Title: Col Arco (with the bow)
Author: seraphcelene
Rating: PG-13ish (barely around the edges)
A/N: pre-Innocence B/A for the bow challenge at open on sunday. x-posted.
Summary: Buffy and Angel, playing close to the bridge.

Angel plays Buffy tight, he's always known how. Draws the sound of her pleasure, like a song, from her heart. It's the mingled echo of heartbreak and sharp knives, roaring apocalypse at the world's end.

His nipping mouth swallows her gasps for safety. A promise and a warning.

Angel saws against her, jean clad thigh wedged high and tight between her legs. Presses up with his knee and then tilts his pelvis down. Kisses the spot behind her ear, and shivers as her kitten voice breaks with orgasm, sweet legato drawn by the desperate press of his body on hers.

Ha! Make a liar out of me why don't you!!


Title: The Tyger and the Lamb
Author: seraphcelene
Fandom: Angel the Series
Rating: G
A/N: Not Fade Away end-battle; for the Open on Sunday "Slate" challenge.

( Slate )

Not even after the dragon – the fire, the ash, the stink of burning flesh beneath the sulphur – not even after the gaping jaws and leathery wings would Wesley have imagined (and Wesley has imagined many things) this barren, blistering Apocalypse. He never would have pictured an army of Slayers against the blaze of the horizon, their swords drawn and flashing. The rotting bodies are familiar and the crows, but not the blistering daylight.

Wouldn’t have imagined this Hell, this …. Earth bleached raw by perpetual sun, or the gift of Angel’s Shanshu redeemed by Spike on a cross of pine.

Title: A Kiss on the Lips
A/N: Faith/Wesley set during Five by Five; xposted to open_on_sunday
Rating: PG
Summary: Look how pretty she is when she falls down.


A Kiss on the Lips


Her hands shake and her mascara is smudged, black shadows that hollow out her eyes. Her lipstick smeared at the corners of her mouth and you think how that, too, is a sign of insanity. The old and the insane coloring outside the lines. Tragedy that bleeds from her eyes through all the make-up.

You hate her for being crazy instead of just evil. A fragile nineteen year-old girl, sharp as glass. Her shivering, blood stained, fingers belie the fury in her eyes.

“I think I want to hear you scream,” Faith whispers and pulls the gag from your mouth.

For thawrecka. Very late birthday request for a Connor/Fred drabble fulfilled. Mostly. Well, not really. It's mostly Fred. Anyway. Happy Belated. Again.

( No Tomatoes )