When she comes into
the kitchen, she knows that her parents aren't home; there's only one light on
in the living room and a note on the counter. It isn't hard to guess what it
said, they always say the same thing-'Willow, Daddy and I won't be home until
late. Have some dinner. Do your homework. Don't throw a wild raucous party
bacchanal.' Well, it never said the last part. The thought that she would
probably never crossed her parents' minds. No, their good, dependable only
daughter would never do anything wild like drink or have boys in the house.
Luckily they'd never found out about Angel in her bedroom the other night.
She crumples up the
note and throws it in the trash underneath the sink. Looks like tonight it's
just her and ten chapters of comparative world religions. Ugh. Or, maybe not,
because right now she thinks her head might explode if she forces it to
concentrate any more on education related topics. Xander has taken all of her
academic student energy already, and everything else will have to wait until
tomorrow.
And of course the
cure of choice for brain coma is-bubble bath. A tub full of hot water, a few
million bubbles, and the brain is free to mush away on more important topics.
Like vampires who do *things* you've never done before, perfect, incredibly flustery
things that make you nearly pass out from sheer bliss, then don't call you.
Angel's been pretty good at the disappearing act in the past, and she hopes
he's not repeating that performance, not now. That would be so depressing.
Now she's all
gloomy. Willow can tell, she can feel the frown and the wrinkling of her
eyebrows. If Sheila Rosenberg were here, she'd warn about how extremes of
facial expression promote premature wrinkling. Maybe Angel wouldn't drag his
feet so much if Willow had a few wrinkles, some visible proof that she's not
the kid he thinks she is? What was that other lecture her mom sat her down for
once? Boys are only after one thing?
She sighs and tries
to pick her feet up off the floor as she trudges up the stairs. Tonight she feels
like she's one hundred and fifty years old. That should count for something,
right? She stops, bends over, and picks up the pile of clean clothes her mom
has left for her on the bottom step, and pulls herself upstairs with the
handrail.
The clothes get
dumped at the foot of her bed, and she opens the linen closet in the hallway
outside the bathroom. A big, fluffy towel is a requisite part of the evening,
along with the lilac bubble bath that she picks up from underneath the sink.
She twists the hot,
call her crazy, but she loves the water so hot that she nearly passes out after
half an hour. So hot, that she has to lie on the bathroom floor when she gets
out, lay there naked on the tile floor, and feels her brain
pounding-thud...thud...thud..."You are crazy."
"Well, they
say talking to yourself is one of the first signs."
"Oh My
God!" she spins around in terror to see Angel leaning against the wall of
the hallway, right outside the threshold of the bathroom. "You scared the
crap out of me."
A small laugh, and
it reaches the corner of his eyes as it tumbles out of his mouth, rising in
volume when he sees her shaking the folded towel at him threateningly. He adds
apologetically, "I didn't mean to scare you, honestly. I knocked
downstairs, but I guess you didn't hear me."
Steam rises from
the torrent of water pouring out of the faucet; she turns her back to him to
add cold to the stream filling the tub. She's feeling a little grouchy and
unsure of how she should act, what she should say. Everything that she
practices in her head sounds stupid, and she hopes that her actions will buy a
little time to think of something that's not entirely trite.
"Taking a
bath?"
Like that. At least
she's not the only one minus the suave around here. Maybe he's channelling her
nervousness? "I was going to." She should turn the water off, but
then she'd have to face him, and the thought makes her shaky. Having to look
him in the eye, after what they did. She's never been in the position she was
last night, so open, so vulnerable. One crass remark from him right now...and
she doesn't think she can take it.
"I wanted to,
you know, see you tonight. I called earlier, fifty, a hundred times, but no one
answered." She can hear him shifting his weight behind her. Still in the
hallway, if her tension hasn't thrown her distance perception off.
One capful, two,
three. She really likes a lot of bubbles. "I was helping Xander
study." Shimmering, iridescent mounds of foam build on the surface of the
water, swirling and rising under the splash from the tap.
"Oh, you and
Xander. Not at the library, I stopped by there before. Not here, so...at his
place, huh? How's Giles doing?"
"I don't know.
