He Was Going To Kill Me.

                                        

                                              
CHAPTER: 36
**
Castle
I heard the key turning in the lock and smiled to myself as I casually lowered my leg from the coffee table. This could get ugly fast, and I was ready to make a quick exit if I needed to.
The door opened and Angel entered, but for a second he didn't notice me. He locked the door, shoved his keys into his pocket and then he saw me.
The way he froze mid-step would have been funny if it didn't squeeze something painful in my chest.
Because his eyes were rimmed in red, almost as if he had been crying.
I stood up, my instincts reacting faster than my reasoning, like I wanted to pull him to myself. 
But I stopped halfway because his hand subconsciously tapped his side. He was checking for his weapon.
A smirk tugged at my mouth under the black mask covering the lower half of my face.
"Planning to shoot me, little Falco?" I taunted softly, my voice slicing through the thick, heavy silence between us.
Angel didn't answer at first. He just stared at me with those tired, wounded eyes, like he was sizing me up and deciding if I was worth the effort.
Then he sighed wearily and to my shock, he simply kicked off his shoes by the door and walked to the couch, flopping on it as if he had decided to stop pretending to be strong.
I stayed where I was, watching him cautiously, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.
"You're not attacking me," I said after a moment, genuinely surprised. "Like, there's a stranger in your house, holding a knife that could do some real damage. And yet..." I tilted my head. "Here you are. Sitting pretty."
Angel rolled his eyes like he was tired of me before he even opened his mouth.
"I know it's you," he muttered in a hoarse voice. "Mask, or whatever the fuck you call yourself. If you wanted to hurt me, it would've already happened a long time ago."
I couldn't help the smile that escaped my lips behind my mask. I guess he was smart enough to know when to pick his battles.
Still, I tucked the blade away into my jacket pocket slowly, keeping my movements non-threatening.
But he didn't even flinch. He just leaned his head back against the couch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second like the mere act of sitting upright was costing him energy.
I took a careful step toward him but he sensed it immediately, those sharp instincts of his still intact even though he was exhausted. 
His lashes lifted, and he looked down at me as I bent between his legs, my hands placed on the couch on either side of his thighs. 
His pupils dilated slightly and I smirked at the kind of thoughts that I knew was running through his mind at the moment.
"What are you doing in my house?" he asked, his voice rough with fatigue.
I chuckled low under my breath.
"Housekeeping," I said smoothly, gesturing with a small sweep of my hand to the now-spotless living room.
Angel glanced around lazily and gave a half-hearted shrug. 
"Thanks. Doesn't mean I trust you though," he muttered like it cost him everything to say it.
That made me laugh under my breath again. Even though he was exhausted, he still had that stubborn streak buried deep inside him.
"You need to change your dressing," I said.
Angel shrugged again. "Do whatever you want."
I didn't miss the way his fingers twitched slightly against his thigh, a subtle tell that he was still alert despite how exhausted he looked.
Turning on my heels, I headed toward the bathroom to grab the first aid kit I had found the day before.
I wasn't stupid. I knew Angel could be trying to manipulate me. He could be playing along until he got a chance to flip the tables.
But despite all of that, despite everything, I would still clean his wounds. And I would still protect him even if he drove a knife through my chest right after.
Because when it came to Angel Di Cristina, I had never been in control.
Not even from the start.
***
After cleaning his wounds, I grabbed my phone and ordered food from a nearby Italian place. 
Penne pasta with chicken and creamy Alfredo sauce. Angel needed food, and even if he didn't, I wanted to get it for him. 
While waiting for the delivery, I watched him as he dozed off. This was someone that didn't trust me, but was comfortable enough to sleep in my presence. 
Alright. 
Sooner than I expected, the doorbell rang. I moved quickly to answer the door before it woke Angel.
I returned with two steaming takeout containers and set them on the coffee table.
Angel cracked his eyes open when he smelled the food, but he looked disinterested at best, making me frown.
"You need to eat," I said firmly.
He shifted a little, then he gave the food a long, unimpressed look.
"I'll pass," he said. Just then, as if it was timed, his stomach growled loudly, betraying him.
He muttered a vicious curse under his breath as his cheeks heated with embarrassment.
I couldn't help the low laugh that rumbled from deep in my chest.
"Come on," I said, amused. "You can glare at me all you want after you've eaten."
He sat up more slowly, eyeing the food like it had personally offended him. When he still didn't move to grab a fork, I sighed dramatically and picked one up myself.
"Fine. If you won't feed yourself, I'll do it."
He gave me a warning glare. 
"I'm not a fucking baby, Mask," he said, voice rough.
"Maybe not," I smirked. "But right now? You're mine, and good boys get fed."
His eyes darkened at that, a flicker of something heated desire passing between us.
And when I lifted a forkful of pasta to his lips, he opened his mouth reluctantly.
I kept feeding him, fork after fork, not even bothering to hide the satisfaction blooming in my chest as he ate.
He chewed, sulking the entire time like a kid forced to take his medicine.
A moment later, a drop of creamy sauce dribbled down the corner of his mouth, trailing along the curve of his lips.
Without thinking, I reached out with my thumb.
But instead of wiping it away like a normal person, I rubbed it slowly across his bottom lip.
His eyes burned into mine and without breaking eye contact, he flicked out his tongue to lick my thumb.
My breath hitched when he opened his mouth slightly and sucked my thumb inside, his tongue swirling lazily over the pad of it.
"Fuck," I hissed under my breath.
My dick hardened instantly, straining painfully against the fabric of my sweatpants.
He bit down lightly on my thumb, a wicked little smirk tugging at his lips even as he kept it trapped there in his mouth.
Fuck, he was going to kill me. And I was going to let him.