Gwen was curled up in bed, happily
watching Jay Leno, when her phone rang.
It was more than a little late for
phone calls, but every once in a while she got a call from a client who kept
odd hours. Summoning a polite attitude, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hullo, Gwen? It's Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."
Gwen sat up a little straighter, pulling
the covers tight around her. "Wes? Hi." She hadn't heard anything from Angel's
office since he'd tried to kill her a week or so ago. Was it too much to hope
that this might be the call she'd been waiting for? "What's up?"
"Angel asked me to ring you. He'd
like to speak with you, but he wanted me to assure you it's really him."
Gwen closed her eyes. "He's back?"
Tears of relief tried to rise in her eyes, but she blinked them back ferociously.
Wes' voice was gentle. "Yes, he's
back. Would you like to speak with him?"
"Yes. Yes, please."
She swallowed hard, trying to compose
herself, as a rustling in the background indicated the phone was changing
hands. Then Angel's voice said, "Gwen?"
"Angel?" She fought to keep from sobbing
with it. The tone, the timbre of his voice--so different from when he'd last
spoken to her. When he'd been Angelus.
"Gwen, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Really." She swallowed
hard, closed her eyes, counted to ten, while he said, "I'd like to talk to
you in person. Is that okay?"
"Yes.." She hesitated, opened her
eyes.
"Gwen?"
"It's good to hear your voice," she
said. "Come over now."
#
By the time her doorbell rang, she
was outwardly calm, but her stomach was twisted in knots of anticipation that
felt uncomfortably like fear.
She wrung her hands together, went
to the door and opened it.
"Hi," said Angel. His wide shoulders
filled her doorway and he looked a little chagrined.
Gwen took a step back from the door
as his eyes met hers. Her breath hitched. That *was* fear, and she was ashamed
of it. He would know, too. There was nothing she could do to hide her reaction
to him.
"Gwen," he said, his voice gentle.
"It's okay. I understand."
"Can you...can you come in?"
He pushed his hand forward until his
palm lay flat against an invisible barrier flush with her threshold. He shoved
both hands into it, hard, then leaned his shoulder against it. He appeared
to be leaning solidly on nothing.
"Wow," said Gwen. "That's...pretty
freaky."
"You don't have to invite me in if
you don't want to. I just wanted to be sure you were okay."
An image flashed through Gwen's head,
of Angelus holding a knife to Wesley's throat, forcing him to tell Gwen Angel
was back. She pushed it away. She knew this was Angel. There was no way it
couldn't be.
"Look at me," she said.
He looked at her, held her gaze as
she searched his eyes. The dark, awful emptiness was gone.
"I can tell it's you," she said, "but
you still smell a little funny."
He smiled, brows lifting in surprise.
"Really? I smell different?"
"Yes. Angelus has a weird kind of
reek about him."
"Bad personal hygiene, I guess."
"I think it's different feeding habits."
Some of the amusement faded from his
face. "Yeah. That might explain it."
A silence grew between them. Gwen
shifted, uncomfortable. It seemed incredibly rude to leave him out there
in the hallway. But the memories were too fresh--Angelus pinning her to the
bed, groping her, his teeth penetrating her flesh.
"You remember what happened?" she
asked.
"Yeah. And I'm sorry."
"It wasn't you, though."
"I remember it. I hurt you, and I'm
sorry it happened."
She nodded. An awkward moment passed
between them, then Angel said, "People don't like it when you smell them.
I learned that the hard way."
She smiled. "Sorry."
He shrugged. "Didn't use to be such
a big deal. You come in after a long night, the Sire says, 'Hey, you ate a
couple of courtesans today--I can smell the perfume on you--'" He broke off.
"Sorry. It's all still a little--close."
Gwen realized she was gaping at him
and tried to compose her features. "He was--hideous."
"I was. For a long time."
And again with the awkward. Gwen just
looked at him from her safe spot on the other side of the threshold, wondering
what to say.
Angel finally broke the silence. "I
should go. I'm glad you're all right."
