Title: Midnight Excursion
The room's still light when she slides inside Angel's room, silent as death despite the slow breathing that her body forces her to execute. She gives a silent laugh as she sees the soft glow of a dying candle beside the bed.
"Still reading by candlelight," she pinches the flame, careful to not gasp at the short pain it sends through fingers too sensitive, too warm under the flame.
Sliding the worn book from Angel's fingers Darla smiles at the title, some habits die hard she thinks, she folds the corner, marking the page after taking an eyeful of the engraving. The pages are yellowed with time, the cover worn, spine broken, and yet it smells like yesterday. The book brings with it memories of a London bookseller who handed it across the counter with a gleam in his eye that spoke of the titillation to be found within, and those same eyes dull and glazed over later that same night.
Angel rouses in the bed, rolling onto his side, nose crinkling slightly as he mouths silent words. Darla curses the heart that beats within her chest, she knows he can sense her, even in his sleep. She waits for him to still, taking a step from the bed, hoping it's enough to dull the feel of her presence. When his head finally sinks back into the pillow peacefully, she tears the corner of the envelope she carries with her, dipping her finger inside, lacing it with the dark blue Calynthia powder.
"Tell me lover," she whispers over him as she runs the finger over his full lips, "what delicious treats have you been dreaming of?"
As if on cue Angel licks his lips, pulling the last traces of indigo from her fingertip. It only takes seconds for a smile to curl over his lips, cheeks near to dimpling as the smile widens.
"Tell me what you see there," Darla coos, sliding her dress from her shoulders, the cool air of the room swimming over her chest, raising gooseflesh in its wake. "Tell me where we go next."
Running fingers over his shoulders she presses him onto his back. The smile never leaves his face as she untangles him from the blankets, sliding her body next to his.
"You're warm," Angel says, eyes shut tight.
"I am, it must be the weather," she says, hand inching up his thigh, curling circles around his cock, heavy with nature's response.
"Barcelona is always too warm," he says, head tilting towards he voice, catch in his throat as she pulls gently at his length. "I miss Munich, remember the abbey?"
"I remember." Fingers hot, skin pulsing beneath her touch, "tell me how they tasted."
He licks his lips, running his tongue over blunt teeth as though the blood of past centuries might still be there, hiding in the spaces just waiting to be found. "They taste ripe like summer fruit plucked from the trees. The smallest one, her eyes are wide, she tastes like chocolate."
"Like chocolate?" Darla asks, dipping her head to run her tongue over the tip of Angel's cock.
"She begged and begged, offered to open herself to me if I spared her," Angel bucked under Darla's playful touch.
"And did you?" Lips parting, swallowing him deep.
"No, no," Angel shakes his head, clenching his eyes tighter like the words cause him pain. "I heard her voice for years."
His words pull Darla from her task with gale force. Whipping her head up, watching the torment play over his face, she whispers, "The thing about the voices is that once they're gone, you're all alone again."
Reaching to the nightstand she sprinkles more of the powder onto her fingers, sliding up his body to kiss his pursed lips. He reluctantly opens to her, fingers running tentative circles over her bare back, tracing over her shoulder blades. Darla deepens the kiss for a moment, taking in the taste of him, day old pig's blood and the faintest trace of red wine. She ends the connection, suckling on his lower lip just long enough to leave a wet film. She runs her fingers over his lips, waiting for him to pull her finger into his mouth, sucking more of the powder from her skin.
Again she waits for him to still, the smile returns after a moment and his fingers relax against her skin, allowing Darla to place herself between his legs once again. He never fails to rise to her touch, soft moans spilling from his lips as she resumes her task. His hands are heavy with sleep as he twists long fingers into her hair. Encouraging words mix with remembered horrors, now spoken with a glee that could only come when the soul is resting so deep the demon finds his voice.
"Missed you lover," he says with a hiss, air sucking through his lips as his fingers press her down the length of his cock, oblivious to the gasps for breath and hands pressed against his thighs, fighting back as she pulls up for air, breaking contact for only a moment.
"Missed you too," she says, meaning it. She doesn't know what Wolfram and Hart stands to gain from her midnight invasions of his privacy, she only knows what she gains, the taste of her boy, bitter and filled with pain. Their hands grope at each other in a mad dance, finally locking fingers in a wedding weave, her pulse racing under his cold skin, squeezing back until he's panting under her.
When he finally releases it is more satisfying than any spiced meal she could force her useless mortal form to stomach. This is the only power left to her, and she thinks she could kill to keep it. Wonders if she could die for more. She wants to beg him, in this post-coital haze, to taste of her as well, give her the only thing she's craved more than his touch from the moment she was released from a box full of blue light and ancient symbols. But she's not ready yet. Not ready to give up these nights, knowing that the moment he takes that last taste of her, this will end.
As she kisses him one last time, hands resting on his chest, she can't help but whisper a goodbye. Just in case, she tells herself. But as she leaves, she grabs the envelope of Calynthia from the nightstand.
"Just in case," she says to herself as she closes the door behind her.