Wait
zzzzzz
Wait.
It was something
Willow was willing to do, had to do. Devon's voice had rung hollow as he told
her that Oz had sent for his things and that they'd been packed and transported
to some place he couldn't quite recall. As she’d stood there, staring at him in
disbelief, she waited for the tears to spill forth, for the pain to tear her
apart...but there was nothing. Nothing but an empty void, dark and loathsome.
Even Devon's words of sympathy didn't penetrate until he told her to cut loose,
try to put Oz behind her by going with the band to their gig in LA. That'd
really work, watch a band play songs that Oz had written, while someone else
stood in his place and the words no longer meant anything.
Yet that was exactly
what she did. That was how she ended up in some two bit grungy establishment
that was popular with the alternative rock scene, dancing without thinking, moving
to the music and unconsciously offering herself to anyone who approached her. It was surreal and the only certainty in it
all was the fleeting touches of the strangers she danced with.
The music had no
beat and she moved blindly. The faces of those she danced with nothing more
than a flesh tone blur in the darkness, their voices dull and buzzing.
Movements became bolder as she writhed against men who weren't Oz. Yet their
touches gave her something, broke through that dark void which consumed her.
Closer and closer she danced to them, arms wrapped about waists and hands moved
over scantily clad flesh. Her body
barely responded to the touches, so similar to those of a lover who no longer
slept with her, who had betrayed her. Still it was a response and she let
herself lean into the caresses of the strangers, reveling in being able to feel
anything but the numbness that had enveloped her.
Hands wrapped about
her hips and pulled her back flush against a hard, masculine body. She could
hear the dull roar of the nameless men she had been dancing with as they
protested and demanded her release, only to be met with a low and animalistic
growl. A growl she had heard before but couldn't place. The hands twisted on
her waist turning her about to face her captor. Slowly, she raised her heavy
head and found herself staring into familiar brown eyes. Eyes that reflected
what she should have felt, pain, anguish and despair.
Angel had ended up
here, at a nameless club, watching from the shadows as he sipped on whiskey,
trying to drown his sorrows, the pain. He was running from, had left the
sanctuary of solitude, for once his quiet, peaceful apartment had only served
to intensify the agony he was in. The
dark walls and empty rooms offered no distraction from his inner turmoil, didn’t
allow his mind to wander from the last twenty-four hours and the painfully
vivid memory of Doyle’s death. Over and
over again the scenes played out, the sounds, the screams, the bright light and
the awful stench of death. The grief had manifested itself in many ways, his
soul screamed in torture, while his body felt like it was on fire with millions
of tiny glass shards embedded in his skin, causing every movement to hurt.
Seeking to quell the physical pain by feeding, he'd stumbled through his
apartment to the kitchen but had been overcome by nausea as soon as he'd opened
the fridge door. It was then, in blinding agony, that he'd left, trying to find
relief in the faceless crowds and eventually losing himself in the shadows of
the club.
But as Angel had
lurked, watching the dancers, it only served to deepen his anguish. In each one
he could find a familiar feature, upsetting reminders of all those he had lost,
before they faded back into the faceless nameless mass of dancers. Memories of
brown hair, blue eyes and an Irish brogue, often slurring under the influence
of alcohol, merged and became confused with a waif like blonde, hazel eyes and
a sweet Californian school girl accent. They’d moved together, entwined and
consumed each other in a darkness that resulted in red. As his eyes had fallen
on the red hair and pale skin, he couldn't help but think that she was a cruel
joke his subconscious was playing on him, yet another phantom memory. Red hair,
pale skin, green eyes, embarrassed murmured questions, sweet and innocent but
bundled up in the outfit she'd worn at Halloween all those years ago. So he’d
sat back and watched her, waiting for her to disperse, the ghost to become
transparent and finally disappear. But she didn't. He’d watched as men moved
forward, surrounding her. Men, whose hands caressed and touched her, pulling
her in close, bodies rubbing against her. The foul suggestive comments they
whispered had been clear and coherent to Angel, even across the distance that
separated them. Each comment had infuriated him, increased his pain and his
determination to protect her where he had failed to protect the others who
meant so much to him. So he’d stepped out, pushing his way through the crowd
and pulled her to him.