He took a step back and Gwen said
abruptly, "No. Don't go. Come in. Please."
His eyes widened in surprise. "Are
you sure?"
"Doesn't matter, does it? I already
said it, and now it's too late, right?"
"Well, yeah, I've been invited now."
He stuck his hand through the doorway, demonstrating. "But I can still leave."
"No. Come in. I'll...I don't know...make
tea or something."
His smile was a little hesitant. She
watched with some trepidation as he slowly came in. She forced herself to
stand her ground, to not step back away from him as he crossed the threshold.
"Gwen?" he said.
Damn him and his vampire olfactory
senses, and his knowing her too well, and her own body, which was pumping
adrenaline and heading for an intense level of arousal at the same time. And
he would smell it all--the fear, the need.
"I want you," she said. He didn't
answer. "Don't stand there and act like you don't know that."
He slid his hands into the pockets
of his coat. "I also know you're afraid." His voice was gentle, soft. "And
I'm sorry for that."
Gwen looked into his sincere face,
his soft eyes. She knew it was him; there was no question. But...
He moved a little closer to her and
she stiffened slightly as he lifted a hand, reached toward her. She forced
herself to hold her ground, to look into his eyes. Carefully, he touched her
hair, moved it back from her neck. To bare the healing bite mark, she realized.
His finger traced it, gentle.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not so much, now."
He moved closer to her, bending into
her, his face moving toward her throat. She closed her eyes, forced herself
to hold still, but her body shivered. With fear or desire, she wasn't sure.
His lips touched the wound. His face
hadn't changed; she could tell by the way his mouth felt against her. Soft,
tender, he kissed her, there where her skin still ached from time to time.
He kissed the wound, then ran his
tongue over it, a caress that made her body go suddenly weak. She grabbed
at his arms and turned her head, touching her face to his hair.
"Angel."
"Gwen." He breathed it into her throat.
She swallowed hard, forcing back the fear. She didn't want to be afraid of
him. There was no reason for it, and she hated to be afraid. Even if she hadn't
been certain he wasn't Angelus, she knew she could defend herself.
Letting go of his arms, she slid her
hands down his chest, let one hand drift even lower, traced a finger down
his fly.
"What about you? Does it still hurt?"
"No." He shifted back a little, to
look into her face. "I still have a bald spot on my left testicle, though."
She choked back a laugh. "No, you
don't."
"Maybe you should check and see."
Utterly still, her finger resting
just there, on his zipper, she studied his face. The sincerity in
his eyes, the soft tilt of his smile.
She had told herself she wouldn't
do this. Wouldn't succumb to him again. She needed to move past this obsession
and find another way to come to terms with her life.
But he was here in front of her, big
and beautiful, and it was impossible for her not to want him. And there was
the fear, still. She couldn't let that go on, couldn't let it rule her.
Maybe it was just an excuse, and a
flimsy one, at that. Regardless, she moved into him, pushed up on her toes
to brush his lips with hers.
"Maybe I should."
"Hm," he said, a small sound half
of amusement, half contentment. "I was looking forward to tea."
#
She wanted him in her bed. They'd
never made love in her bed before. Up against the bedroom wall, yes, but
not actually in the bed. Funny how that had worked out. Plus Angelus had
molested her in the bed, so she wanted that purged from her memory as thoroughly
as possible. It had taken two washings to get the vamp-smell out of the sheets.
Her bed was nearly twice the size
of the bed in his hotel suite. She herded him back into it, then reached
up to push his coat off him. He shifted a little so it would fall safely
onto the bed.
"You're going to do what I say," she
said. She needed to be in control here, and she wasn't sure how else to get
that across to him except to tell him straight out.
"Okay. That works."
"Just...hold still." It wasn't very
exciting, as orders went, but it was what she needed at the moment.
He nodded, and held still while she
unbuttoned his shirt. The odd smell that still wafted off him made fear tremor
faintly through her, but she held it back.
