Friendship

Note: Text enclosed in < > represents thoughts or feelings. 

"Angel...please," Willow gouged deep bloody scratches into Angel's shoulders and chest with her fingernails, whimpering in fear. Angel's fangs pricked the soft flesh of her throat, his mouth closing over her jugular. 

"Don't..." Blood flowing from his wounds smeared her palms as she racked him again. His fangs pricked her neck again, and again. Small drops of blood seeped from the tiny incisions. 

Willow pushed against him again, coming to her knees in a desperate effort to escape. Angel adjusted easily for the change in position. His arms, while gentle, did not yield. His fangs slowly retracted with a final downward motion of his mouth, his tongue smoothing away the drops of blood. 

Angel's tenderness, the erotic pressure of his mouth sucking lightly, the cessation of threat gradually penetrated Willow's foggy panic. After a moment, Willow felt some of her panic abate. She became aware of her erratic breathing, the way her labored heartbeat echoed in her ears. 

Angel's mouth continued to lovingly caress her throat. Realization dawned, and Willow suddenly comprehended what had just happened. <Vampiric foreplay...> 

Willow collapsed against Angel in relief. Angel's grip on her body shifted to support her weight. Dazed, Willow buried her fingers in his luxuriant dark locks, noticing the sticky feel of his blood on her hands. <Yuck!> 

Willow slumped limply, letting Angel support her while her emotions cascaded wildly. She tried to grapple with her inner turmoil; her feelings shifting serendipitously from relief to understanding then to anger. 

Willow grabbed two handfuls of Angel hair, yanking sharply back, forcibly separating his mouth from her throat. Willow felt a thrill of outrage at the pleasure, the amusement in his expression. His eyes gleamed with suppressed mischief; his mouth curled into a roguish grin. 

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?!" Willow demanded, shaking his head. Untapped adrenaline and outraged dignity fueled her anger. The unreleased energy sang through her body screaming for expression, every sense, every nerve ending primed to hyper-awareness. 

"I'm sorry," Angel attempted to adopt a contrite demeanor, not quite managing. Willow twisted his hair harder. 

Angel ignored her stranglehold on his hair, pressing his lips to hers. "Forgive me?" he pleaded, the question muffled between their lips. 

"No!" Willow wasn't about to let him off that easily. 

"Please?" he kissed her again, gently. Willow felt some of her resolve melt. 

"No," she managed, swallowing thickly. 

Angel buried a hand in her hair, gathering her closer. "How," he asked, his lips hovering on her breath, "can I-" 

"You-" Angel shut her up with his mouth. Willow sighed, accepting his mouth this time. She indulged recklessly in the sinful silk of his lips. <Forgiven...> 

Her hands slid down to his shoulders; he felt unnaturally hot, almost feverish. 

"Angel, you're burning up!" Willow yanked her mouth away from his. Angel's mouth pursued. 

"Don't worry about it," Angel muttered absently, distracted by her straying lips. "I'm burning blood." His mouth captured hers as Willow opened her mouth to question him. His tongue seized the opportunity, plunging into her mouth, ravishing her depths gently. 

Willow clung to his solid biceps, closing her eyes and surrendering to his advances. Her world narrowed to his mouth, his tongue, his kiss. Their tongues met lightly, touched teasingly, during his exploration. Willow met the light thrusts with her own, first timidly, then with growing confidence. 

Angel gradually increased the tempo, the strong thrust of his tongue establishing a smooth steady beat. His hands massaged purposefully down her back, smoothing away any remaining tension from her muscles. 

Willow jumped, shocked, as his hands dropped to her skirt. His fingers firmly gripped the fabric and began gathering it, exposing the back of her thighs. She tore her mouth from his gasping, both terrified and excited beyond belief. 

"Angel!" Willow howled his name in outraged modesty. One of his hands firmly bunched her entire skirt, lifting to expose her buttocks. The other came into firm contact with her derriere, stroking her skin through her panties. 

Angel chuckled, releasing her hiked skirt and shifting both hands until they firmly gripped her bottom. He lifted her into the air, thrusting her pelvis against his. 

Willow wailed in protest again, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. Angel rocked their hips together intimately, creating incredible friction <down there> that drove Willow wild. She arched into him--hot, wet.aching for something more. 

Willow's next cry, trapped somewhere between indignation and arousal, marked her imminent surrender. Angel cut her off with his mouth; his hips grinding roughly into hers. 

Willow thrashed, then surrendered helplessly to the motion. She settled naturally into the rhythmic rocking and grinding, mewling with intense pleasure into his mouth. 

The phone rang, shrill and unheard. 

Rang again. And again. Angel's fingers slid under the edge of Willow's panties... 

An answering machine came on. "Please leave your message after the beep..." a polite electronic voice requested. ...gathering fabric... 

"Beep"... ...pulling down... 

"Angelus, if you're there it's imperative that you answer," the man's distraught voice pleaded. Angel ripped his mouth from Willow with an angry snarl; she whimpered weakly in protest. 

"Father Matthew has been murdered. We urgently need your help," Angel's face transformed with demonic fury. He unceremoniously dumped Willow on the couch and leapt to the phone. 

"I'm here," he snarled harshly, snatching up the phone. "Tell me what happened." 

Angel turned his back to Willow, concealing his face. His movements were short and quick, the hand not gripping the phone balled into a tight fist. Willow could see anger gathering in the taunt, bunched muscles of his back. 

