A Polished Story
Feb. 26th, 2006 10:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cornerofmadnessLOVE ITSELF HAVE REST
D M Evans
Disclaimer - Still aren’t mine as much as I might want to adopt Connor. All rights belong to Mr. Whedon, though Yseult is mine and is a non-money making freeloader in my mind. All quote and lyrics belong to whomever I’ve notated.
Rating - FRMAO (for sexual situations and graphic violence)
Feedback - it helps me grow connorswhip@yahoo.com
Time Line - Post Not Fade Away
Summary - Connor tries to deal with the ’very strange and violent, at times, inappropriately erotic...dream’ left in his mind after Wesley shatters the Orlon Window.
Author’s Note #1 - Thanks to SJ and Kristi for the beta
Author’s Note #2 - This was written for the lyrical ficathon. My lyrics were:
If I was dressed in my best defenses,
Would you agree to meet me for coffee?
If I did my tricks with smoke and mirrors,
Would you still know which one was me?
Superhero -- Ani Difranco
Love Itself Have Rest
and since FFN is R rated only, if you want to see the erotic version of ch 2, look under here.
CHAPTER TWO
Through the early morning fog I see
visions of the things to be
the pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see..
Suicide is Painless - M.A.S.H. theme Song
He could almost forget his pain, letting it get carried away by the rhythm of his body. Sex tended to numb his brain, blending all the Connor’s into one focused mix but it wasn’t a cure-all. Connor knew he could hurt Yseult by accident. Had Angel even given a thought to his extraordinary strength when he commissioned the spell.? Still, he knew how to restrain himself, like it was second nature. At this point perhaps it was, since violent, strong Connor was some hazy figure lost in the corridors of his mind; Reilly lusted for the beautiful woman whose neck he was suckling; his dream self that shrieked at him to run as far from Yseult as he could.
As he slowly thrust into her, just beginning to build the fire, Connor gazed down into her chocolate eyes. Her hair splayed out on the soft sheets, thick walnut ringlets, long, begging for fingers to be lost in them. He nuzzled the bare skin of her shoulders, tasting the rich flavor sex brought to her flesh. His tongue lathed down her café au lait skin, finding a cocoa nipple, hard and ready for his mouth. Reilly insisted that he was with this girl because she was intelligent and beautiful but dream-boy was huddled in the corner of his brain, sobbing she looked like Jasmine. It was a lie, there was no such person. She was just a nightmare he had once.
The only thing that was real was the woman lying under him. This was his life; this was reality. Her warm, tender skin, the sounds of his flesh slapping against her as his cock moved in and out of her slick depths, her sharp little moans, his breath in tatters, this was actuality. There was nothing dream-like to her firm hands gripping his shoulders and her thighs capturing his hips. Yseult rolled him and he mewled a protest as he slipped free.
She grinned at him, twisting on the bed. Her hand grabbed his penis, now purple and twitching at her touch. She peeled the condom off of him. Yseult milked him hard, laughing softly at his groans. Her bee-stung bronzed lips planted a kiss on the wet tip of him then all but inhaled him, deep back into her throat. Every time he thought he could almost put himself back together, use sex to batter his inner being submission, to make the dream fade away into the mist, the imagery coalesced, demanding his attention. Even as Yseult’s greedy mouth worked him, soft sucking sounds filling the air, he was reminded that she was the first woman to ever go down on him. Tracy had never sucked him off, no matter how many memories he had of it. Sex had only two meanings for his dream-self; a means to a dark end and later way to control him lest he slip his leash and help Angel.
It can’t be real. I won’t let it. Connor tried to force those thoughts from his traitorous brain. He caught Yseult’s hips, shifting her so he could part her dark lips like a sweet tulip. He ran the tip of his nose over her nub as his tongue flickered over her, tasting salt and oysters. She moaned around his cock as his tongue dipped inside her. His mouth moved hungrily, desperately trying to cobble himself together so he could fill the hole inside of him by sucking the love straight out of her.
