Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original "Angel" and "BtVS" characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most that post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).
Spoilers: All seasons of Angel & BtVS.
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Author's Note: I'm really excited about this piece and simply can't wait to post it. Sooo... it has NOT been thoroughly proofed and I would truly appreciate it if those few people who archive my work would fix any of my stupid mistakes before they put it up on their sites. Thanks. {{{hugs}}}
Summary: It's still Monday August 23, 1999 and Aoífe has drifted off to sleep, to the land of dreams and memories...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I carefully wrapped the sliver of lavender scented soap in scrap of clean muslin and tucked it into the little wooden box I usually kept it hidden in.
He stood across the room from me, feigning nonchalance, but I could feel his dark eyes boring into me, following my every move. I could tell by his posture that he was forcing himself to hold his ground. I wasn't obtuse, I knew what I was doing to him as I went about my business, dressed in nothing but my pantaloons. My chest was bare, the streams of cool night air drifting through the drafty room kept my nipples hard. I let out a sigh of pleasure as I remembered how it had felt when he pressed them between his lips, when he suckled them.
I heard him make a small groan of discomfort when I went down on my hands and knees beside my narrow wooden bed. My rear end faced him and I was quite certain that he was getting an eye-full. The cotton cloth of my knickers was thread-bare and still wet after having bathed him. It was surely close to being transparent at that point and had to be accentuating my sex as opposed to hiding it.
I was glad that he couldn't see my face for I could feel the flush seeping into my cheeks. His lusty little vocalization had me thinking back on events which had transpired in the room mere minutes ago. I recalled all too vividly how his erection had felt as I held it in my soapy hand. The column itself had been hard but the skin covering it was soft as a baby's, gliding smoothly along my palm and under my fingertips as I cleaned it. I hadn't meant to arouse him. Or at least that's what I told myself. But his earlier moans still echoed in my mind and on more than one occasion I had felt him involuntarily pressing his manhood further into my grasp.
He had tried so hard to behave like a gentleman, which for him was no easy feat. His restraint was well tested when I slid back his foreskin so that I could cleanse beneath it. He had almost lost control when my other sudsy hand started to gently wash his heavy sac while the one on his rod continued to work-up the lather. Oh, such an unabashed play on words! Perhaps I hadn't behaved so innocently after all!
Now it was I who was struggling for control. The dampness between my legs was no long just from spilled bath water and I certainly couldn't hide my face beneath the bed for much longer.
While I slid the box back under my bed, he spoke to me softly, as though the volume of his voice would disguise his feelings.
"Why would ya be wantin' ta do such a thing f'r me?"
I instinctively knew that he was referring to the actual bathing, not to our quasi-foreplay.
"Grá."
I spoke the word without hesitation, without giving a single thought to the effect it would have. When I rose and saw the scowl on his face I instantly regretted my candor. The fear in his eyes made me silently curse myself for having put that word out there between us.
"Love." Liam spat the word out contemptuously. "What would I know of love?"
"Ah, so it'd be hate then? Yer thinkin' ya know all about that?"
"Aye."
"Do no' be daft, man. Howe're much ya hate, so shall ya love. That'd be the blight of a zealous man."
"I do no' take kindly t'ya callin' me daft. And t'be sure I'm no' likin' yer game with the words."
"'Tis not a game that I mean ta be playin' with ya, Master Liam. I'm just sayin' t'would be best ta take care. Yer a man of passion."
"Passion," he snorted.
In an attempt to hide his discomfort, Liam tried to abandon his courteous mannerisms and behave like a miscreant once again. He failed miserably. The usual cold gleam in his eyes now looked too much like a merry twinkle. His grin was more mischievous than lecherous. And his words...
"Come closer woman and I'll let ya feel my passion."
...well they might have sounded a bit crude if they hadn't been spoken so softly, if they hadn't been accompanied by a gentle touch and a shy smile.
