13 Days of Halloween 2014 #3
Oct. 20th, 2014 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTonight, dearies, we set apart from our gen fics and puzzles for a rather steamy, little tale of passion reignited every Halloween . . .
And, as always, this is dedicated to my beloved, inspirational Drew, my Angel, my soul mate. I love you, darling!
He sits alone as the evening draws nigh. He doesn't brood, as he's oft been known to do. He simply sits and waits for who he knows is coming. None of his people will cross his path tonight; not even his childe, Spike, is that stupid, annoying, or uncaring.
He sits and waits as darkness falls. He won't be rushing out this night to save any one. The world could come to a complete stop, and still he'd been here, sitting and waiting until she comes, and she does come. She appears as she always does, floating to him as if out of a dream.
She's been coming to him now for years, but he's still not certain from whence she does come. She could easily step out of his dreams for he dreams of her every time he shuts his eyes. She could be reaching for him between the veils for they are thin too night, thin enough that the dead can reach the living. She could simply be a figment of his imagination, but she feels far too real as she caresses his face and cups his chin in her hands to be only imaginary.
It wouldn't really matter much if she was a figment from his overactive imagination, however. He wouldn't even care if it was the darkest of magic allowing her to reach him. All he does care is that this night, like every Halloween before it since he lost her, she's come to him.
He lifts his lips, whispering her name like a plea. Hers cascade down upon him, sprinkling quick, gentle kisses at first and then gradually becoming harder, more passionate, more frantic to make the most of this short time between worlds they have together. She straddles him as her tongue plunges into his mouth. She was never this wild in life, but he always knew she could be if he'd only dared to love her right in time.
But time had never been on their side. Time had caused him to be with another when they first met, and then later had left it ungentlemanly to approach her in the wake of their friend's death. Time had made her a Queen, but left him feeling as utterly unworthy of her attentions as he does now. He could never have been worthy of her. They both know that just as they know that time eventually took her from him completely and that, worthy or not, she'd never stopped wanting him, never stopped loving him.
Time is not even theirs tonight. He can practically hear the ticking of the clocks elsewhere in the building. He can feel their rhythm in the heartbeat he knows she should have. Her heart no longer beats, but he can still hear how it used to beat whenever he held her close. He can feel time slipping quickly, too, as their kisses become more ever more frantic.
He wants to take his time. He wants to make this moment last forever, but he knows he can't. He knows it won't. Time has never been theirs but always their enemy. Tonight is no different, but then again, it is for she is here. She is here in his arms, in his lap, her body pressed close to his in reality, not just in his dreams.
He used to ask her if she was his dream, if she was a figment, but it no longer matters. He no longer cares. He only cares that she is here with him again at long last.
Her hands ghost over his body. She somehow seems to be everywhere at once on him, and yet, also there's still a small space, a breath of air, wherever she touches him. Her fingers are like wisps of smoke, touching, stroking, heating his body but then vanishing almost as swiftly as they've touched him.
She rubs herself against him, and he can feel the reality of her burning heat. Her aching need is as strong as his, and even as he reaches to undo his belt, so does she. He's dressed particularly for her tonight, but she takes no heed of the genuine leather or designer pants as she almost rips them from his body. Her fingers are quick on his shirt, unbuttoning as many spots as she simply tears open.
Her lips drift from his mouth to his neck, down his throat, over his chest, to each nipple in turn. Between each kiss, he breaths her name until it is a litany he sings, he pleads. He's begging her already not to leave him, but they both know it will happen. It must happen for his time is not over yet in this world, but hers is.
When she has him completely naked beneath her, the white mist that has surrounded her body dissipates like a cloud through which the sun is shining. His hands cup her full breasts, his thumbs rubbing her hard, pink nipples. He leans in to kiss her again, but his instincts have a mind of their own. His mouth catches her neck instead, his tongue teasing her flesh underneath his fangs that bite. Her scream resonates through them both, but yet is unheard beyond this room in which their whole world now exists.
She sinks down onto him; his staff fills her completely and eagerly. She rocks them both, her sweet hole clenching and unclenching around his throbbing member, as her fingernails scratch his back. The marks they make will still be there an hour after sunrise, the only proof he'll have that this night isn't just a dream.