He wasn't there." The tub's halfway, the scent of spring lilacs fill the
small space.
A quiet,
"Oh." Then, " Just you and Xander, huh. Yeah, that's...that's
cool."
She cranks the
handles to off and turns around. He's standing in the doorway, knuckles white
as he grips the doorframe. Trying to keep from coming in? "That's cool,
huh?"
He doesn't answer,
just bites his lip while contemplating some internal struggle. He lasts about
thirty seconds, and then steps into the bathroom. His hands are on her face and
he's kissing her hard, tongue filling her, holding her head still until he's sated
with the taste of her. He pulls away, leaving her dazed at the force of his
passion. "I've been thinking about doing that all day."
And she just blinks
stupidly at him, forgetting everything but her own name, and even that's fuzzy,
possibly spelled with an extra l and one too many o's. Luckily her brain stem
keeps her breathing. Thank God for primitive survival instincts.
"You're
parents are gone?"
She manages a nod,
and then tries a, "They won't be back until later." Has to clear her
throat and try it a second time before it makes it past her lips.
"Later is
good." Angel kisses her again, takes the square of terrycloth barrier
between them and lays it on the counter before moving his hands to her spine,
pushing her against him.
A path of soft
nibbles down her neck is punctuated by random swirls from the tip of his
tongue, and her next words leave her in a wobbly huff of air. "My water's
getting cold."
He leans back and
studies her. "I can help you with that. If you want."
Which would require
him seeing her naked? And there are the rubbery legs again. It's funny that she
should be so mortified, since he's already seen her...*done* things to her.
Seventeen years of Shelia Rosenberg prude training is a little hard to shake
off in one night, but there's that flutter between her legs and the memory of
how good last night felt.
What the hell. She
trusts him, he's just so good looking, no one's home, and damn it...she's not a
little girl anymore. People do this all the time. They enjoy it. And they're
not bad people for doing it. "Um, okay," the teeth aren't chattering
too badly. She repeats it with slightly more confidence, "Okay."
He taps her lips
with his index finger, replaces it with his mouth and slides the palm of his
hand down her throat, over the bump of bone between her clavicles, down to the
first button of her shirt. That one's opened, then the next...and the next. The
shirt falls away, tugged gently from her arms and pools on the floor at their
feet.
Suddenly she wishes
she wasn't wearing this bra, tiny sprigs of spring flowers scattered across a
white background, matched by the panties farther down. It just seems so
juvenile to her now. It must to him too. She wonders what kind of bra Faith
wears. Probably black lace. Silk? Crotchless panties? Undoubtedly something
that drives *Xander* wild with desire. And here she is trying to make an
impression on Angel with lilacs and girl's wear from Sears.
"You're so
beautiful Willow," he breathes, humming the first syllable of her
name.
And she feels like
she's going to cry. No one's ever told her she's beautiful before. Her mom said
she had a nice figure once, and that boys would be coming around in a few
years. But they didn't, the boys that is. She might as well be invisible for
all the notice she's gotten from her classmates at school. And now here was
some older, handsome, mysterious and attractive *man* saying that he thought
she was beautiful. And he seemed to mean it. God if she didn't believe he meant
it.
"You are...you
are, Willow," he says as if reading her thoughts. "I've tried so hard
to tell myself that this is wrong, but I can't hear anything but you. You'll
tell me if I've gone to far? You'll stop me if I push to fast?"
He rests against
her, until their foreheads are touching, and as he slips the strap from her
shoulder, she lets out a slow, drawn out "Yessssssss," she'll say yes
and no and go and stop, whatever he wants. As long as he doesn't leave her now.
Angel kisses her
between her eyes as he unbuttons her pants, pushes them over her hips and down
her thighs until she can kick them off of her feet. One finger hooks in the
waistband of her panties, and her tugs them down too, raises her hand in his
own and guides her to step cautiously over the edge of the tub.
As she sinks into
the water, bubbles enveloping her, Angel kneels on the floor and reaches for a
washcloth hanging on the towel rack, shoves it into the water.
She can't believe
she's saying it. "You could come in too."
He stops with
dripping cloth in midair, looks up at her with surprise and hope obvious on his
face. "Really? You're sure?"