For the briefest
moment there was no reaction from either of them. Green met with brown, cold
hands held onto warm flesh and nothing was said.
Finally, Willow
dropped her head and tried to step away, but his hold tightened, pulling her
back against him. With eyes fixed on her pale face, he watched as she didn't
struggle against him, didn't try to push him away or push away from him, her
hands formed fists and rested on his chest. Angel released his hold, frowning
as she turned her back and continued to sway to the music, her eyes closing,
offering herself to anyone willing to claim her. No one was foolish enough to
go near her though, he saw to that with a low threatening growl as his arms
wrapped about her waist, pulling her flush against him once more while she
continued to dance.
Even as the music
died, Willow kept moving, unwilling or unable to stop. As the other patrons
left the dance floor, Angel turned her in his arms, one hand clasping her head
while the other kept a tight hold on the small of her back, holding her to him.
It was a protective embrace, using his body to shield her from anything that
could possibly harm her. In that embrace he lost himself, drowning in the very
sensation of Willow, her smell, warmth and familiarity as they moved slowly
together to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
It seemed like an eternity before the music started up again and the
floor was again flooded with other dancers.
Angel found it
suffocating. All he could focus on was the slim redhead in his arms as her warm
body moved against him, comforting his tortured flesh. People, strangers, were
milling around them, knocking against him, causing him to growl and pain was
once more foremost in his mind. The music pounded in his head, each blaring
beat felt like his skull was going to shatter, but it was temporarily soothed
by the rhythmic sound of Willow's heart. He could feel it against his chest, a
slow constant throb accompanied by languid breaths, the warmth of which brushed
against the silk shirt that her cheek rested on.
Turning his head
slightly, Angel surrendered to her, his lips casually brushing across her fiery
hair as he moved to drown in her smell. The warmth of her body, held so close
to him, soothed his pain. As her hands opened and rested against his chest, he
leant into the touch. His own hand on her back dropped down, spreading across
hot bare flesh and warm leather, pulling her into him. Instinctively, he began
to massage the muscles in her neck, the skin on his palm tingling from the warm
contact, his thumb caressing her pulse point. She was there, in his arms and
while he held her he found comfort. It was what he needed, to protect where he
had failed before, to hold a warm living body, to hold someone he cared about.
He wanted to keep her safe in the circle of his arms, in a protective embrace
of long dead flesh to give him strength. Get closer, stay close, absorb her
warmth, listen to her heart beating steady and strong, let her breath warm his
skin.
For all his comfort,
Willow felt nothing in his cold embrace. Her hands slid across the soft silk,
moving in opposite directions with little or no pressure. One dropped down to
the soft curve of his waist, under the heavy coat he wore, the other traced the
shape of his collarbone before moving up to caress his neck. But the tips with
their bundles of nerve endings registered nothing, not the soft texture of his
shirt, nor the downy softness of the dark hair as she caressed the nape of his
neck. There was nothing. Desperate to feel anything, she pressed harder against
him as she swayed to the dull constant throb of the music. Standing up on the
balls of her feet, she leant into him, fingers digging into the nape of his
neck, clinging to him. She turned her head, burying her face in the crook of
his neck. There was nothing. She couldn't feel the touch of his skin against
her cheek, the feel of it beneath her lips as she opened her mouth. Nothing. It
was an empty imitation of affection.
Where Willow felt nothing,
Angel felt and relished everything. The light touches, her body pressing
against him, the feel of her hot breath and moist lips. Dropping his head, his
chin rested in the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her ear before
finding the pulse point just below. Beneath his lips he could feel the blood
coursing through her, bubbling away under the surface of her skin. The scent
there, behind her ear, was strong and completely unique to her. His mouth
smothered that point, trying to consume it, trying to consume her. The throb of
her pulse was strong against his tongue as he lashed out at it. Fangs elongated
and he growled. To protect her against his kind he merely had to mark her,
claim her, keep her with him for an eternity so he wouldn't lose her like he
had lost another. Like he had lost so many that he held dear.