Connor slid fingers inside of her, making little ‘come hither’ movements that were supposed to hit one of the ‘G’- spots. Programing the kamasutra into him must have been Vail’s idea of a joke or Angel’s idea of normalcy for teen-aged boys. Stop it, you came by this naturally. Forget that dream. God, brain, just let me rest. Frantic to not lose the numbness fucking bestowed, he threw himself back into it, his tongue teasing Yseult as his fingers worked. She let him slip free of her talented mouth as he caught her clit with lip-blunted teeth, clamping, pulling and releasing.
She howled as her orgasm left her loose-limbed on top of him. His fingers, running dew, kept working as her vagina spasmed around them. He left Yseult panting on the bed, shifting into a new position, giving her freer access to him. He was hers to do with as she wished. Yseult, still trembling from the force of her climaxes laid him back down. Her mouth played with his glazed lips then her tongue blazed a trail down to his rigid cock.
Yseult mouthed his balls as she stroked him hard. He liked the roughness. There was no talk about gifts and things that were real. This was animalistic and demanding. The milking hurt just a little but the pain felt good. His back arched, his chest heaving as she added a twist to her stroking. Her mouth went back around the head of his cock and he came hard as she sucked him in down to the root. His cries echoed in the room with each powerful wave pushing through him until he was sprawled on the bed, utterly sated.
For a while they didn’t talk, just lay there quivering masses of well-used flesh. Finally they made their way into the shower then to the couch in front of the tv. Beer and potato chips and re-runs of the X-Files, life felt pretty good, almost normal. Connor liked how Yseult treated him like an adult, like he was old enough for beer. He could almost pretend his life wasn’t a long-lost X-File episode.
Yseult caressed his thigh as they lounged together. “I know I probably shouldn’t have but I called him.”
Connor’s broody brow knitted together, an action so much like his father if only he’d admit it. “Called who?”
“The man who keeps leaving all those messages on your answering machine,” Yseult said, warily.
Connor sat up, moving away from her touch. “You called Angel? What in the hell for?”
Yseult eyed him sourly, not liking his tone. “Because the man is obviously worried about you. He calls practically every day and you never even told me you had an older brother.”
Connor got up, slamming his beer down on the coffee table. How dare his father try to insinuate himself back into his life? He’d never knit himself back together if that happened. He refused to listen to the little voice that said he shouldn’t blame Angel for trying to help, for making up a plausible lie as to why he kept calling. “There’s a reason for that. He’s...dangerous, okay?”
“He didn’t sound dangerous. He seemed very concerned about you.” She set the chips on the table, getting up. She caught Connor’s hand. “So am I. Connor, it’s getting worse. I look in your eyes and you’re not even in there sometimes. I see this sea of misery and you are so far adrift on it I can’t toss you a lifeline.” Yseult’s hand skimmed his face, taking his hair out of his eyes. “Even in bed, it’s like there’s someone else with us. I can see you struggling with whatever it is that’s devouring you but you won’t let me help.”
“Because you can’t,” he said in a voice so frail and helpless it could have belonged to a child.
“You won’t even let me try.” Her dark eyes glistened. “Why don’t you let Angel try to help? Dangerous or not, he’s obviously so concerned about you that it hurts him. I could hear it in his voice.”
Connor’s hand tore through his hair, catching hanks of it. He knew she meant well but Yseult had no idea what she had just done. If Angel thought he was freaking out, the vampire would do something. God only knew what that meant. Angel had an amazing capacity for shooting himself in the foot with blow back that took out everyone around him. “What did you tell him, Yseult?”
She stiffened, preparing for the inevitable fight. “The truth, that you’re growing distant, brooding all the time. Your studies slipped in the summer, Connor. Do you think you’ll do any better this semester?” Her lips thinned. “I don’t because you can’t pull yourself together.”