"When Angelus was here," he said softly,
as she opened the last button and smoothed his shirt away from his bare chest,
"I couldn't even tell you were afraid. You were...amazingly brave."
She put her face against the middle
of his chest and took a long, deep breath through her nose. He flinched a
little at the soft shower of sparks. "Don't sweet-talk me."
His scent was there, behind the odor
Angelus had left behind. His skin was cooler, too, more the temperature she
remembered from before she'd left for Tahiti. Hesitant, she ran her tongue
over him, down the hollow between his pectorals, across to one nipple, then
the other. Blue current trailed in its wake. He drew a long, shivery
breath. Angelus, Gwen suddenly remembered, even aroused, hadn't breathed.
"You're killin' me, here," Angel murmured.
"Good." She trailed her lips down
his stomach, fighting back the current as best she could. His skin shivered
under the onslaught of sparks, small as they were. She tasted his navel,
then unfastened his belt, his pants.
"Can I move yet?" he said as she slid
his trousers down.
"No."
"Ooh-kay."
He was obedient, that was certain.
His cooperation made things easier.
She untied his shoes and pushed his
pants all the way down to his ankles. Licked his thighs, his knees. One hand
trailed down his arm until her fingers brushed the back of his hand. The current
was faint, but there, and when she closed her mouth over the bulge in his
cotton boxers, he flinched at the flow of electricity. She breathed into
the cotton, warming his erection.
"Gwen..." he ventured again. His hand
twitched. She curled her fingers through his, let him squeeze her. The firm
grip of his hand on hers was reassuring.
Lipping him through his underwear,
she tested his length, his hardness. He held utterly still as she worked her
way up his shaft, until she breathed hot air and a vague shimmer of electricity
into the cloth covering the head of his cock. He shuddered, his fingers squeezing
almost painfully hard on hers.
After a moment, she let him go. Without
looking into his face, she bent and held his shoes while he stepped out of
them, then did the same for his pants and socks. Finally, she came back to
her feet and stood in front of him. He was taut, his mouth set in a firm line,
and she could see the haze of lust in his eyes.
"Do you trust me?" she said.
He nodded.
"Lie down."
He obediently sat on the bed, then
pushed back, stretching out until he lay full-length on his back on top of
the quilt. Gwen moved to sit next to him. She wore a nightshirt with no panties;
she didn't bother taking it off. It seemed unnecessary.
Angel remained passive as she slid
his boxers off of him. His cock sprang free, to lie against his belly. It
was good and hard, weeping a little. He just looked at her, watched.
In their previous encounters, Angel
had mostly taken the lead, been on top, or kept control of the proceedings,
particularly when they involved being inside her. Gwen understood why. Penetrating
her hurt him, and he wanted to be able to pull out immediately if the pain
became too intense.
But she couldn't let him have that
this time. In the past, the thought of being under his power had aroused her,
but now it frightened her. She had seen his demon face-to-face, and it had
changed everything.
So now he lay naked and vulnerable
across her bed, while she sat next to him, comfortably covered in a knee-length
nightshirt.
"I want to touch you," he said.
"No."
Instead, she touched him, still reacquainting
herself with his shapes and textures, still gathering as much sensory evidence
as possible that this was, indeed, the man who had made love to her on several
occasions, not the one who had effectively raped her in this bed. Her throat
throbbed, the wound beating in time to the pumping of her heart.
She let her hands wander, exploring
every inch of him, from his hair to his throat to his elbows to the soles
of his feet. He lay still, watching her. Breathing. She laid her ear against
his stomach, feeling the erratic rise and fall of his diaphragm. It stopped
after a moment, as if the contact had made him aware of it.
He was ready for her, his cock hard,
straight up against his stomach. Her fingers traced its length, then she bent
to lip it carefully, fighting for control of her current. Control seemed elusive
today, her unsteady emotional state making it more difficult.
She looked up at his face to find
him looking down at her, patient, waiting. But when she shifted her head,
running her cheek along his shaft, he closed his eyes, breath shuddering
through him.