Liam had closed the distance separating us with three long, swift strides. Ome of his hands came up to tenderly caressed the side of my face while his other hand took a hold of one of mine and brought it up to his lips. He kissed each of my fingertips before moving my hand down and placing it over his erection. He rained more kisses down on my up-turned face while with his eyes he silently begged me to stroked him through the tightening confines of his breeches.
I smiled at him coquettishly, then cast my eyes down demurely, fervently hoping that he would believe my face was colored by a delicate blush, not the full bloom of the lust I really felt. I reluctantly pulled my hand away from his crotch.
"Sir," I purred coyly. "That is not the passion of which I speak."
The light in Liam's eyes dimmed with the speaking of my words and my heart ached as I watched a frown replace his smile, marring his handsome features.
"Come, let me fix yer hair," I offered meekly as I tentatively reached out and entwined a set of our fingers.
Liam offered little resistance as I pulled the dejected man closer to my bed, then pushed him down. I fetched a simple wooden comb from the small battered dresser and returning to the bed, I sat down behind the mute and set about the task of untangling his hair. It was thick and unruly, but now that it was clean it shone like the well-groomed coat of a fine chestnut-colored stallion. And it was surprisingly soft.
I spoke to Liam as I worked. The tone of my voice was still soothing, but for the first time since we'd begun speaking to each other three nights prior, I let my words flow without altering them to match the local vernacular.
"Some say that love and hate are but the opposite sides of the same coin. I don't like that analogy. We can hold a coin in the palm of our hand, we can possess it. I don't think that we can ever possess our emotions. They possess us. No, to me, love and hate are the two edges of a well-whetted sword. Each side of the blade can lash out at you independently. You can be cut to the quick by hate. You can be sliced open and left to bleed by love. But it requires both sides of the blade to pierce your heart. It is only when the sword is thrust into you, when you are impaled by both love and hate at equal depths that your soul truly feels these emotions."
I paused for a few moments while I finished combing out his hair, but Liam remained silent. He simply stared straight ahead, looking more lovelorn with each beat of his heart. I was nearing the end of my handiwork.
"Please, do not think that I don't want you, Liam, that I don't long for the pleasure I would find in your arms. But like you, I fear the sword."
Still, he did not utter a word. It was the sound I made by ripping the thin lace trim off one of my bloomer legs that finally pulled Liam out of his trance, and as I used the scrap to bind the end of the elegant braid I'd made with his hair, he spoke.
"I know so little of love."
His words hurt me. Why had this life been so hard for him to live? Even after more than eight hundred years, I still had a clear picture of Uriel in my mind. He had been just as taciturn as this reincarnation sitting before me, and yet Uriel had always worn his heart on his sleeve, as though he had so much love that it was impossible for him to keep it all inside. I had felt every bit of that love radiating from Liam when he had been born. But over the years his love had slowly and surely been put to waste. What little love Liam had left was buried so deep inside a callous heart that he didn't even recognize it anymore.
I crawled around on the bed until I was facing Liam, straddling his thighs and settling myself in his lap. Looking deep into his eyes, I was devastated by the sadness I saw there. He was so lost. I felt certain that he didn't want to lead a wastrel's life anymore. He wanted to love again but he didn't know where to begin.
"Would that I could make things right for you, Liam."
I purred aloud as his strong warm hands slid up my bare back. He pulled me closer to him and kissed me, a brief, tentative kiss that left a salty residue on my lips. He was crying.
"Help me," he whispered hoarsely.
"How?"
"Yer no wench, ya do no' belong here waitin' hand and foot on filth like me. Let me take ya away from this place."
"But I've promised me services ta the keep. I'm not free ta just go. As it is I'm sure ta catch hell f'r bringing ya up here f'r nothin' more than a bath. The coin in yer purse will no' cover the time I've spent away from the bar."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cried as he wrapped his arms about me and buried his face in the crook of my neck. "I'll make it right. I'll settle yer account with the lord who owns the tavern, then you'll be free to go where ya will. I promise, I'll make it right."