At that he laughed, cold and brittle as the first ice storm in a Wisconsin winter. He jumped to his feet, his body shaking.
“I told him what everyone thinks, that you have PTSD from the attacks in L.A. and that you won’t get help,” Yseult said, her dark eyes narrowing.
“Because I don’t have PTSD,” he snapped, pacing the room, feeling very much like a caged animal.
“Irregardless, Angel will be here this weekend with his girlfriend, I guess.” She shrugged as he looked at her curiously, in spite of himself. “Someone named Faith.” Yseult’s eyes fastened on him. “Are you sure that your brother is dangerous? I mean, Faith and Angel, they sound like a pair of religious fanatics.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Then again back home in Atlanta, some of those Southern Baptist holy rollers could be downright dangerous.”
This time his laughter was high pitched, nearly hysterical in tone. “You have no idea how funny that is. I’ll have to tell him that. Trust me those two would explode if they stepped inside a church...well, Angel at any rate.”
“I’m hoping you’ll let them and me help you.” She caught hold of him, pulling him tightly to her lush body. “You need it and there’s no shame in that.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking. I can’t just go talk to a therapist.” Connor pulled away from her roughly.
“Why not? It won’t reflect badly when you apply to law school, trust me on that.” Her lips trembled. “Talking will help you.”
“If I told you the truth, you’d never believe it,” he said and thought for a moment about actually telling her everything just because he wanted to drive her away, to save her from even trying to love him. He knew where that could lead. Reason, however, ruled and he headed for the door. “I’m glad you’re concerned, Yseult, really I am. I’ll introduce you to Angel and Faith when they get here but I...I just need to walk and clear my head, okay?”
Connor didn’t wait for her reaction. He didn’t notice her tears. He didn’t see the citrusy eyes that tracked his path away from her apartment before the creature knocked on the door and pretended to be him returning. Connor didn’t hear Yseult invite it in. All he was aware of was the thunder of blood in his head and the little voice that kept reminding him Humpty-Dumpty couldn’t be put back together again.
D M Evans
Disclaimer - Still aren’t mine as much as I might want to adopt Connor. All rights belong to Mr. Whedon, though Yseult is mine and is a non-money making freeloader in my mind. All quote and lyrics belong to whomever I’ve notated.
Rating - FRMAO (for sexual situations and graphic violence)
Feedback - it helps me grow connorswhip@yahoo.com
Time Line - Post Not Fade Away
Summary - Connor tries to deal with the ’very strange and violent, at times, inappropriately erotic...dream’ left in his mind after Wesley shatters the Orlon Window.
Author’s Note #1 - Thanks to SJ and Kristi for the beta
Author’s Note #2 - This was written for the lyrical ficathon. My lyrics were:
If I was dressed in my best defenses,
Would you agree to meet me for coffee?
If I did my tricks with smoke and mirrors,
Would you still know which one was me?
Superhero -- Ani Difranco
Love Itself Have Rest
and since FFN is R rated only, if you want to see the erotic version of ch 2, look under here.
CHAPTER TWO
Through the early morning fog I see
visions of the things to be
the pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see..
Suicide is Painless - M.A.S.H. theme Song
He could almost forget his pain, letting it get carried away by the rhythm of his body. Sex tended to numb his brain, blending all the Connor’s into one focused mix but it wasn’t a cure-all. Connor knew he could hurt Yseult by accident. Had Angel even given a thought to his extraordinary strength when he commissioned the spell.? Still, he knew how to restrain himself, like it was second nature. At this point perhaps it was, since violent, strong Connor was some hazy figure lost in the corridors of his mind; Reilly lusted for the beautiful woman whose neck he was suckling; his dream self that shrieked at him to run as far from Yseult as he could.