She wondered, not for the first time,
what Angelus would have done to her if she hadn't been able to defend herself.
It was hard to push that thought out of her mind, no matter how certain she
was that this was Angel...
But wasn't Angelus there all the time?
Otherwise, how would he remember what he'd done to her? His soul only gave
him the desire to control the demon--it didn't make the demon go away.
She pushed her face into him, into
the fold where hip met groin, feeling his hair against her lips. Sparks skittered,
faint, but he held still.
That first time, when he'd carried
her into his hotel suite, she'd thought she'd had some idea what she was getting
into, but in truth she had been utterly clueless. Just a vampire, she'd
thought, just a freak like me, but she'd had no idea then what a vampire
really was. Now she knew.
"Gwen?" he said quietly, and she realized
she'd been still for several seconds, just bent over him there, breathing
into the top of his thigh. Sitting up, she made herself look into his face.
Then, slowly, she lifted her nightgown and settled over him, reached between
them, caught his shaft, guided him into her.
She was slick and ready, and he sank
in deep, effortlessly. She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the sensation.
He filled her to her core; she could feel the head of his cock bump her womb.
The sharp jolt stung her, and made him wince. Electricity there, too, undoubtedly,
sparking completely out of her control.
He held still, though, fists clenched
at his sides, holding her eyes with his as she moved on him. Leaning forward,
she braced her hands on his shoulders, easing up and down his length, squeezing,
milking him with her body. She could feel the flow of the electricity, and
if she looked down, she could see it flowing out of her and onto him, blue
sparks running like water over his belly. His mouth was a thin line, the haze
in his eyes a mixture of lust and pain.
Angelus had liked the pain. Did Angel?
His hips moved under her, pulsing
a little, pushing into her. He was taut, breathing raggedly with arousal,
but held himself under tight control because that was what she had asked
of him.
He slid high up into her, closed his
eyes, his body shuddering. Opened his eyes to look at her again...
They were yellow.
She shoved herself off him and halfway
across the bed, gasping, whimpering, flooded with fear. Dammit, what the hell
was wrong with her--she'd seen him in vamp face before--it wasn't new--it
was still Angel--
"Gwen!" He rolled to his side, moved
toward her. "Gwen, what's wrong?" Then he stopped, blinking. "Shit. Shit.
Gwen--"
She curled around herself, but she
could still feel him inside her, her body still open, aching, unfulfilled.
Sobs wracked her. Why was she falling apart now? Angelus on top of her, groping
her, biting her, and she'd maintained enough calm to fight back, but now,
now that it was only Angel, she was falling apart.
He looked up at her from the other
side of the bed. His eyes had gone back to the deep, chocolate brown she was
used to, and now they held concern, embarrassment.
"Gwen," he said, his voice soft, strained.
"Gwen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"
She shook her head, drawing her legs
up, wrapping her arms around her knees, sobbing. He eased his way across the
bed and gently embraced her, cradled her against him. She flinched, sparked,
and he pulled her closer.
"Gwen, Gwen, don't. Please."
She pushed at him, but he drew her
in, stroked her hair. "Shhh. Hush, Gwen, shhh."
"Angel, I can't..." she choked. But
she didn't know what she was saying, didn't know what she meant. And finally
all there really was to do was to cling to him, and let him hold her. She
let herself relax into him, until the tears came loose and soft, without the
wrenching sobs.
His arms shifted around her, embracing
all of her, taking in her touch, her current. "Gwen. God, I'm sorry. I'm so
sorry."
She pressed her face up into his and
felt tears on his cheeks. "I can't... I can't..." Pulling him closer, she
found his mouth with hers, started to kiss him and then let him kiss her,
his cool, gentle mouth moving against hers. His hands came up to cup her face,
and finally the tight knot of fear in her chest loosened, broke open.
For a long time, he just kissed her,
then his hands began to move, gentle, over her body. He made no effort to
take her nightshirt off, just slid his hands over and under it, cupping her
breasts, her hips, forming his hands to the shapes of her body. His touch
erased the memories of Angelus, and gradually she relaxed into him, willing
again to let him claim her. She should have let him do this in the first place,
she thought, should have faced the fear head-on instead of trying to work
her way around it.
