suki_blue | Fic: Fire and Ice -- 1/? -- Xander/Angel

OMG, yes, my first genuine WIP for well over a year. Expect roughly ten parts, quick and fun.

Title: Fire and Ice
Fandom: BTVS
Pairing: Xander/Angel
Author:

suki_blue
Genre: Futuristic Sci-Fi
Rating: NC-17 overall for sex, language and violence.
Summary: Thirty thousand years have passed and Angel is keeping a low profile on Artemi 7, one of five exiled planets with no government and no law. He's busy brooding, and ridding the locals of their pesky demons in his spare time. But his peaceful existence is destroyed when he meets a man from his past and a powerful and ancient demon ventures from its fiery chasm.

Beta'd by

kitty_poker1 and

amejisuto. Thanks, guys! And also thank you to

literati who, as usual, has led me astray.

Angel ran. The ground was slippery with snow and ice, and as he climbed a ridge, the rocks beneath his feet shifted and crumbled. It was cold. Arctic cold. He wouldn’t be able to go much farther before his blood froze and his limbs became too painful to move. He was nearly out of time.

The sun disappeared behind the mountains and Angel felt its departure like a bucket of ice over his body. Centuries ago, he would have laughed at the idea of basking in the sun. Now he cursed every time it went down.

The wind was surging, blowing a gale over the tundra and picking up the snow as it passed, throwing it into the air and swirling it until Angel’s target became a veiled shadow in the distance.

If he didn’t go for it now, he would lose the demon, and any hope of catching it up would be dashed when his frozen body failed and pitched into the snow. The last time that had happened, his body and mind had just stopped, immobile and preserved until the sun had come back up seven days later.

Angel dropped over the other side of the ridge and put on a burst of speed. It was now or wait another month for the Flackla to lay more eggs and venture out to snack on the locals.

The wind was harsh and painful against his cheeks and ears and the snow was stinging his eyes, but the shadow of the Flackla was becoming clearer again as Angel closed the distance between them. He saw the glint and shine of six long fangs as it turned its head and growled.

‘That sort of language will get you arrested on some moons,’ Angel said, and the Flackla answered with a series of growls and gurgles that would have at least bought it a dunk in one of Artemi 7’s punishment tanks.

Angel leapt and swung his broadsword. The creature fell back and dropped the human corpse it was carrying. She’d been a pretty young thing, long golden hair tied into a braid and deep violet eyes that were as big as they were piercing. Except now they were clouded, lilac and milky white, and her once pink lips were blue and spotted with blood frozen into crystals.

The Flackla hissed and coiled, its front legs lifting and its torso curling up like a giant snake. Angel anticipated the strike and dived to the side. He hit the ground and rolled and by the time he was on his feet again, the Flackla was fifty paces ahead, dragging its kill behind it, long claws wrapped around the girl’s ankle.

Angel’s bones ached. He was exhausted. He was hungry. So tired. Three days staking out, five hours chasing this creature across the ice. And the worst thing? He wasn’t even going to get a decent meal out of it. Flackla’s tasted like shit. Literally. Or so Angel had heard.

He ran and the world started to spin. He felt sick with the cold. The darkening sky and the ice twirled and seemed to change positions and Angel carried on blindly. His feet slipped beneath him and he tripped and stumbled, cried out and swung the sword again.

The Flackla’s scream carried across the empty ice and it slipped to its six knees. Its blood steamed as it hit the freezing air and the smell made Angel gag. His stomach heaved and in that brief moment, the demon stretched up its front legs and grabbed Angel’s neck in its talons. The whistling wind covered the tiny sound but Angel still felt the snap and break. His eyes rolled up into his head and he felt his body numb beyond the intense cold. The Flackla threw him to the ground and rose to its gigantic feet.

Angel couldn’t move. He lay crumpled in the snow and watched the Flackla lick its long, red tongue around one of its fangs.

He would have been alive (although technically dead) for thirty thousand years next Cycle. Damn it! Almost made it.

‘See ya,’ he whispered, and then the ice turned warm and golden yellow and the Flackla exploded into a billion fleshy little pieces. Angel thought this was strange, but he closed his eyes and slept anyway.

***

The next time Angel opened his eyes there was a little less sky and a lot more ceiling. Even though everything was dark and blurry, he was sure he could make out pipes, metal ones that twisted and intertwined. Sanitation pipes? Or maybe they were air pipes, although if so they were ancient, at least two hundred years old. No one pumped air by pipe anymore.

Why was he thinking about pipes? Oh yeah, a distraction because of the unbelievable pain in his neck. Angel clenched his fists and screamed, not a girly scream, not a distressed meep, but a long and loud cry of agony. He felt his fangs cut into his lips and he licked at the blood. Christ, he was hungry.

‘Three feet to your right,’ said a voice, and Angel roared at it, his yellow eyes wide as he tried to focus and threaten at the same time.

‘Don’t bother. Intercom. Three feet to your right. Stretch your arm out and say hello to plasma-ry goodness. And cookies. Do you eat? I forget.’

There was something annoyingly familiar about that voice. Angel tried to turn his head to the right, and gasped at the pain.