Willow self-consciously shoved her skirt down, guilt striking as the significance of what had been said sank in...<Father?!...Oh My God, Angel's priest?!...Murdered! He was helping for my sake...dead because of me!> 

A long silence ensued while Angel listened. "I'll be there in an hour," he promised, his tightly controlled tone trying to convey reassurance to the man on the other end. <Oh God! My fault! My fault! And Angel...Oh God! Angel must be furious!> 

Angel set down the phone. He glanced briefly at Willow, his face normal, his expression distant, inscrutable. Willow met his eyes with dread, her stomach sinking like an anchor with the knowledge that he must blame her for this. 

Angel didn't speak. Instead, he turned and quickly disappeared down the hallway off the living room. Willow wrapped her arms around her knees, wracked with horrible, miserable guilt. <A priest...> 

Angel emerged moments later, carrying his trademark leather jacket and a white tank shirt. He pulled on the shirt, not noticing the blood from his shoulders staining the cotton. 

Angel paused by the couch over Willow. She stared intently down at the couch, unable to meet his gaze. "Willow, I have to go," he said, his voice tight with anger. "They need me." 

Willow nodded, to show him that she understood and accepted. Grateful that he didn't speak his scorn or condemnation. <My fault...> 

Angel snatched up a pen and pad off the end table. He quickly scribbled something and tore off the top sheet, slapping it into Willow's palm. 

"These are the security codes. Don't leave unescorted," Angel commanded, his tone deadly serious. 

Willow hesitated, wanting to flee, to run home and hide. Guilt overrode her cowardice. "I promise," she whispered, not wanting to cause any more trouble, to be an inconvenience. <My fault...> 

Angel snatched his shoes up off the floor and hurriedly pulled them on. "I'll be back before dawn," he added tersely, pulling on his jacket. 

"Make yourself at home," the hospitality came as an afterthought. 

A moment later, he was gone. 

Willow wallowed miserably on the couch for several minutes, indulging in extreme self pity. Slowly, her rational, logical thinking-self took the opportunity her misery provided and began to reassert itself. <What am I doing here?> 

She picked up her water glass, greedily gulping down the now tepid water, all of the ice long since melted. Willow began to question her own sanity. <Here I am--mousy little, sixteen-year-old Willow Rosenberg--in a man's apartment!> 

Unable to sit still anymore, Willow bounced to her feet and headed for the kitchen with her glass. <I can't believe that I just ran off with Angel like that. Xander must be frantic.> 

Willow hesitated and glanced longingly back at the phone, tempted to call Xander or Giles to come get her. She took two steps towards it before shame asserted itself. <I can't_Can't_face either one of them. Can't explain_it would be Horrible. Neither of them would ever understand.> 

<I don't even understand.> 

Sanity screamed for her to get the hell out of here; her emotions chanted 'look what you did'. <The conclusions Xander and Giles would jump to...> 

Willow's face turned crimson as she remembered the things that Angel had done to her, with her. <And Angel_Oh God! What must he think of me?> Willow's shame deepened with the memory of her own wanton behavior. 

<But I enjoyed it--didn't I?> Willow tried desperately to push the sinful thought away. 

She turned her back on the phone and retreated to the kitchen again. <Angel must think I'm...easy.> 

Willow groped along a wall in the darkened kitchen, searching for a light switch. She found one and flipped it on, then stood blinking in the bright light as her eyes adjusted. <Angel's too mad at me over his priest to waste time thinking that,> Willow comforted herself, cringing afterward as the guilt reasserted itself. 

A clock revealed it to be 10:12PM, a mere two hours since Angel snatched Willow away from Xander and up-ended her world. 

She stuck the water glass in the top rack of the empty dishwasher. <So what am I doing here? That's a hard question...What happened to loyalty, to love? I love Xander, don't I?> 

<?.....?.....?> 

<Don't I?!> 

<Of course I do!> Willow popped the dishwasher closed. She hesitated before leaving the kitchen, wondering exactly what a vampire kept in his refrigerator. <Looking isn't snooping...after all, Angel did say to make myself at home.> 

A quick snoop <Who am I kidding?> revealed five bottles of Crystal Geyser, a dozen assorted sodas and four packets of blood. <You're avoiding the question> she reminded herself. <Which was?...Oh, yeah...What am I doing here?> 

Angel's cabinets were mostly bare. One contained more assorted sodas <...more than any single vampire could possibly need...> and a single pot. <Which he uses to...?...warm up blood?...maybe?> 

One drawer contained three sharpened wooden stakes, a utility knife, a flashlight, and a book of matches. <I'm here because Angel brought me here...Oh, that's Good! Cop out and blame Angel! Not like I didn't have a choice in the matter!> 

When the kitchen held no further secrets, Willow turned off the light and returned to the living room. <Well...why? Why did he bring me here?...Why did I come?> 

Willow examined the state of the art entertainment center with appreciation. Angel owned hundreds of movies and tapes, including dozens of cassette tapes labeled in his own hand--a slanting, elegant cursive. She picked one at random, obliquely labeled "Rome Burning." 

Willow opened the cassette case and slid out the tape. <First, Angel has never--ever--been attracted to me before. He's never so much as looked sideways at me before.> 

She popped it into the tape player and used the remote to turn on the sound system. <Second, Angel was VERY screwed up tonight. Between the drugs and that poor pregnant woman reminding him of his wife, he wasn't in his right mind.> 

The strains of a violin soliloquy swelled through the room. Willow grimaced with distaste and turned off the stereo. <Third, Angel loves Buffy...Just like Xander.> 

<I'm the Invisible Woman. Every man I like is attracted to Buffy.> It hurt but Willow forced the truth on herself. She crouched in front of the stereo on her knees, biting her lower lip hard, trying desperately to quell the tears welling up in her eyes. 

After all, she reflected with a tinge of bitterness, <It's better than deluding myself...A man needs to be high and heartbroken to find me attractive.>