Fingers tangled in
his hair, tightening and pulling as her other hand slipped beneath the silk of
his shirt to caress his back. Hot sweet warmth brushed across his cheek as
Willow shifted, her cheek caressing his and the demon melted away. Soothed by
the warmth, his fangs retracted and with a final taste of her pulse point, he
shifted slightly. Lips met with a feathered touch as hands caressed flesh. Once
more her warm breath soothed him as her lips left his to brush lightly across
the taut muscle in his cheek. He leant into that sweet chaste caress, the pressure
increased and his head turned, lips once more met. It was madness, solace and
torture. Mouths parted and Angel was drowning. His fingers tightened on her
neck, making sure she couldn't pull away and leave him. The very taste of her
placated the nausea he had felt, distracted him from the pain, and intoxicated
him where whiskey and blood had failed. Nothing could induce him to surrender
those lips, her tongue, her mouth.
Willow's fingers
massaged his scalp through the dark mass of soft hair. With every numb sign of
affection she offered, soft growls vibrated through his chest and she leant
into the strange sensation. With every reaction she got, her movements became
bolder. Her tongue actively sought out his, tangling and entwining, there was
no taste though. Lips twisted and she offered and took all she could of the
kiss. She could suffocate for all she cared, the only thing that she could feel
was his mouth, his tongue penetrating, exploring and begging for a response.
Her hand, beneath his shirt, kneaded at his back, rhythmically pulling his
larger body against her. A leather booted foot lifted and wrapped about his
calf. Her hand, as the kiss continued, ran down his spine, the fingers dipping
below the waistband of his pants and he leant into it. Careless thoughts ran
through her mind, vague thoughts of death, betrayal, loneliness and the
powerful difference of an individual kiss.
No matter how secure
the hold is, something can always cause a tear, rip it apart...separate one
into two, shatter and disturb. Especially on a packed dance floor.
A drunken body
lurched and collided with them, smashing against Angel, his arms protecting Willow.
As his lips were torn from hers a feral growl left him, the demon surging forth
as he turned, not releasing his hold on the precious bundle of flesh pressed
against him, and snarled at the drunk who shrank back in fear. Then it hit him,
the pain of strangers knocking against him, the dull roar and constant throb of
the loud music, nausea from the overwhelming stench of the club. Screwing his
eyes shut, he tried to block it, stop it, but he couldn't...until Willow
reached for him again, guiding his lips back to hers as her fingers weaved a
blanket of comfort for his flesh. Her movements soothed him, calmed his
shattered nerves and he didn't want to run the risk of having that comfort
taken from him again. He pulled back from her kiss and his eyes roamed the
club, finally falling on the upper level, shrouded in darkness.
Growling in
disappointment, he pulled away from her, dropping his hold on her neck but
keeping one hand in the small of her back, turning away but taking her with
him. As he moved them through the maddening crowd, her arm tightened about his
waist, holding onto him, her other hand hooking into the waistband of his pants
as she let herself be led toward the darkened roped off stairs. Unobserved,
Angel quickly guided them to the upper level, which was nothing more than an
empty lounge area. Various pool tables, sofas and lounge chairs were scattered
about, dimly lit from the lights of the dance floor, strange mutated shadows that
danced to music that was still audible, but subdued.
Together they moved,
neither leading nor following. Lips met, briefly brushing before breaking away
and returning once more, locking as tongues danced and hands caressed. They
moved away from the light, away from the noise, into the silence, into the
darkness...into each other and straight into the edge of a pool table. It could
have been ten seconds or ten minutes later that Willow was perched on the edge
of that table, her legs wrapped around Angel's thighs as she kissed him, her
hands on his skin soothing and inflaming. Buttons were undone, fingers caressed
flesh that was both hard and soft and he was a slave to her. He leant into the
touches, responded, wanted more and followed wherever she led him. Touches and
caresses were mirrored and mimicked, kisses were placed on cloth-covered
nipples, hardened from nips and bites. Lace was pushed aside and feather like
strokes were made. It was only when he felt the head of his cock be enveloped
by her that the reality of the situation crashed down on him.
"Wait,"
Angel murmured against her lips, desperately trying to find some reason why he
shouldn't lose himself in her, in what she so desperately wanted, what they
both seem to need.
The word, whispered
and distressed, meant nothing to Willow as she pulled her mouth away from his.
Tangling her fingers in his thick hair, she pulled his head back, exposing his
neck to her mouth as she slowly kissed her way down to the base and running her
tongue back up to the tip of his chin. Tightening her legs around his thighs,
she pulled him into her, urging him deeper as she moved forward.