"And just how will ya go about doin' that?"
He kept his face hidden when he answered.
"If ya do no' ask me again, I'll no' have ta lie ta ya."
"Oh, Liam," I sighed sadly. "Please, nothin' foolish now."
Liam's entire body started to tremble, his breaths were hitched. He pulled his face away from my neck, hugged me even tighter and laid his head down on my shoulder. I could feel his tears smear on my skin. I wrapped my arms about him, attempting to sooth him by gently rubbing his back. He swallowed hard, then let out a shuddering sigh before speaking in a hushed, mournful voice.
"I want nothin' more than to go from this place," he confessed. "There's nothin' left here for me, I have no reason to stay."
I felt that metaphorical sword pierce my heart, his words impaling me as surely as if he'd held a blade in his hands. So much pain and doubt. So much love and hate.
One thing was sure. The soul I once knew no longer existed, it had been permanently altered. Did I truly love the man I held in my arms or was I in love with a memory? Did it matter? If he was incapable of loving me, could I bind myself to him anyway? Could I forsake my heart and spend the rest of my unnatural life with a man, a creature who didn't love me just so that we might possible fulfill some vague prophesy?
He hated his life. I hated everyone and everything that had driven him to this state, that had broken him. I hated him for his weakness and his cowardice. I had waited centuries to be with him again, endured lifetimes of loneliness, yet I still loved. He hadn't had the strength to survive for little more than 26 years without giving up. Would he come to hate me, too?
I knew my thoughts were unjust. Liam had no memories of his previous existence. All he knew was what he experienced in his present life, a life which had started out filled with love but all too quickly turned cold and bitter.
A harsh whisper startled me. I hadn't even realized he'd raised his head and was shocked to see him staring at me. I thought I had kept my feelings well hidden, but the woeful tone of Liam's voice and the tragic expression on his face obliterated that notion.
"I'm sorry. I did no' mean to hurt you," he said.
He took one of my hands, placing it over his rapidly beating heart and I instantly had the answer to all of my troubling questions. As I gazed upon his angelic face, I knew that I loved him. It mattered not what he felt for me. I gcónaí. Always. I would love him always.
"I would try, ya know, ta love ya, that is. But I'm no' sure I--"
"Shhh." I pressed a silencing finger over his mouth. Suddenly his physical proximity was too much for me to ignore.
My thumb slid up to caress the lush rose-colored surface of his lower lip. I longed to gnaw on it, to hurt him just a little bit. I wanted us both to feel pain mixed with pleasure, I wanted to tear his lip and lap at the blood that would come forth. I craved the feel of his lips on my body, wanted to have him tasting me in even more intimate places than he already had.
He had the audacity to laugh at me, a soft, rich laugh full of male pride which swelled as he watched me lick my lips, egotism that grew when he saw the lust that now blazed in my eyes. I silently prayed that lust was all he saw glowing there.
My fingertips brushed the last of his tears from his cheeks, then I cradled his face in the palms of my hands. His beauty overwhelmed me at times and I found myself struggling to keep my true nature hidden from him. But I couldn't keep my hands from sliding down along the sides of his neck. As I felt his pulse points, I had to press my lips firmly together because my fangs descended before I could will them to stop.
Throwing caution to the wind, I gave in to my desire to feel his blood moving beneath my lips. I hurriedly pulled the ribbon out of his hair, my fingers making quick work of undoing the braid I had created such a short time ago. My fingers became tangled in his dark mane and I used it to pull his head back, exposing his neck to my gaze, for my mouth. I pressed hard kisses down upon the soft flesh of that unblemished column, my tongue laved the skin covering his jugular vein, I sucked roughly on his carotid artery. My thirst for him was nearly overpowering, his moans of pleasure were eating away at what little constraint I still possessed. I had to rip my mouth away from his flesh before I bit him.
