer was no.
But all she said
was, "I'm fine. Now that it's over."
She wasn't sure he
believed her. But he didn't push.
"Get some
rest," he said instead. "I'll see you
tomorrow."
As she hung up the
'phone, Cordy couldn't help remembering
what it had been like. Standing on the runway.
Watching in horror as Billy touched Angel. The
look in Angel's
eyes...For a moment, a fraction of a
second, she'd been
afraid of him.
Thank God he'd been
able to stay in control.
____________________
Angel realized he
was still holding the 'phone. That his
grip was getting tighter and tighter. If he didn't
let go soon, the
receiver would shatter.
Taking a deep,
unneeded breath, he hung up the 'phone. Maybe
calling Cordy hadn't been a good idea. The sound
of her voice...
*Pours through you,
like calm through a storm. A balm on
a soul that's aching. And raging.*
*Warm. She's so
warm. Just the sound of her voice can take
away the cold. Imagine how warm you'd be if you
could bury yourself
inside her.*
"Shut up,"
Angel growled, silencing his traitorous
thoughts.
*So warm. No-one
else can make you feel so warm.*
Squeezing his eyes
shut, Angel leaned heavily against the
check-in counter. And he almost smiled bitterly at
his arrogance.
He'd been so sure
Billy's touch had had no effect on him.
It wasn't until they
were driving back to the hotel-with
the top up, because it was chilly out-that he
started to feel it. When the sound of Cordy's
heartbeat started to
pound in his ears. When her scent
flooded his senses,
making him take one deep, hungry breath
after another. And it got harder and harder to
focus on the road.
Not even what they
found when they returned to the hotel
could stop whatever was happening to him. Even
as they called an
ambulance, and came up with a cover
story to explain
what had happened to the hospital staff.
*Could hear her
blood. Like a hum, purring through her veins.
Could almost taste...*
With a silent curse,
the vampire pushed away from the counter.
He wondered if she noticed how close he was. At
all times. Never more than a step or two away.
He couldn't make
himself move away.
Thank God he'd known
what was happening. Unlike the other
men Billy effected, he knew why he was feeling
the way he was
feeling. Wondered why it was effecting
him differently,
then decided it didn't really matter.
Before he left to
follow Gunn and Wesley to the hospital,
he convinced Cordy to take Fred to stay at her
apartment for the night. Not that anything he was
feeling was directed
at Fred. No, he'd barely noticed
her. All he could
see, think, feel was Cordelia.
But Fred was a
woman, and...
*She would've been
safe. You know that. She's not the one
you want. Not the one.*
...there was no need
to take any chances.
Angel made his way
across the darkened lobby. He should
have told someone. Warned them. They could've
gotten the chains
they kept on hand just in case.
But the guys were
hardly in any condition, were they? And
Cordy...
She'd been through
so much tonight. He couldn't pile any
more weight onto her shoulders.
*Manacles wrapped
around her wrists. Hands chained to the
bedposts. Eyes pleading with you to...*
One hand pressed to
his forehead, Angel climbed the stairs.
He could handle this. He'd spent a century battling
his darker impulses. Doing so was second-nature
to him now.
He would stay in
control.
*So warm...*
____________________
Angel tried to
sleep. If he could sleep, he wouldn't be
able to think.
But, the longer he
lay in his bed, the further away sleep
seemed to get.
*Remember how she
used to chase you back in Sunnydale? Your
head was so full of the Slayer, you didn't even
notice-didn't* want
*to notice-what was being
offered to you.*
*What you wouldn't
give to be able to go back?*
She'd been so
beautiful, even then. So young and powerful,
and full of light. How could he not have seen
it?
He remembered now,
her jumping into his arms once or twice.
Clinging to him. He would stand there, stiff as
a pole, waiting for
her to let go.
He wished he could
change those memories. That his past
self could tighten his arms around her, bury his
nose in her mahogany
hair. Relax and let her body mold
against his.
Take what she was
offering. Take more than she was offering.
Restlessly, Angel
turned over in the bed. And groaned. His
skin felt tight. So tight. Even the brush of silk
sheets against him
was too much.
*Remember that
night? When you threw Darla through the glass.
How many times have you dreamed about it? Only,
it isn't your sire's
face you see. Is it?*
He forces himself to
lay still. Tossing and turning only
seemed to add to his aggravation. If he could
just stay still...
