TITLE: ARE WE THERE YET?
AUTHOR: Katriena Knights
RATING: NC-17 for explicit sexual content.
SPOILERS/TIMELINE: Filler for Long Day's Journey
SUMMARY: It's a four-hour ride to Death Valley, and Gwen owes Angel two
orgasms. FOLLOW-UP TO SPARKS: 
http://www.bewellweb.com/dknights/sparks.html
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, just playing.

PLEASE NOTE THIS STORY IS RATED NC-17

His words made her warm, much more than they should have. She'd been
trying very hard not to get too attached to him, and she'd succeeded for
the most part, but every once in a while that feeling of connection came
up out of nowhere, and she started thinking about him in inappropriate ways.

What she was thinking right now was totally inappropriate. She
didn't care.

"Speaking of layers," she said, "that hooded sweatshirt thing is
really not your best look." He tended to dress more formally, she'd
noticed, in high-quality shirts that needed cufflinks that he didn't
bother to wear. She'd sent him a box of shirts not long ago, to replace
the one she'd ruined ripping it off him. She'd picked expensive ones,
mostly silk blends, in dark colors, of course, with high collars that
would look good under his long, black coat. This hoodie thing looked
almost silly, if anything could actually look silly on him.

She really wasn't interested in critiquing his fashion sense,
though. She slid across the wide seat until she was right next to him,
and unzipped the sweatshirt. He had a gray cotton shirt on under it, a
lightweight knit, softer than a T-shirt. She slid a hand across his
chest and found his nipples already pebbled, ready to play with.

"Gwen--"

"Is there a problem?"

"Well--I'm driving, for one thing."

"Looks like a pretty straight stretch of highway, and there's not
much traffic this time of night." She trailed her fingers down his
stomach. "And, as I recall, I owe you an orgasm."

"Two, but who's counting?"

"Apparently you are." His pants had some kind of flat metal hook
fastener that she was going to have a hell of a time getting undone
without his cooperation.

"Well, math has always fascinated me," he said.

She decided not to bother with the pants and instead peeled up the
bottom edge of his shirt. She still had her gloves on, so the lovely
jolt of skin-to-skin contact was, for the moment, impossible. But it was
still fun to slide the tip of her finger into his navel. He jumped a
little, and she wondered why. She was positive she hadn't sparked him.

"Gwen..." he said again, his voice a little lower this time. She
wished she could see his face, look at his eyes to see if his irises had
gone almost black, like they had the last time, in his bedroom.

"Yes?"

"No offense, but the last time I had sex with you, I couldn't pee
for a week."

"Do vampires pee?"

"Not after they have sex with you, they don't."

She couldn't tell if he was joking or not; his voice was too
strained with arousal.

"I'll keep my gloves on."

He turned his head toward her, his eyes glinting. Gwen slid her hand
down, over his fly, feeling him literally growing under her fingers.
That was a good feeling, she noted. To feel a man's body respond like
that to your touch--it was heady. Intoxicating. He'd already been hard
when things had gotten underway last time, but this time she was
starting more or less from scratch. Or tickle, or caress, or whatever
she decided to do with him.

She shifted her hand a little, tracing her fingernails down the
growing ridge under his fly. He made a noise, a sort of breathy, gaspy
sound, and slid down in the seat a little, laying his right arm along
the seat back. She realized this was acquiescence--he was moving so she
could undo his pants.

So she did that, sliding his zipper down, pulling his soft cotton
underwear out of the way until she got to his skin.

Then, looking at the big, bobbing beast she'd just released, she
realized something.

"Ummm...I don't really know how to do this."

"It's not that hard."

"Looks pretty hard to me."

"It's not that *difficult*. Especially when you're working with a
guy who never gets any."

"So you're easy?"

"For the most part." He shifted his hips a little, sliding his shaft
up against her palm. "Take off that damn glove."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Who needs to pee?"

She obediently slipped off the long, black glove, then stared at her
hand. Her fingers were shaking. She had gone hot and weak inside, just
thinking about touching him.

"What's wrong?" he said. He was far too attuned to her moods for the
shortness of their acquaintance. It freaked her out sometimes.

"Just adjusting the current," she said, which was half the truth.
She flexed her fingers, hoping that made it seem more believable, then
reached for him again.

And it was skin on skin again, that incredible rush of contact that
had become like a drug for her. And she hadn't touched him here last
time. She hated to admit it, but she'd actually been a little bit afraid to.