Liam's strong hands encircled my waist. He pulled me further into his lap then he raised his hips and ground his rampant manhood into the juncture between my thighs, groaning as he slid it along the hard edge of my pubic bone. I whimpered and mewled when that contact was lost as he readjusted our positions. But I cried out in pleasure when he pressed into me again, this time hitting my distended clitoris.
For the first time in my life, I didn't give a damn about the rules that governed my kind. I wanted to take him right then and there. I wanted to drain him while I pleasured him and then I wanted to offer up my own life's blood to him so that he might Become what I am, a soul which might walk the face of the Earth until the Earth was no more, a soul with the strength to subjugate the demon that gave it immortal life, a vampire that put love before all else.
Liam's fingers were digging into my behind as we continued to bump and grind. I hadn't even noticed that he'd untied my pantaloons, but they were slipping down further each time I undulated my hips, so he must have done so at some point. I quickly began to fumble with the ties on his breeches. I desperately wanted to have that long, thick pole of his back in my hands again. Then perhaps I'd put it in my mouth, or better yet...
"Aoífe," a female voice hissed softly from outside my closed door. "Aoífe, it's me, Rose."
Liam and I both froze, but we couldn't stay still for very long. I was panting like a dog in heat, his chest was heaving, neither one of us could seem to keep from touching the other. Consequences be damned, I was going to have him that night!
But the warning voice would not be quiet.
"Listen missy, Paddy's lookin' f'r ya!" my new friend Rose whispered. "If ya be in there, you'd best hurry it up, girl. He's livid."
Liam and I moved apart, a matched set of disgruntled groans issued forth as we did so. Then we were silent as we waited to hear Rose's footsteps move down the hall.
He stood up first, then offered me his hand. I clutched at my untethered bloomers with my free hand as I let him take my other hand to help me rise. Liam smiled down at me, then he pulled me up again his chest and held me close for a few moments as we both let raging fire of our passion die down. A gentle kiss was placed on the crown of my head, then he released me and took a small step backwards. I was amazed to see his big fingers nimbly tie the thin ribbon at my waist, a perfect tiny bow the end result.
Without speaking a word to him, I gathered up my discarded comb and relocated the ribbon I had torn out of his hair. As quickly and neatly as possible I tamed Liam's hair. Then I set about straightening his clothes. He was still sporting a noticeable bulge in his pants, but there was nothing I could do about it at that point. He even had the decency to blush when I brushed against it as I attempted to smooth some of the wrinkles from his vest.
When I was satisfied with his appearance, I placed a rather chaste kiss on his lips then proceed to tug him across the room.
"Let's be steppin' over ta the mirror now, a'fore I sneak ya back down the stairs. You look fine, don't ya know."
+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +
The last image to pass through Aoífe's mind was that of a picture she had drawn almost two and a half centuries ago. It was a sketch of Liam standing before that very mirror, a drawing from which her own reflection had deliberately been omitted. Then she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
+ - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - + - +
In another part of Los Angeles, Angel awoke in his subterranean apartment. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then stretched languidly. He winced slightly as he felt the burning sensation caused by the stretching of the flesh around the still healing wound Willow had inflicted on his chest. He fingered the bite for a few minutes as he reflected on the events which had occurred in Sunnydale over the past few days and wondered for the millionth time just what had really taken place. What did it all mean?
His sleepy brown study brought no new revelations, so Angel soon decided that the best way to start his 'day' would be with a nice long, hot shower.
He hauled himself out of his bed and padded bare-assed toward the bathroom. It took him a few minutes of rummaging through the cabinet beneath the sink before he finally found the elusive item he was suddenly hankering for. Once it was unearthed, he turned on the water in the shower stall and let it heat up as he retrieved a fresh towel from the small armoire that served as his linen closet. That task accomplished, Angel peeled the wrapper off of an ancient bar of lavender scented soap, fastidiously discarded the paper in the waste basket then stepped into the shower.
End
Entry 29-2