***
Wait.
It was something Willow was willing to do, had to do. Devon's voice had rung hollow through her as he told her that Oz had sent for his things, they'd been packed and transported to some place he couldn't quite recall. As she 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. Just 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. And yet that was exactly what she did. Now, as she moved to the music, it didn't make sense, none of it made sense and the only thing she was certain of was the fleeting touches of the strangers she danced with. The music had no beat to Willow, 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, hands moved over scantily clad flesh, her body barely responding
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, revelling 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.
Actually he was trying to drown the pain, block it, he was running away
from his solitude because it only served to intensify it. He had
been reliving the last twenty-four hours, of Doyle's death over and over
again, and solitude did nothing to distract him from the memories.
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 shards of
glass 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. Even as Angel 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 moved together,
entwined and consumed each other in a darkness that resulted in red.
As his eyes fell 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 sat back and watched her, waiting for her to
disperse, the ghost to become transparent and finally disappear.
But she didn't. He 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 were clear
and coherent to Angel, even across the distance that separated them.
Each comment 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 stepped out, pushing his way through the crowd and
reached out. For the briefest time 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 as 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 while she continued to dance.
Even as the music died she kept moving, unwilling or unable to stop. As
the other patrons left the dance floor he 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 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 he 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. Unconsciously
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 heat his skin. For
all his comfort she 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. 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, 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, intoxicated
him where whiskey and blood had failed. Nothing could induce him
to surrender those lips, her mouth, her tongue. 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 she 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, sofa's and lounge
chairs were scattered about, dimly lit from the lights of the dance floor,
strange mutated shadows 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 and 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 before 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 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. Slowly 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 and 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, his 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. Doyle. 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, 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 he 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. It was her hands, clinging
to him, she 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 she hadn't cum, but he had. 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
manoeuvred 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's body 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 he 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 it's 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 he was stunned.
She 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 had 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, his cock
buried deep inside her, all of it only accentuated the very thing that
he craved. Even now, as he held her close, moving deep inside her
while her legs wrapped about his waist as she sat in his lap 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, savouring 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
hiss 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, 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 prised
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, he 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. He'd taken her 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 long dried blood and
once more he savoured 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, feel her both phantom and reality. 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 worse 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,
soothing back 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 succour.
Hunger, ravenous and demanding, spread through him but he 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 realised
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 he 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, her 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."