"Uh,
huh." Willow hopes that he just hurries up and does it before she has a
chance to change her mind.
He leans back on
his heels and pulls his shirt over his head, causing muscles to slide over bone
as his chest and biceps flex. Standing up quickly, he removes his pants, and
Willow uses the pretence of wiping the hair out of her face with her shoulder
to hide the blush that comes. She's never been naked with a guy before.
By the time he
steps into the tub and settles in behind her, she's able to raise her face
again. She can feel his hand in the water, reaching for the washcloth he's
dropped, brushing against her tailbone as he retrieves it, then leaning into
her, reaching around her to grab the bar of soap in front of her.
"I'll wash
your back," he whispers into her neck before he returns to an upright
position and lathers the soap.
"Yeah, that's
good." She picks out a hair scrunchie from the basket on the floor near
the tub, raises both arms above her head and twists her hair into a knot,
secures it with the stretchy band of fabric just as the warm cloth touches her
left shoulder blade. Relaxing circles of rough pile as he works the tension out
of her, a hypnotizing spiral motion. Over. And over. And over.
"Lean back a
little. I'll get your front."
And how good does
that feel, his chest behind her, his arms cradling her as he sloshes the water
beside her, turns the soap over in the washcloth and rubs it over her breasts,
her tummy, lower...she lets out a sigh and rests her head back against his
shoulder, smiles when he kisses her cheek, thinks she might like to go to sleep
like this every night.
"Oh,
hey." She takes the washcloth from him and half turns so that she can see
his face. "Now it's your turn."
He chuckles at her
sudden energetic spurt, "Okay." Releases the soap to her. Willow
slides around, is hit with a moment of awkwardness as to how to sit, then locks
her knees over his, so their torsos are about eight inches apart. The water
sluices off of his chest, leaving shiny trails of disappearing bubbles snaking
down his skin. His nipples point roughly when the nap of the washcloth brushes
over them, and she stares, fascinated, then realizes that it's rude, and looks
up, catches him watching her.
"Doing
okay?" he asks gently.
"So far, so
good." She traces the outlines of the individual muscles on his arm with
the cloth, marvelling at how young he looks. The man is over two centuries old
for heaven's sake.
"Just
checking." He closes his eyes and gives himself over to her ministrations,
looking deceptively peaceful.
Willow's struck
with the sudden urge to taste him again, and she raises up, places her lips
against his. He lets her lead, just places a hand gently at her back and allows
her to glide down his slippery pecs until she can feel their groins touch, feel
his hardness resting right *there*. And it feels like last night, but
bigger...tighter. With a shifting of her position, a widening of her legs, she
can feel him going inside of her. He's very still, eyes closed, letting her
dictate how far this will go. When she reaches a certain point, an involuntary
gasp escapes her, and she closes her eyes, but feels his lips brush her open
mouth, nip at her lips. "It's okay Will, it'll be okay, but we should go
to your room. If you want to."
"Okay."
Is this it?
They manage to
disengage their bodies without slipping too much on the wet ceramic. Angel
kisses her all the way down the hallway, making her walk backwards as he keeps
her from bumping into anything, and she's glad, because her brain's not
focusing so well at the moment, just skipping along at a mile a minute. She
feels so jittery, like she's going to jump right out of her skin.
When they make it
to her room, he pulls them both down on the bed with her on top. Thigh to
thigh, stomachs stuck together, breasts flattened against his chest, every inch
of her seems overloaded with sensations she's never felt before: warm skin
against cold, scratchy hairs poking abdomen and groin, the hard to ignore plump
roundness of an engorged penis tucked
between them.
These aren't
factors she's ever had to deal with before, and neither is the nagging
awareness that whatever happens tonight will change everything between them
irrevocably. Two worlds collide tonight, seventeen years of Willow Rosenberg
the child with the Willow who will emerge and lead her into the rest of her
life. Standing in the threshold of adulthood, is he the doorway that she wants
to take into that world? Is this a moment to seize or back down from? Looking
down on him, she tries to reconcile the contrast of an aroused, centuries old
vampire against the background of a Jetson's comforter.