*You thought you
would wake up, and your soul would be gone.
You thought you were setting Angelus lose on your
friends.*
*And you could take
what you hadn't even admitted you wanted.
More than anything.*
Angel clutched the
sheets in one tight fist. When he went
to sleep next to Darla that not, part of him hoping
his soul would go away and take the pain with
it. A faint,
forgotten voice dreading what he'd do to
his friends.
And one face. Her
face. Hers was the first face he wanted
to see when he was free.
*You don't have to
fight it. You can be free now. Give in.
They'll forgive you. She'll forgive you no matter
what you do, what
you take. Blame it all on Billy, and
she'll forgive you.*
Tossing the sheets
aside, Angel stood up. Hands rubbing
roughly across his face.
These were just
thoughts. Just thoughts. He'd never...
*She thinks you're a
eunuch. That you don't-that you* can't
*feel the way you feel about her. That she can
walk around here
looking the way she does, smelling
the way she does,
and it won't effect you at all. You
should show her...*
A low growl rumbled
in his chest. Did she really think of
him as a eunuch? As something safe, and sexless,
and harmless.
Would she still
think it when he was pinning her down and...
With a vigorous
shake of his head, Angel stalked into the
bathroom, past the mirror. Unable to see his reflection,
which would have revealed amber eyes, ridges
forehead.
Violently, he ripped
the shower curtain open. Turned on
the cold water.
*When your training.
Your arms wrapped around her to show
her some new sword move. Her warm body burning
his skin with her
delicious heat.*
*How many touches
have you stolen? Fingers brushing across
her breasts. Her thighs.*
*How many times have
you held her tighter than you had too?
Pressed your hips against her?*
*Felt her move
against you, like those silk sheets, until
your so hard you can barely stand up straight?*
*And she doesn't
notice, does she?*
*The bitch doesn't
even notice!*
Gritting his teeth,
Angel stepped under the torrent of ice
cold water. He felt so hot, like there were flames
licking at his skin.
Someone with no body
temperature shouldn't feel this hot.
*You're almost glad
when some demon tears a chunk out of
you. When she's patching you up. The pain...and the
pleasure.*
*You want to give
her a taste. First pleasure. Then pain.*
*You want her to
moan for you.*
*And scream.*
Hands braces against
the shower wall, eyes squeezed shut,
he let the water pour over him. Wishing it could
drown out his
thoughts.
*You wonder
sometimes. If you asked....would she bare her
throat to you.*
____________________
Angel stood in the
hallway, as still as a statue.
He could hear
Cordelia on the other side of the door. Close,
so she must be sleeping on the couch.
Her breathing was
slow and even. Calm and relaxed.
*She doesn't know.*
Her heart was a
slow, rhythmic thump he could feel in his
bones. It throbbed in his ears. Pounding through
his veins. Making
his borrowed blood hum.
*She doesn't know
how dangerous you are.*
He could smell her
blood, the essence of her, even through
the oak door.
He took one deep
breath after another, trying to take her
all in. To drink her scent into every pore. Every
cell.
His abdomen
tightened until the pain-the need for release-was
almost unbearable.
*She doesn't know to
be afraid of you.*
Angel heard the
click as the lock was turned.
"No,
Dennis!" he growled. Almost yelled into the
stillness of the
night. "Don't let me in."
Did the ghost hear
the menace in his voice? Could Dennis
hear how on edge he was?
The deadbolt slammed
back into place.
You know he can't
keep you out. Not if you really try to
get in.
She wanted you
before. If you go to her, offer yourself
to her, maybe she'll want you again.
*And even if she
doesn't...*
"No,"
Angel whispered.
Closing his eyes, he
breathed deep. And Cordelia filled
him up...
"I'm in
control," he snarled, snatching his hand away
from the doorknob.
When had he put it there?
Pulling himself away
from the door, he forced his feet to
carry him down the hall.
He knew about this
place...
____________________
The one he picked
looked more like Cordy than the others.
Similar build.
Hair cut into the
same style.
Her scent was wrong.
But if he closed his eyes, stopped
breathing...
He could pretend.
____________________
His control was
almost at its limits. He was afraid he what
he might do.
Especially when he
realized, again and again, that the girl
wasn't who he wanted. And the anger took hold.
But he didn't hurt
her.
Not any more than a
human man could have.
End.
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