Pain. Clear and
distinct. It was the first real thing she had felt since speaking to Devon.
Whimpering, she released her hold on Angel to tangle her fists in the front of
his open shirt. Dragging in a deep ragged breath, she arched her back, leaning
back into his hands as she thrust forward into that pain, taking his hard shaft
deeper into her dry channel and she cried out.
Angel paused, the
cry penetrating him and he dropped his head to catch her eyes. Physical,
emotional...pain. It was all there in those green eyes that had been so dead
moments before. He winced, not breaking her gaze. Pain, he was causing her
pain, hurting her where he found only comfort. Fingers tightened in his shirt
and he glanced down as she moved forward again, his eyes fluttered briefly as
he felt her velvet softness grasping at him. Softness, damp but not the smooth
slick needed to take his intrusion comfortably in her small body. Closing his
eyes against her anguish, he clenched his jaw, hands tightening on her back and
neck trying to comfort her for the pain he knew he was going to cause as he
prepared to pull out of her. To pull away from her.
Even before he began
to move away, Willow knew and she was desperate to stop him. Her hands
tightened their hold on his shirt, her heels digging into his thighs as she
pulled him back, her hips moving forward with a strength neither of them knew
she was really capable of. Angry green met with his sorrowful brown as he once
more opened his eyes and focused on her face. Despite everything she felt, she
began to move against him, grinding her hips. Urging him on, urging him deeper,
urging him to go where he so desperately wanted, to seek the warmth and comfort
he craved.
Snarling, Angel’s
mouth crashed down on hers as his hands moved to grip her hips, stilling her
movement and creating his own rhythm. She'd taken control just like Doyle had.
Control, if he'd just taken back control then Doyle wouldn't have died.
Control. Growling, he tore his mouth from hers, burying his face in her neck as
he continued to pound into her in a brutal display of dominance. She wanted it
but he was going to control it. With every thrust he pulled her into him, his
hands clenching rhythmically over the bunched up leather of her skirt. His
mouth found and focused on the throbbing beat of her pulse, his thrusts fell in
with the beat and the blood sung to him. Tempting and hot, his tongue laved the
point and he could almost taste it. A single bite and sweet, hot blood would
bubble forth, fill his mouth, sate his hunger...claim her, mark her, make her
his, protect her.
The hands left his
shirt and snuck under his coat, grabbing his back clinging to him as Angel
continued his frantic movements. The thought of blood was lost as he felt her
hands dig into his back and he surged forward. His hands left her hips, one
tangling in her hair tilting her head back baring her throat, while the other
hand grabbed her back, dragging her forward as he jerked against her, spilling his
cold seed in her warm depths in the cold empty darkness of the room.
Someone was
whimpering, softly. He knew that, could hear it. Angel shook his head as his
body started to come down from his orgasm, trembling and shaking from the force
of it all. His hand was still tangled in her hair and he wondered what had
stopped him from biting her. The feel
of her hands on his back, clinging to him, that was what had made him stop, she
had needed him, still needed him. Somehow, he pulled his upper body away,
breaking her hold and looked down at her. She was whimpering, green eyes glassy
with tears, reflecting fear. That scared him, what did she have to fear?
Breaking the gaze, he lowered his eyes down to the bunched up skirt, to her
pale thighs, to the place where they were still joined. She was trembling and
somewhere in his stunned mind he realised that he was the only one who had
gained satisfaction from the frantic fuck. Slowly, he moved letting his cock
slip out of her, causing her to whimper again. She was going to have bruises,
he could tell, could see the marks already starting to appear. He had found
comfort and she had found pain. Once more he glanced at her pale face, to green
eyes fixed on him and he realised he still held her tightly by her hair.
Releasing her completely, he stepped away and glanced down at himself before
turning slightly to straighten his clothes.
Willow winced as she
shifted on the hard edge of the table, closing her legs and dropping her eyes
to the floor. She was shaking, numb and cold. A hand wrapped about her arm,
helping her down from the table, supporting her as she stood on legs that felt
like pins and needles. Hell, her whole body felt like pins and needles except
for her thighs, they just ached. The hand on her arm tightened as she stumbled
slightly and she reached out to stop from falling, her hand tangling in Angel's
shirt. She glanced up as his coat wrapped around her, his hands guiding hers to
disappear in the sleeves. It was heavy and warm and smelt of Angel. Somehow she
wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But she lost herself in the
warmth, her hands clenched into fists, hidden by the long sleeves, as she was
held in the circle of his arm, guided down and out of the club. Together they
walked in silence, through the darkness of the streets and LA, back to his
apartment. Whether it was close to the club or some distance, she didn't know.