‘Still as bright as a brick, huh?’ the voice said. ‘One packet of blood within reaching distance. Drink it and wait for the magic.’

Angel moved his arm, slowly at first to test his pain level. His fingers brushed over a plastic bottle. He dragged it back towards him and, with some difficulty, lifted it until he could see it. His vision swirled and swam until he felt sick with it, but he stared hard at the bottle until he could see it was transparent and full of blood.

‘Flip top lid,’ the voice said with a hint of amusement. ‘Go for it. I guarantee you’re gonna love it.’

Barely aware that he was following the voice’s instructions, Angel flipped the lid with his thumb.

‘Fuck.’ Angel pressed the bottle to his lips, closed his eyes and drank deeply. Blood ran down his chin and cheeks as he lay supine on the floor. He choked twice, his fingers punctured the bottle, but he didn’t stop until every drop was drained.

‘Good, huh? Remember that taste, Angel? I bet you do.’

The voice was mocking him, jabbing, and Angel had the strange urge to flush someone’s head down the nearest toilet. Wow, he hadn’t had that urge in thirty thousand years. Not since ...

And then he remembered. That taste. Pure heaven, pure sex, strong, sweet Slayer blood. God, no.

‘Who the fuck are you?!’

‘Someone you really don’t want to kill, maim, head-butt or bite. Which is why you’re currently stored in my locked cargo hold. That stuff works fast, as you know. Chill for thirty minutes and I’ll let you out.’

‘Where did you get that blood?! Whose is it?!’

‘That doesn’t sound like chilling to me. Cool it and we’ll talk. I’m not the bad guy.’

Angel felt the bones in his neck start to move and fuse. He clenched his jaw against the pain.

‘Thirty minutes. Oh, and if you try to chew your way through the door or interfere with my pipes in any way – yeah, I saw you looking, buddy -- I’ll jettison your ass into open space.’

There was a click, and static Angel hadn’t realised he was hearing disappeared and left him in silence.

That voice. Who the hell was that? Angel’s back went into spasm and he screamed at the pain. Maybe he couldn’t place that voice, but he knew that blood.

Slayer blood. It warmed and stung the back of his throat and he remembered Buffy, the scent of her skin, the silky strands of hair sliding through his fingers. He hardened and groaned with frustration, squeezed himself. It had been a long time since he’d thought of her, even longer since he’d thought about the soft downy hairs on her arms and her small, round breasts against his palms.

The static returned. ‘Could you stop that, please? Jerking off in my cargo hold will also get you jettisoned.’

‘Fuck you!’ Angel threw the bottle at the ceiling.

**

More than thirty minutes passed, Angel was sure. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, the vibrations from the engines below making his butt numb, and glared at the door. He was more or less healed now. His bones had fused correctly, he was reasonably sure any internal bleeding had stopped, and all he was left with was a stiff neck and a temper. He had no idea who was on the other side of that door, but even though he felt like he could sleep for a week, he also knew he could kick any ass that presented itself.

Finally, after another ten minutes or so, the door slid open and Angel jumped to his feet and took up a fighting stance.

There was no one there.

Hmm.

Angel slowly moved towards the door, straining to hear anything that might be outside. It was difficult tell with the hum of the engines. They made him deaf to anything below a certain decibel level.

‘Hello?’ he said, and received no answer. He peered around the door and looked both ways. Empty. There were several doors along the corridor, all closed except one. He made his way cautiously towards it.

More pipes trailed and curved above him, military grey and exposed, a little rusted in places. The air had a slightly stale taste to it, like maybe the pipes weren’t quite doing their jobs properly. Or maybe it was the ventilation shafts. Angel glanced up at them as he walked. Yeah, this ship was old. He was no expert and generally he liked to steer clear of ships because he hated to fly and liked his feet on the ground, thank you very much, but if he had to make a bet, he’d put his money on the ship being at least a hundred and fifty years old. He walked down a set of stairs and felt more confident he was right. Who had stairs in a space ship anymore?

There was a choice of three doors in the next corridor. One was closed and, upon closer inspection, the second one turned out to open into a kitchen space. He walked softly towards the door at the end. It was slid only halfway open. He peered though first and saw the profile of a young man bent over a console. The man was prying open part of the computer with some kind of file.

‘The door’s stuck like that. Never could figure out how to jump-start it.’

Angel relaxed slightly. A predator worth worrying about would never turn his back on prey, not unless he was stupid.

The man’s file slipped and the panel he was levering pinged up in the air and hit him on the forehead. ‘Ow.’

Angel, one eyebrow raised, stepped through the doorway with a little more confidence. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said.

The young man turned towards him with an annoyed expression. ‘Oh polite. How about, “How are you?” “Nice to see you.” “Are you hurt?”?’ I saved your frozen ass. The least you could do is show some concern. I could have just lost an eye – again.’

Angel stared. It couldn’t be. Hair almost black, messy and curling around his ears. Large, deep brown eyes – two of. And a mouth that could only belong to one person in the whole universe.

A thousand memories, mostly unpleasant, rushed full force into Angel’s brain. ‘Xander Harris?’

TBC ...