"Thinking of a
way to get out of this?"
"No! No, I
uh...no." Now she sounds like a babbling idiot. "No, just having a
little of the life review here."
"Ah,
unfortunately I'm guilty of that on far too many occasions." He closes his
eyes, twists his head to the side until his cheek rests on the bedspread, and
licks his lips before asking. "You wanna get up and get dressed?"
She really doesn't.
"No, I think I want to do *this*." The tip of her nose grazes the
ridge of his jaw line, right where it begins under his earlobe. Softly, she
nudges along the length of the bone until she reaches his chin, then marks
zigzags against his flesh with her bottom lip.
"Don't do this
if you think I'll be mad if you don't." He stops when she switches to
tracing a little heart with her upper lip. Opens his mouth in a forced
exhalation like he's going to say something else, tries again before he's
successful, "Really."
She cranes her neck
around so she can look him in the face. His eyes open as her breasts slide
sideways across him, and he meets her gaze. "I want to do this. I'm ready
to do this. Unless you're having second thoughts?"
"Hell
no." His head whips back to center position, and she reorients her body's
position on top of him. "Hell no, Willow. I think I..."He freezes and
she feels his spine go stiff.
Okay, panic button
flashing neon red. "You think what?"
"Nothing, it
sounds forced to say it now, " he protests.
"Oh, I'm not
letting you get away with that. Spill it."
"I was going
to say that I think I love you, but it sounds like a complete line. Like I'm
saying it just to get you to do this."
"Well, even if
it was, it seems to be working."
"It's been
awhile since I've said that, since I've even been anywhere close to feeling
that. I didn't want to say it, because I wasn't sure what you were thinking.
Are you...are you in love with Xander?"
Whoa, brain lapse
as she tries to process that last association. "My love for Xander would
be proved by me lying naked here on top of you?"
He shrugs
helplessly. "That came out wrong. I just thought you might be transferring
a little..." At her sudden glare, he continues. "And I guess that
sounds stupid."
"And it kind
of ruins the mood." She scrambles to get off of him, but Angel rises up,
reaching for her at the same time. With the sudden shift in her center of
balance, she sways to the right, and can't get any traction on the slippery
bedspread, feels herself falling. At least she doesn't hit the floor, because
Angel rolls with her, and she ends up laying on top of him in a strange
re-enactment of their position only moments before.
"Did I hurt
you?" She asks worriedly, because she swears she felt her hip connect with
some vulnerable 'boy parts' on the way down. Her recent anger at him is
forgotten.
"I'll
live." He rethinks it for a second, "Or, I won't." He rolls his
head and gazes up at the ceiling in exasperation. " Look Willow, I'm sorry
if I'm coming off sounding like an idiot, it's just been a while since I've
done this. And I was never very good at it to start with."
Willow lets out a
nervous, tinny laugh. "What, you've never had sex with a girl
before?"
"No, I was
always very good at that, or at any rate there weren't too many complaints. No,
I mean loving someone. I never did that right."
"Well, it helps if you don't accuse her
of thinking about someone else at *crucial moments*." she emphasizes the
last, while feeling a tug of sadness. He must have had a very lonely life up
until now. She knew he was solitary, probably from choice, but the effects of
that self-imposed exile never really occurred to her until now.
"Well,
jealousy has always been a problem for me. In the past...well, lets just say I
didn't share well with others."
"Vamp or
pre-vamp?"
"Both. I
didn't want to be like this, but when you left my place, I couldn't stop thinking
of all the reasons you and I shouldn't be together. So of course I kept telling
myself that you'd be better off with someone like Xander, and I know you've
known each other for a long time. I've seen you sometimes, and it seemed like,
I don't know, you had *feelings* for him. Like maybe you were jealous of he and
Faith?"
"I did, but
maybe you should have looked a little closer. Then you would have noticed me
looking at you."
He blinks slowly
and one corner of his mouth curls up in a self-depreciating line. "Well, I
*can* be very dense sometimes. I need more remedial help than the average
person."
She can't help the
answering grin that brakes out on her face. "You're in luck then, because
I do a lot of tutoring in my spare time."
"Mmmnn, what
should we work on first?"