It was quiet and oddly familiar, only through association with Angel. Different
to the Angel in Sunnydale, but similar and what she expected from the man
beside her. The man who removed his coat just as easily as he had maneuvered
her into it.
With a soft clunk it
fell to the floor and both of them stared transfixed at the black pool of
fabric. It was awkward, for both of them, they wanted what they couldn't have
and didn't understand. Somehow fingers reached out and dragged them together,
hands ran over flesh covered by material as lips once more melded together. It
was a slow undressing of each other, but it wasn't a teasing game of seduction.
They were taking it slow, waiting for the other to call a stop to the
proceedings. Neither did. As each article of clothing was abandoned, dumped on
the floor with little or no regard, hands and lips explored the exposed flesh.
The usual still silence of the apartment was broken by the soft sound of
material falling, boots being discarded, fingers and mouths on flesh, wet
kisses and empty sounds of physical pleasure. Nothing was rushed, nothing was
demanded, it was just done.
It was no great
surprise when Willow found herself sinking back against the bed, Angel looming
over her as they drowned in each others kisses. His lips left hers, leaving a
cool path as he kissed his way down, suckling on each of her nipples, being
guided in a way by her fingers in his hair, urging him down and closer. The
cool sensation of his tongue swirling about her navel caused her to buck
against his mouth and he sucked the point lightly as his hands stripped her of
the black lace thong she wore. Moving down, his mouth reached her lower lips
and her hands tangled tightly in his hair as his tongue flicked across her.
Using his fingers, he parted her swollen flesh and kissed her softly. She
tasted of him.
Lips closed over her
clitoris and his tongue teased it until it was hard and throbbing, pulsing in
his mouth. Soft breathy moans filled the air as her hips began to move, gentle
thrusts as Angel slipped a finger into her. Wet warmth grasped at the digit and
her hold on his hair tightened as he caught her clit between his teeth,
tormenting her with his tongue. One hand left his hair and he added another
finger, stroking and caressing her muscles with a firm pressure, determined to
give her what he so selfishly took at the club. Her body tensed and she grabbed
blindly at the bedding as a strangled cry left her, thighs grasping at his head
as she came. He continued the rhythm, letting her body work its way through and
back down.
Then her foot
connected with his chest, kicking out at him while her hand on his head pushed
him away. For a moment Angel was stunned. Willow was whispering denials,
twisting on the bed, getting to her hands and knees, trying to crawl away.
Frowning, he moved quickly to cover her body with his, arms wrapping about her
waist and chest. Soft nonsense words left him as he leant over her back to
whisper in her ear. His lips met the curve of her ear and he rocked her as she
grasped the arms that held her. In that tight embrace, she shifted and moved,
her head dropped down exposing the column of her neck and his lips brushed
across it. She was moving again, twisting her head and catching his mouth,
pushing back against the soft rocking motion he’d initiated. Once more he found
himself drowning in her, the kiss deepening as she continued to move. This time
he didn't fight it as he slid into her, there was no pain, just warmth and
physical pleasure. Thrusts were met and matched, unhurried but still urgent as
hands roamed over bodies, teasing and tantalizing.
Neither of them
really knew what they were doing or why. Their kisses became more demanding,
more intoxicating, their bodies were the only real things, were their world. A
world of warmth, power, sensation and devoid of emotion. Time and time again
they joined together, mating like animals, making love like one soul split,
fucking hard like junkies who were dying for the next fix of an orgasm. They
were anything and everything. But it was all empty, physical release with no
real satisfaction. A violent need for a loving act and they wanted more.
Angel wanted more,
needed more. For hours he'd been losing himself in her, his mouth caressing
every single inch of her flesh, his cock buried deep inside her warmth, all of
it only accentuated the very thing that he craved. Even now, as he held her
close, moving deep within her as she sat in his lap, her legs wrapped about his
waist and he nuzzled her breasts, he could feel the hurried pounding of her
heart. The flow of blood that was so close and screamed to his demon.