As he slowly thrust into her, just beginning to build the fire, Connor gazed down into her chocolate eyes. Her hair splayed out on the soft sheets, thick walnut ringlets, long, begging for fingers to be lost in them. He nuzzled the bare skin of her shoulders, tasting the rich flavor sex brought to her flesh. His tongue lathed down her café au lait skin, finding a cocoa nipple, hard and ready for his mouth. Reilly insisted that he was with this girl because she was intelligent and beautiful but dream-boy was huddled in the corner of his brain, sobbing she looked like Jasmine. It was a lie, there was no such person. She was just a nightmare he had once.
The only thing that was real was the woman lying under him. This was his life; this was reality. Her warm, tender skin, the sounds of his flesh slapping against her as his cock moved in and out of her slick depths, her sharp little moans, his breath in tatters, this was actuality. There was nothing dream-like to her firm hands gripping his shoulders and her thighs capturing his hips. Yseult rolled him and he mewled a protest as he slipped free.
She grinned at him, twisting on the bed. Her hand grabbed his penis, now purple and twitching at her touch. She peeled the condom off of him. Yseult milked him hard, laughing softly at his groans. Her bee-stung bronzed lips planted a kiss on the wet tip of him then all but inhaled him, deep back into her throat. Every time he thought he could almost put himself back together, use sex to batter his inner being submission, to make the dream fade away into the mist, the imagery coalesced, demanding his attention. Even as Yseult’s greedy mouth worked him, soft sucking sounds filling the air, he was reminded that she was the first woman to ever go down on him. Tracy had never sucked him off, no matter how many memories he had of it. Sex had only two meanings for his dream-self; a means to a dark end and later way to control him lest he slip his leash and help Angel.
It can’t be real. I won’t let it. Connor tried to force those thoughts from his traitorous brain. He caught Yseult’s hips, shifting her so he could part her dark lips like a sweet tulip. He ran the tip of his nose over her nub as his tongue flickered over her, tasting salt and oysters. She moaned around his cock as his tongue dipped inside her. His mouth moved hungrily, desperately trying to cobble himself together so he could fill the hole inside of him by sucking the love straight out of her.
Connor slid fingers inside of her, making little ‘come hither’ movements that were supposed to hit one of the ‘G’- spots. Programing the kamasutra into him must have been Vail’s idea of a joke or Angel’s idea of normalcy for teen-aged boys. Stop it, you came by this naturally. Forget that dream. God, brain, just let me rest. Frantic to not lose the numbness fucking bestowed, he threw himself back into it, his tongue teasing Yseult as his fingers worked. She let him slip free of her talented mouth as he caught her clit with lip-blunted teeth, clamping, pulling and releasing.
She howled as her orgasm left her loose-limbed on top of him. His fingers, running dew, kept working as her vagina spasmed around them. He left Yseult panting on the bed, shifting into a new position, giving her freer access to him. He was hers to do with as she wished. Yseult, still trembling from the force of her climaxes laid him back down. Her mouth played with his glazed lips then her tongue blazed a trail down to his rigid cock.
Yseult mouthed his balls as she stroked him hard. He liked the roughness. There was no talk about gifts and things that were real. This was animalistic and demanding. The milking hurt just a little but the pain felt good. His back arched, his chest heaving as she added a twist to her stroking. Her mouth went back around the head of his cock and he came hard as she sucked him in down to the root. His cries echoed in the room with each powerful wave pushing through him until he was sprawled on the bed, utterly sated.
For a while they didn’t talk, just lay there quivering masses of well-used flesh. Finally they made their way into the shower then to the couch in front of the tv. Beer and potato chips and re-runs of the X-Files, life felt pretty good, almost normal. Connor liked how Yseult treated him like an adult, like he was old enough for beer. He could almost pretend his life wasn’t a long-lost X-File episode.
Yseult caressed his thigh as they lounged together. “I know I probably shouldn’t have but I called him.”
Connor’s broody brow knitted together, an action so much like his father if only he’d admit it. “Called who?”
“The man who keeps leaving all those messages on your answering machine,” Yseult said, warily.
