Fantasy Drabbles - Written for the slashthedrabble community on LJ.
She's so perfumed that the air is over-scented, a short giggle escapes her as she is entered. Her lover twists above, watching her, trying to escape the sour aroma emanating from her neck when she kisses back. She arches her spine and sends ever more blonde curls over the pillow, unladylike groans filling the air as fingertips clutch her thin arms.
The vision is so different from below. She is wicked powerful, thrusting deep, using borrowed implements that came from who knows where. Hungry mouth nipping at shoulders, cursing through kisses that it must be this way. She pushes forward, bending her lover and pushing knees to the mattress, trying to get ever deeper, ever closer. Dark hair smelling of chimney smoke and dampness washes over porcelain skin, obscuring the view as her grin turns feral.
A bottle of brandy is brought to full lips, spilling over cheek and neck and Angelus curses again, thrusting deeper when the movement lulls the dream. Darla is gone and all that remains is William, begging for the pain to stop and continue in the same breath. He bites at a liquored neck and reminds the boy that Drusilla could never be so kind.
The windows are nearly so foggy the curving road ahead almost disappears. He doesn't mind much, it's midnight in Middle America, there won't be anyone coming. The fog isn't the reason he can't concentrate, it's more the constant groans coming from his erstwhile traveling companion, the seat trembles beneath him as he clenches his ass and thrusts into the throat that devours him. Waiting out pauses for breath, encouraging mumblings pushing Angel ever-towards that blissful oblivion that comes so rarely now.
His ears fill with Spike's trademark cursing and fast-beating heart. His skin so hot to the touch that Angel wonders how the windows don't drip from the steam he imagines coming from his cock as they drive on. No destination, no goal other than freedom, this is all that matters now. Matted hair, brown roots growing through plasticine blond, softer than expected against his stomach as his shirt rises and hot breath curls over his skin, sending goosebumps up chest and arms. Angel urges his lover on, airless gasp on his tongue as he anticipates an explosion.
It's a nice fantasy, and for the thousandth time, Angel stares at the empty seat beside him and wishes it were true.