His mouth lifted
from her breasts and left a delicate trail of kisses along her arm. Those lips
chased the flow of blood beneath the skin, hovering in the crook of her elbow,
feeling the throb of her pulse before continuing to her wrist. Fingers entwined
as his hand cradled hers snugly against his palm, his lips pressed eagerly
against the pulse point in her wrist, savoring the constant beat of life. His
hand tightened its hold on hers, the arm wrapped about her waist pulled her
thrusting body in closer to him and her legs automatically tightened their
hold. As she continued to move against him, her body shining with sweat, his
eyelids fluttered and he sank his fangs into her wrist. The warm metallic taste
of her blood hit him just before Willow's cry reached his ears and his senses
shattered. Bodies jerked against each other and moans of neither pleasure nor
pain filled the air.
Angel glanced up at
her face. Sweat dampened hair curled about her forehead and flushed cheeks,
green eyes stared blindly at the ceiling, while she gasped frantically for air
and her body continued to tremble in his embrace. Still his fangs remained
deeply embedded in her wrist, her hot blood flooding his mouth, warming his
throat and quelling the pain of his body, of his mind...but tormenting his soul.
With a savage growl, he released her wrist and it dropped to the bed, shaking
as the blood trickled down her fingers, staining the sheet. His hand tangled in
her hair, bringing her head forward to rest against his shoulder and he buried
his face in her neck. Hiding from her, hiding in her.
As her head fell
forward onto his shoulder, Willow also fell. Pain radiated from her wrist and
where Angel held tightly to her, about her waist and hair. Tiny aches blossomed
into full-fledged agony and muscles screamed in protest after hours of losing
herself in him. Sobs racked her limp body and she found a welcomed comfort and
security in his cold embrace as a kaleidoscope of emotions raced through her.
Cool tears fell against her heated skin and through the flood of emotions and
sensation Willow became aware of Angel sobbing in the crook of her neck, his
arms tightening their hold. Slowly, she brought her arms up to cradle him,
mimicking his hold. Fingers made comforting strokes in hair as they held each
other tightly, rocking and crying until the darkness of exhaustion overtook
them.
It was Willow's hot
breath against his chest that woke Angel. His eyes fluttered open to fall on
her bloodied hand resting on his chest, the dried blood almost looking like
farcical parody of the henna tattoos that were so popular. Past that was her
pale face, lips slightly parted as she slept, her head resting low on his
abdomen. Somehow, in sleep, they had curled around each other and his head
rested against her thighs, one of his arms hooked up under her bent knees,
holding her to him as he found comfort in her warmth.
Slowly, he brought
his free hand up to stroke her hair, pushing the wispy sweat dried strands from
her face and he sighed wistfully as his fingers caught some of the fine hair.
It was a silly thing, but he couldn't imagine Willow without her fiery fine
locks, not this short shaggy cut. His fingers left her hair, wandering down her
shoulder and along her arm to her hand, clenched and resting on his chest.
Carefully, he pried the fingers away, opening her hand and turning it over. His
bite mark was clearly visible, dried blood framed it and filled the puncture
marks.
Hot blood, full of
life, Angel hadn't tasted anything so sweet in years and yet there was the
guilt. He'd fed from her eagerly when his stomach had turned at the very
thought of anything else. Closing his eyes, his thumb caressed her palm as he
swallowed the phantom taste of her blood...blood that combined with other
fluids reminding him of what he had taken time and time again. Growling in
disgust, he shifted slightly, careful not to wake her and grimaced. There
wasn't any part of the bed he was resting on that wasn't wet, either from sweat
or other bodily secretions. Memories flashed through his mind and he tried to
recall exactly how many times he had taken her before they'd collapsed, before
he'd bitten her. Closing his eyes, his thumb pressed harder against her palm,
there were too many times to remember clearly.
Recollections of her
tormented him behind those closed eyes. Hands wrapping about bodies, warmth and
wetness, animalistic sounds of a sometimes brutal act. His body tensed, winding
up again, twisting and turning into a mass of pain and anguish. Then something
reached out and pulled him back, Willow's fingers wrapped around his thumb, a
gentle distracting pressure. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at her delicate
hand cradled in his. The gesture of comfort had been made unconsciously in
sleep, and his long fingers caressed the back of her curled hand. Lifting her
hand, he brought it to his mouth and kissed the curled knuckles, lips parting
and taking the joints into his mouth. Saliva mixed with dried blood and once
more he savored the unique taste and warmth of the girl sleeping with him.