"Angel! Angel!" She cries his name over and over again, and her voice is music to his ears. He pulls her closer to him, deeper in as well, and holds her tight. His forehead presses against hers as his fangs gently nibble her lips. Then he kisses her again and again. An hour, two, three, six pass without either letting up.
Their passion is as strong as its ever been, their love perhaps even stronger. They could keep going not only all through the night but well into the daylight if the rising sun did not bring commands on them both. He will burn if the sun ever touches his skin, but she . . . They both know she'll disappear as soon as daylight comes.
"Don't," he pleads, feeling the sun beginning to rise in his veins. There are tears in his eyes, and hers as well. "Don't leave me."
She strokes his face lovingly, tenderly, like no one else before ever has or will after. "You know I don't have a choice, Angel."
"You're my Angel," he tells her.
"You were always mine, my hero."
"I failed you."
"No." She shakes her head; his fingers thrill at the luxurious feel of her silken strands falling across them. "I failed us both. I never should have thought I could be a being of higher power."
"You were trying to save the world."
She actually smirks. "No," she says, eyes glistening, "I was always trying to save you."
"You did. You do. Stay with me," he pleads, holding her hands to his chest, right over where his heart should be and would be still if he wasn't a Vampire, "and I'll be saved forever."
"I can't. Not yet. You know it isn't the time, my Angel."
"We could make it be the time."
A tear slips down her face. "You know we can't, but you know, too, I'm always here for you. You can't always see me, but I'm always here." Her lips grab his again in one last, desperate kiss; her tongue wraps around his. She clings to him, and he to her, but still, when a single, golden ray of sunlight pierces the dark shrouds of his office, she vanishes.
From on top of him, from inside him, she simply vanishes. He hangs his head as his tears now spill. He's never hated the sun more. But even in the bright sunlight, he doesn't see the hand that's still on his shoulder. He doesn't see the beautiful, full lips that part and whisper, "I'm still with you, my Angel."
"Cordelia," he whispers, and it's her turn to smile through her tears. Buffy can't reach him any more. Nor can Darla. He is all hers, body, heart, and soul, and although time stands between them for now, it won't one day. One day, he'll be able to claim her as his forever more, but she's already his. She was long before her death, but now she knows, too, that as much as she belongs to him, he also forever belongs to her.
The End
And, as always, this is dedicated to my beloved, inspirational Drew, my Angel, my soul mate. I love you, darling!
He sits alone as the evening draws nigh. He doesn't brood, as he's oft been known to do. He simply sits and waits for who he knows is coming. None of his people will cross his path tonight; not even his childe, Spike, is that stupid, annoying, or uncaring.
He sits and waits as darkness falls. He won't be rushing out this night to save any one. The world could come to a complete stop, and still he'd been here, sitting and waiting until she comes, and she does come. She appears as she always does, floating to him as if out of a dream.
She's been coming to him now for years, but he's still not certain from whence she does come. She could easily step out of his dreams for he dreams of her every time he shuts his eyes. She could be reaching for him between the veils for they are thin too night, thin enough that the dead can reach the living. She could simply be a figment of his imagination, but she feels far too real as she caresses his face and cups his chin in her hands to be only imaginary.
It wouldn't really matter much if she was a figment from his overactive imagination, however. He wouldn't even care if it was the darkest of magic allowing her to reach him. All he does care is that this night, like every Halloween before it since he lost her, she's come to him.
He lifts his lips, whispering her name like a plea. Hers cascade down upon him, sprinkling quick, gentle kisses at first and then gradually becoming harder, more passionate, more frantic to make the most of this short time between worlds they have together. She straddles him as her tongue plunges into his mouth. She was never this wild in life, but he always knew she could be if he'd only dared to love her right in time.
But time had never been on their side. Time had caused him to be with another when they first met, and then later had left it ungentlemanly to approach her in the wake of their friend's death. Time had made her a Queen, but left him feeling as utterly unworthy of her attentions as he does now. He could never have been worthy of her. They both know that just as they know that time eventually took her from him completely and that, worthy or not, she'd never stopped wanting him, never stopped loving him.
Time is not even theirs tonight. He can practically hear the ticking of the clocks elsewhere in the building. He can feel their rhythm in the heartbeat he knows she should have. Her heart no longer beats, but he can still hear how it used to beat whenever he held her close. He can feel time slipping quickly, too, as their kisses become more ever more frantic.