"This?"
She scrapes four periwinkle painted nails lightly across the chest trapped
under her, "And maybe this..." a darting tongue and a wispy tickle of
red hair as her head follows the invisible line.
"Uhhhh, oh,
that's good. Good choice." He brings his hands up to rest on the small of
her back, slides them down and around, pulls her upward against him. Not hard,
just enough to feel the pressure of his cock sliding down her belly. One hand
on the back of her thigh, and skimming closer, parting her and rubbing his
middle finger over the hard knot of her clit.
Gasping at the
spasm that causes and the flood of heat that just seems to *emanate* from his
fingertip. "A..Angel, there isn't anyone else I want to do this with. I'm
not thinking about anyone else."
He increases the
speed of his finger, slows and lingers lazily, then speeds it up again, while
the other comes up to cup the back of her head. "Shh, I know...I know.
I'll stop being an asshole now." Mouth to her lips, and he's sucking her
tongue into him, circling it with his own, lingering at the cord of membrane
webbing it at the base underneath.
"Mmnn,"
she moans softly in her throat as he circles his finger farther inside of her,
guided by another wet shudder. He pulls away, looking at her from underneath
half closed lashes. She knows he's still doing it when she closes her eyes and
concentrates on how incredible it feels to know that he's inside of her,
wanting to feel more.
The hand moves from
the base of her skull, over her shoulder and down to nudge her off of his
chest. When she arches back a bit, his palm surrounds her breast, squeezing
lightly, coming away to allow room for his thumb to rub over her nipple. The
sensitive nub of flesh elongates, hardens, and he takes it in his mouth to
suckle her. A microfilament of white cold sensation, the combined effort of
every nerve ending screaming in tandem, and she's never felt anything like it.
The thought of him
watching her while he's doing this, seems scandalous and just so *hot*, and she
wants to feel more.
And like before,
she rises slightly, which breaks the suction of his mouth with a moment of
disappointment inside of her, but stifles it while she rotates, feels him
pressing into her and lets him gradually in.
Angel knows what
he's doing; in this position she can take him in as slowly as she wants, and
she's in control. It's a feeling that she appreciates and may employ many times
in the future. Hopefully. And this is what all the fuss is about. She can see
why Xander and Faith would like it so much.
It's
bigger...longer than his tongue last night, than his finger, and it feels like
it's filling every inch of her. She breathes slowly, getting used to the
sensation, and moves her leg to support her weight better. When she makes that
movement, he rolls his head back into the carpet. She can see his eyes move
behind the lids and his body stiffens.
Huh. She likes this
chance to watch him, to see what effect everything she does has on Angel. She
rocks back and forth experimentally.
"Willow,"
hissing between clenched teeth, jaw gritting over her name. His hands are flat
on the floor now, pushing against the cream and blue pile. It's amazing to her
that she could get this kind of response from someone, not Hosenberg as Ellen
Lexington used to call her in the fifth grade.
She increases her
pace, and starts to feel her own breath coming fast. Warm flesh rubbing against
cool, his chest is smooth, with just a few hairs around the nipples. When she
bows her head, biting her lip to concentrate on all the new sensations, her
hair flips down against him, scratching and tickling each time she comes down
again. Her thigh muscles squeeze, never quite relaxing as his hands come around
to rest on her ass again, pushing her against him with each thrust. The carpet
bites into her knees, and the pain isn't enough to pull her back from the
pleasure of the sight of him beneath her, the feel of his body against hers,
and she thinks maybe she's wanton now. She wants to be.
And the room seems
so hot, sweat rolling down her back and trickling down her thighs and belly, so
that their flesh slips and slides against each other with every movement. And
she thinks that's all *her* because she seems to remember reading somewhere
that vampires don't sweat, of course, she's never read actual accounts of them
having sex either, but surely they've answered that question by now?
Soon, she feels
another, deeper pull in her belly. Her eyes roll back, and she stifles a moan.
She wants to tell him how good this feels, but it ends up as an indecipherable
stuttering as he jerks and spasms inside of her. Collapses against him and is
vaguely aware of him kissing the top of her head as she snuggles into him.
************************