Connor sat up, moving away from her touch. “You called Angel? What in the hell for?”
Yseult eyed him sourly, not liking his tone. “Because the man is obviously worried about you. He calls practically every day and you never even told me you had an older brother.”
Connor got up, slamming his beer down on the coffee table. How dare his father try to insinuate himself back into his life? He’d never knit himself back together if that happened. He refused to listen to the little voice that said he shouldn’t blame Angel for trying to help, for making up a plausible lie as to why he kept calling. “There’s a reason for that. He’s...dangerous, okay?”
“He didn’t sound dangerous. He seemed very concerned about you.” She set the chips on the table, getting up. She caught Connor’s hand. “So am I. Connor, it’s getting worse. I look in your eyes and you’re not even in there sometimes. I see this sea of misery and you are so far adrift on it I can’t toss you a lifeline.” Yseult’s hand skimmed his face, taking his hair out of his eyes. “Even in bed, it’s like there’s someone else with us. I can see you struggling with whatever it is that’s devouring you but you won’t let me help.”
“Because you can’t,” he said in a voice so frail and helpless it could have belonged to a child.
“You won’t even let me try.” Her dark eyes glistened. “Why don’t you let Angel try to help? Dangerous or not, he’s obviously so concerned about you that it hurts him. I could hear it in his voice.”
Connor’s hand tore through his hair, catching hanks of it. He knew she meant well but Yseult had no idea what she had just done. If Angel thought he was freaking out, the vampire would do something. God only knew what that meant. Angel had an amazing capacity for shooting himself in the foot with blow back that took out everyone around him. “What did you tell him, Yseult?”
She stiffened, preparing for the inevitable fight. “The truth, that you’re growing distant, brooding all the time. Your studies slipped in the summer, Connor. Do you think you’ll do any better this semester?” Her lips thinned. “I don’t because you can’t pull yourself together.”
At that he laughed, cold and brittle as the first ice storm in a Wisconsin winter. He jumped to his feet, his body shaking.
“I told him what everyone thinks, that you have PTSD from the attacks in L.A. and that you won’t get help,” Yseult said, her dark eyes narrowing.
“Because I don’t have PTSD,” he snapped, pacing the room, feeling very much like a caged animal.
“Irregardless, Angel will be here this weekend with his girlfriend, I guess.” She shrugged as he looked at her curiously, in spite of himself. “Someone named Faith.” Yseult’s eyes fastened on him. “Are you sure that your brother is dangerous? I mean, Faith and Angel, they sound like a pair of religious fanatics.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Then again back home in Atlanta, some of those Southern Baptist holy rollers could be downright dangerous.”
This time his laughter was high pitched, nearly hysterical in tone. “You have no idea how funny that is. I’ll have to tell him that. Trust me those two would explode if they stepped inside a church...well, Angel at any rate.”
“I’m hoping you’ll let them and me help you.” She caught hold of him, pulling him tightly to her lush body. “You need it and there’s no shame in that.”
“You have no idea what you’re asking. I can’t just go talk to a therapist.” Connor pulled away from her roughly.
“Why not? It won’t reflect badly when you apply to law school, trust me on that.” Her lips trembled. “Talking will help you.”
“If I told you the truth, you’d never believe it,” he said and thought for a moment about actually telling her everything just because he wanted to drive her away, to save her from even trying to love him. He knew where that could lead. Reason, however, ruled and he headed for the door. “I’m glad you’re concerned, Yseult, really I am. I’ll introduce you to Angel and Faith when they get here but I...I just need to walk and clear my head, okay?”
Connor didn’t wait for her reaction. He didn’t notice her tears. He didn’t see the citrusy eyes that tracked his path away from her apartment before the creature knocked on the door and pretended to be him returning. Connor didn’t hear Yseult invite it in. All he was aware of was the thunder of blood in his head and the little voice that kept reminding him Humpty-Dumpty couldn’t be put back together again.
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