He wants to take his time. He wants to make this moment last forever, but he knows he can't. He knows it won't. Time has never been theirs but always their enemy. Tonight is no different, but then again, it is for she is here. She is here in his arms, in his lap, her body pressed close to his in reality, not just in his dreams.
He used to ask her if she was his dream, if she was a figment, but it no longer matters. He no longer cares. He only cares that she is here with him again at long last.
Her hands ghost over his body. She somehow seems to be everywhere at once on him, and yet, also there's still a small space, a breath of air, wherever she touches him. Her fingers are like wisps of smoke, touching, stroking, heating his body but then vanishing almost as swiftly as they've touched him.
She rubs herself against him, and he can feel the reality of her burning heat. Her aching need is as strong as his, and even as he reaches to undo his belt, so does she. He's dressed particularly for her tonight, but she takes no heed of the genuine leather or designer pants as she almost rips them from his body. Her fingers are quick on his shirt, unbuttoning as many spots as she simply tears open.
Her lips drift from his mouth to his neck, down his throat, over his chest, to each nipple in turn. Between each kiss, he breaths her name until it is a litany he sings, he pleads. He's begging her already not to leave him, but they both know it will happen. It must happen for his time is not over yet in this world, but hers is.
When she has him completely naked beneath her, the white mist that has surrounded her body dissipates like a cloud through which the sun is shining. His hands cup her full breasts, his thumbs rubbing her hard, pink nipples. He leans in to kiss her again, but his instincts have a mind of their own. His mouth catches her neck instead, his tongue teasing her flesh underneath his fangs that bite. Her scream resonates through them both, but yet is unheard beyond this room in which their whole world now exists.
She sinks down onto him; his staff fills her completely and eagerly. She rocks them both, her sweet hole clenching and unclenching around his throbbing member, as her fingernails scratch his back. The marks they make will still be there an hour after sunrise, the only proof he'll have that this night isn't just a dream.
"Angel! Angel!" She cries his name over and over again, and her voice is music to his ears. He pulls her closer to him, deeper in as well, and holds her tight. His forehead presses against hers as his fangs gently nibble her lips. Then he kisses her again and again. An hour, two, three, six pass without either letting up.
Their passion is as strong as its ever been, their love perhaps even stronger. They could keep going not only all through the night but well into the daylight if the rising sun did not bring commands on them both. He will burn if the sun ever touches his skin, but she . . . They both know she'll disappear as soon as daylight comes.
"Don't," he pleads, feeling the sun beginning to rise in his veins. There are tears in his eyes, and hers as well. "Don't leave me."
She strokes his face lovingly, tenderly, like no one else before ever has or will after. "You know I don't have a choice, Angel."
"You're my Angel," he tells her.
"You were always mine, my hero."
"I failed you."
"No." She shakes her head; his fingers thrill at the luxurious feel of her silken strands falling across them. "I failed us both. I never should have thought I could be a being of higher power."
"You were trying to save the world."
She actually smirks. "No," she says, eyes glistening, "I was always trying to save you."
"You did. You do. Stay with me," he pleads, holding her hands to his chest, right over where his heart should be and would be still if he wasn't a Vampire, "and I'll be saved forever."
"I can't. Not yet. You know it isn't the time, my Angel."
"We could make it be the time."
A tear slips down her face. "You know we can't, but you know, too, I'm always here for you. You can't always see me, but I'm always here." Her lips grab his again in one last, desperate kiss; her tongue wraps around his. She clings to him, and he to her, but still, when a single, golden ray of sunlight pierces the dark shrouds of his office, she vanishes.
From on top of him, from inside him, she simply vanishes. He hangs his head as his tears now spill. He's never hated the sun more. But even in the bright sunlight, he doesn't see the hand that's still on his shoulder. He doesn't see the beautiful, full lips that part and whisper, "I'm still with you, my Angel."
"Cordelia," he whispers, and it's her turn to smile through her tears. Buffy can't reach him any more. Nor can Darla. He is all hers, body, heart, and soul, and although time stands between them for now, it won't one day. One day, he'll be able to claim her as his forever more, but she's already his. She was long before her death, but now she knows, too, that as much as she belongs to him, he also forever belongs to her.
The End