Greedily, he consumed the strange mixture, his eyes unseeing as the taste
manifested itself in a blurring of his vision, until slowly the sustenance was
no longer and he once more focused on what was before him.
Blood. Dried and
covering his chest where her hand had been resting, the very hand he now held
in his, that he had just cleaned with his mouth. Hunger raced through him only
to be replaced with guilt and nausea. His senses were assaulted, he could taste
her blood, sweat and nectar, reality and the surreal merged. Phantom tastes
flooded his mouth, of her blood, salty sweat and that sweet taste uniquely
Willow. His body ached from the memories of her touch, her warmth, her velvet
depths. But worst was the smell, it wasn't just Willow or him, it was them
combined and it was everywhere. On the sheets, the pillows, in the air, it
covered and smothered him. And at that moment he couldn't stand it.
Carefully, he
released his hold on her knees, slipped his thumb free of her loose hold and
cradled her head, lifting her up while he inched away. Pulling down a pillow,
he laid her back in its downy softness, caressing her hair as her breath
quickened and she tossed slightly in a fit of wakefulness. Silently, he waited
until she quietened again and covered her body with the quilt that had somehow
been discarded during their couplings. He watched from the edge of the bed for
a moment while she slept. Already his body was craving her, the pain she
offered shelter from was returning. Trying to quell it, his hand grasped at his
chest, dropping down to brush against his abdomen and once more her dried blood
on his skin caught his eyes. Absently, he stroked at the crimson dust and
stepped away from the bed, from the girl, from his succor.
Hunger, ravenous and
demanding, spread through him but Angel ignored it. Turning away from
everything, he locked himself in the bathroom, his hand still stroking the
dried blood as he reached out and turned on the shower. It wasn't just a
physical hunger, there was a yearning for peace, for comfort, all of which he
had found in the arms of the girl who lay in his bed. The girl whose scent
covered him. The girl who he slowly realized had done the same thing as him,
found comfort in his cold embrace, and for the first time he wondered what had
happened, why she was there. As he climbed into the shower, the hot water
cascading over him, his thoughts ran wild, twisted and turned. They made no
sense, his mind was a tortured mess of questions with no answers and answers that
had no questions. But somewhere in that jumbled mess a single thought kept
repeating itself. Keep her. Keep her safe, protect her from whatever she was
running from.
Running from. Angel
laughed to himself as he slid down to the floor of the shower. Doyle was always
running from things, he had been happy to have the vision, pass on the
information and drown the headache in a bottle of whiskey. How many times had
Doyle protested that he didn't want to get involved? How many times had Angel
ignored those protests and just dragged him into the foray? Too many times. A
good fight, yeah Doyle had put up a good fight and paid dearly. Angel lowered
his head to his hands, rocking as he pressed his palms against his eyes. Tears
mingled with the hot water and he cried. There was no doubt in his mind that he
had failed Doyle, failed in a way that he couldn't fail Willow.
It was the sound of
the heavy side door being opened that startled Angel out of his reverie of
memories and future promises. Lifting his head, he listened briefly before
pushing himself off the floor, deftly shutting down the shower and grabbing a
towel to wrap around his hips as he opened the bathroom door. The bed was
empty, Willow’s clothes and the shirt he had worn were gone. He glanced up at the
door that led out into the corridor, it was open wide enough for her to leave.
All she had to do was walk to the garage and out into the street. Without
hesitating, he followed the path she would have taken and as he reached the
garage he could see her, red hair messed up, her arms wrapped about herself and
almost disappearing in the vast sea of silk that was his shirt. By the time
he'd covered the slight distance of the garage floor, she was out of his reach.
"Willow,"
he called out desperately wanting her to stop. From the safety of the garage he
squinted out into the bright daylight that prevented him going any further.
Slowing her pace slightly, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her face a
mask of sorrow, shook her head and continued walking in the bright light of
day. Behind her, Angel silently swore and made one last plea. "Wait."
zzzzzz