There was more to it, though. More
than just the fear. She knew this, deep down, but wasn't ready to admit it
to herself.
He kissed down her throat, across
her collarbones, then leaned back, taking her with him. His hands pushed
the nightshirt up around her waist, then closed on her hips, maneuvering
her up to his mouth.
She gasped as his tongue touched her,
as he licked into her. She pushed the nightshirt out of the way so she could
see him, his tongue working there against her, the blue sparks rising as he
touched her. She had very little control over the current there, and it snapped
and popped, outlining his lips.
Still, he didn't back away from it.
Instead he pressed in harder, burying his face between her legs, sucking,
licking, biting, thrusting his tongue inside her until there was no room in
her for fear, only for the rising, spiraling heat that twisted tighter and
tighter and finally jolted through her in a heady, blinding rush.
She rode the wave, let him milk the
last of it out of her with the tip of his tongue, then slid herself back down
his body. She let her nightshirt ride up until it was bunched under her arms
and she could lay her bare breasts fully against him. His cock prodded into
her thigh; he was still hard, ready for her, and she moved into him, shifting
until she had him inside her again.
She let him guide her this time, his
hands on her waist, moving her, gentle, his hips pulsing in time with her
own movement on top of him. It was good, it filled and aroused her, but it
wasn't what she wanted. She leaned over him, kissed his face.
"Fuck me," she said.
"I am."
"No. I mean...roll me over, and just...hard."
He cupped her face and kissed her
first, slow and sweet, grounding her. His mouth had tasted minty; now the
mint was fading and she could taste the vampire-ness of him under it. But
it was Angel-taste, familiar, and she filled her mouth with it, sucking his
tongue, fighting her current as best she could. He made a soft, satisfied
sound in the back of his throat and gently, languidly, turned her over.
He was still inside, still deep, and
he thrust in carefully, as far as he could go, drew out, in again, slow, shifting
her under him so he was looking straight down into her eyes. Then he reached
back, caught her thigh, lifted it until it was cocked against his hip. And
pounded her.
She cried out at the first, hard thrust,
not with pain, just with the shock of it. He'd taken her hard before, but
never this hard, and it was almost too much. Afraid he might back off, she
held his eyes with hers, letting him know she was right there, that this was
what she wanted.
Seeming to understand, he kept up
the rapid, almost brutal rhythm. He let go of her leg and bent into her,
losing himself to it. She could almost feel her own current rising inside
her, circling him, and he was panting now, with pain and growing arousal,
the muscles on his back straining, taut. Her body clenched, then opened,
and she hung suspended in the endless, too-short moment of orgasm while he
kept going, kept slamming into her, and she wondered vaguely how long he
could keep it up--
Then his rhythm changed and he speared
her hard but slow, one long, impossibly deep thrust that jarred her all the
way to her chest, then one more, then he hunched over her and spilled himself
inside her with a long, broken, ragged moan that sounded like grief.
He shuddered, shook, and finally gathered
himself, pressing his lips against her throat, against the mark of his own
fangs. Then, still shivering, he slid out of her and curled up on the bed
beside her.
"Angel?" She ducked her head, trying
to see his face. He had his eyes closed tightly and was obviously struggling
against something. "Are you okay?"
"Just a minute," he said, and she
realized then what had happened. He was fighting the demon again, brought
on undoubtedly by pain combined with the intensity of his orgasm. She touched
his face, stroked his cheek, where she could feel the bones beneath trying
to change.
"Shh," she said. "Hush. It's okay."
She had drained the currently completely out of her hands, and caressed him
gently, until he finally stopped shaking and opened his eyes.
He smiled a little, looking up at
her. "God, we really are a couple of freaks."
She laughed. "Yeah. We really are."
Willing the electricity back, she settled into him, pillowing her head on
his chest. Her smile faded. She had to tell him now. It wouldn't be fair to
wait until later.
