Title: Flames
Author: Criss Moody
Email: wyoluvr@yahoo.com
Distribution: Archives of the lists that receive this, yes.
Anyone else, ask.  It will be at
http://www.crosswinds.net/~wyoluvr/myfic.html eventually.
Spoilers: Nope.
Rating: NC-17.
Content Warning: m/m overtones, violence, disturbing
imagery.
Feedback: Oh, yes, please, I get giggly and happy and dance
around the room with my muses.  Flames amuse the beejeesus
out of me, but they just heat the bathwater.
Summary: Angel considers his dreams.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and his corporate cronies own these
characters and the concepts.  I'm just doing what the muses
tell me to do.
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this to the girl who
flamed me, albeit quite uncreatively.  All it did, honey,
was make me want to write more, thanks!  I'd also like to
dedicate this to all my fellow slashers, and people who
appreciate the right to write it, even if they don't write
or read it. 


Flames, by c.moody.



The most intense fire of all burns in the mind of the
dreamer.  Why?  It could be because there are few other
landscapes as perfect, as pristine as the blank mind canvas
of the dreamer.  Or it could be because reality can't quite
handle anything that burns so purely hot, a white-heat
jettisoned in the black swirls of the subconscious.

These fires take form as many different flames, varied in
color and each virginal and separate.  An alabaster white
flicks the imaginary tongue, chasing after a cerulean imp
running headlong into the crimson orange of the swell
ahead.  They chase and play, feeding each other with
passion, easing the dry ache that consumes their existence.


Only in dreams does Angel play with fire.

In dreams where he can envelop himself in the lush sweet
flesh of the Slayer, he loses his soul to destiny.
Fantasies where his cock drowns in the velvety heat of
Xander's mouth.  Snapshots of Oz gulping his cock down his
throat, his eyes begging for more, and more, and more.
Video stream of buggering Wesley and Giles, one with his
cock, one with an inhumanly large dildo, slamming both into
the pale, muscled asses of the former Watchers, punishing
them for not wanting him.  Clips of Doyle begging to be
fucked, on his knees, his mouth wide open, slick with semen
and saliva from being mouthfucked for hours.  Sweet fake
memories of plunging a knife into Riley's gut as his demon
plunges his ramming-hard cock into the virginal ass of the
farm boy, twisting both just to hear the high pitched
squeals issuing from the blonde's gagged mouth.

The fire burns, flames lick him and hold him, dark and
sometimes perverse in form, his only companion against the
darkness of his existence.  The sheer hellish loneliness
brings him to his knees time and time again, but the fire
brings him back up, suffuses his being with reasons to walk
forth into his eternal night.

Flames engulf his dreams, pure in their heat.  They, oddly
enough, keep the line between his dreams and his waking
hell strong. 

They give him a place to escape.

~~~~~