Now she wished she had, because this was amazing. The skin here was
so soft, so unbelievably soft, like silk or fine velvet filled with
steel. He made an odd, choking sound in the back of his throat as she
slid her fingers up the length of him, over that incredibly soft skin,
to where it made a soft sheath over his glans.

She had completely drained the current from her fingers--an effort
of will it had taken her literally a decade and a half to perfect--and
hesitated a moment just to be sure she could sustain it, before
carefully, delicately pushing the velvety hood back and touching the
sleek skin beneath.

He slammed the back of his head into his headrest, his left hand
convulsing on the steering wheel. Gwen glanced at the speedometer. They
were going ninety-five.

"Might want to ease up on the accelerator."

He blinked at the dial. "Yeah, right." She waited until he'd eased
back down to eighty, then continued her exploration.

It was difficult, holding the current back for this amount of time,
but she did it, channeling the flow elsewhere as she carefully tormented
him. His hand on the seat back moved forward to cup her head, caressing
her hair. Sparks flew when his fingers touched the back of her neck.

"Tell me what you like," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just grab hold," he said. "Not too tight."

She fisted her hand gently around him and he began to thrust through
the curl of her fingers, slowly at first, drawing his full length in and
out. His face remained straight ahead, but he didn't seem terribly
focused on the road. It was a good thing it was a straight shot here,
with no landmarks to watch for, no hairpin turns and no stoplights.

"Is that good?" she asked, though she could tell by the tension in
the body that he was responding appropriately.

"Good," he said tersely--another good sign, that tight voice. "Spit
on your hand. And there should be some napkins or something in the glove
box."

This confused her a minute, and she let him go so it could sink in.
Then she figured it out--lube, to make it better for him, and something
to clean up with after.

"I wouldn't worry about it, but these pants have to be dry-cleaned."
He sounded almost apologetic.

Gwen couldn't help smiling. "Trust you to worry about your clothes."
She flexed her fingers, taking advantage of the moment to let the
current run. It would be easier to get it back under control if she let
it flow for a moment.

"Dry cleaning is expensive." He watched her as she sat there doing
what probably looked to him like nothing, and finally said, "Could you
hurry a little?"

"Sorry. Just give me a second."

"Are you okay?"

She looked up. He was eyeing her with concern, which surprised her.

"I'm fine. Just redirecting the current. It's hard to hold it back
that long."

"Oh. I just--"

She opened the glove box and found a stack of Subway napkins. That
seemed appropriate. Then she realized Angel hadn't finished his sentence.

"You just what?" Behind the Subway napkins were a few from Der
Weinerschnitzel. That was even better. She pulled out those.

"I don't want you to think you have to do this. You don't owe me
anything, Gwen."

Gwen spat into her hand, trying not to be too gross about it. Out of
the corner of her eye, she saw something twitch, and looked down. Her
preparations seemed to be further arousing Angel rather than putting him
off.

"I know that, Angel." She took a moment to clamp down on the current
a little more, then closed her hand again around his long, hard shaft.
"You have no idea how much I want this, do you?" She worked him gently,
then a little harder. His head fell back again and she heard his teeth
clench. "I could sit next to you and hold your hand and that would be
incredible, but this is so much better."

Her hand moved more easily on him now, sliding over that velvet
skin. He pulsed his hips a little, but she had mostly taken over the
rhythm by now. His thrusting before had given her the general idea. She
pressed her thumb against his glans, sliding over that smooth skin. He
gasped and closed his eyes a moment, then snapped them open as if only
then remembering he was driving.

"You learn fast," he said, his voice breathy. He braced his back
against the car seat and bucked under her hand, thrusting harder and
faster, eyes glued straight ahead. Scooting as close as she could, she
hung onto him as he slid in and out of her fist.

"Now," he said suddenly. "God, Gwen, now," and she was so fascinated
by the thick length of him plunging through her fist that she barely got
the napkins into place in time.

She wanted to see this, too, though, feel as much of it as she
could. She was half in his lap now, feeling his body clench and shudder,
feeling his cock pulse in her hand, watching him spill himself into the
paper napkins.

Then, suddenly, he laughed. Startled, she looked into his face. She
was almost close enough to kiss him.

His body loosened against her as he laughed, the last seconds of his
orgasm wringing out of him.

"God, Gwen," he said. "Der Weinerschnitzel?"

She smiled, smugly dried him off, and zipped his pants.

END PART TWO