But he shifted under her, one hand
coming up to brush over her hair. "That was breakup sex, wasn't it? You just
gave me breakup sex."
She closed her eyes, feeling his cool
skin against her cheek. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay." He moved a little,
kissing her hair. "I've never had breakup sex before."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Was it good?"
"It was incredible. Well, except for
the part where I got electrocuted through the penis."
Tears were welling now; she couldn't
even laugh. "You didn't pass out, at least."
"Of course I didn't. Angelus is a
wimp."
She pushed her face into his chest
and cried.
#
Some time later, Gwen did finally
make tea, and they sat in her ridiculously large kitchen sipping it. She
had pulled on a pair of panties under her nightshirt, a robe over it, but
Angel had bothered only with his pants. She wasn't even sure he'd managed
to get his boxers on under them.
"I have to deal with my life," she
told him haltingly. "I have to find another way to do that."
He nodded slowly. "It's okay, really.
I get it."
"I might not have even considered
trying if it weren't for you."
He said nothing. There seemed to be
very little to say. They hadn't really had a relationship, after all. There
had been no official recognition of couplehood, no declarations of love, just
a few stolen moments of mutual need.
Then, finally, he looked up from the
cup of tea. "I'll miss you."
She nodded. "I'll see you, maybe,
here and there."
"If you ever need me for anything..."
"Thank you."
#
But when she finally found what she
was looking for, she didn't need Angel. She needed Gunn. And she treated Angel
coldly, like someone she had cast off. It was wrong and she knew it, but
there seemed no other way to head off the rush of emotion she felt just at
the sight of him.
Later, in her bedroom, she felt the
cold touch of metal on her back, the odd, invasive scurry of electrodes, of
partially organic filaments embedding themselves under her skin.
And then, something she'd never felt
before. The soft, hot touch of a human hand.
She let Gunn kiss her, because she
wanted to feel it. He was so hot compared to Angel, his mouth an intriguing
combination of wetness and warmth. His warm hands slid down her bare back,
and she wondered if he was this hot everywhere. If she cupped her hand between
his legs, would she find a hot, ready erection? It all seemed strange, surreal,
after the sleek coolness of Angel's flesh.
Gunn's kiss was gentle and deep, and
somehow she knew it would be good with him, if she succumbed to baser instincts
and let him take her. She didn't correct his assumption that she was a virgin--after
all, she'd never slept with a human being, had she? But she knew, as soon
as his hands made it to her breasts, that she wasn't going to be able to go
through with it.
He stopped, though, before she could
say anything. "I can't," he said.
"Why?" If nothing else, she was curious.
"No protection. No way would I do
that to you."
She hadn't even thought about that
aspect of it. She hadn't had to worry about that with Angel. Everything he'd
left behind him, inside her, was, after all, dead.
She smiled at Gunn. He really was
a decent person. "It's okay. There's too much risk, anyway. I need to find
out if this thing's going to be permanent, and I wouldn't want you dying as
part of that experiment."
He chuckled. "Hell of a way to go,
though, huh?"
"Maybe, but I like you too much to
kill you, Charles."
She really did, too. She liked him
a lot. He was sweet and handsome and warm, and he smelled good.
But he wasn't Angel.
Gunn kissed her again, and she let
herself savor it, taking in his heat and the flavors of his mouth. Then he
let her go, smiled at her, gathered his things, and left.
She lay awake for a long time that
night. She felt strange, no doubt from the aftereffects of the device. She'd
begun to wonder if she could live the rest of her life with the curse of her
current--but could she live the rest of her life without it?
When she finally fell asleep, she
dreamed of Angel, but the dreams were broken, fragmented, pieces she couldn't
make fit together. Still, they made her sad.
She needed to get away, she decided.
Needed to leave everything familiar behind her, and try something new. So
she finished her breakfast, then called the airline.
By afternoon, she was on a plane bound
for Wisconsin. It had been a long time since she'd been home.
A very long time.
END.
