Near Belonging
by Scy

Hand on the back of his neck like a tease of belonging he's only ever seen glimpses of through steel bars and promises.

Should remember that demons take vows seriously to their black hearts.

Do they even have that beat of 'what has to be' or since they are not of the living, there is no 'must.'

And is this why everyone fears him? That he will offer, judge, and withhold, if the need isn't big enough.

All around him is a promise.

Snow on the surface but the freefall would be scalding fulfilled vows.

He thought he understood when taking those steps closer to the cage. But, 'still so young, a kid.' Never has that made such sense.

If he lets his muscles relax, there is a moment where in theory, Angelus will be off-guard and escape possible.

Yet other avenues open as skillful fingers press where his heart sounds out a desperate caught beat.

Limp could mean 'kept' and 'mattering to anyone worthy.'

The commentary flowing as a counterpoint to touch would be bizarre in some regions- here it is right, after all there is little about life Connor thinks of as the normal of television paradise.

This exceptional strangeness is only what comes when dimensions are breached and a demon is the answer.

He is allowed the smallest movement, so that all possibilities are relations of 'closer.'

Angelus' eyes gleam at him, sheen of red like pennies struck by neon.

Death is in that darkness.

But Connor never thought that delight and wounding could be a pair, or that such seemed a future to anticipate.

Kiss like sweetness and Cordelia had been a street-players and the charade was revealed, then Angelus slipped away, and Connor was left with the expectations of blood and worthy family.


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