A/N: Hey folks. Here's a little Angel story, set immediately after "Players" (spoilers for that episode, obviously). It's a one-shot with mature content, but if you've seen the episode then you already know that.
This is the first time I've published a fanfic for a TV show, and it was actually a really cool experience to write, since all we really get from the show are expressions and dialogue, and there isn't much in the way of omniscience. The journey into Gwen's mind felt like exploring virgin territory (no pun intended), and I was able to focus on creating from scratch what I believe would be her internal thoughts and feelings as she went through that intimate and crucial experience with Gunn. Add to that the ability to bring to life a moment that happened off-screen, and this was just awesome and a lot of fun.
I'm hoping that you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think. I know that no story will please everyone, so any well-conveyed thoughts are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Angel was created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt, and aired on WB. The episode "Players" was written by Jeffrey Bell, Sarah Fain and Elizabeth Craft and directed by Michael Grossman. The characters and backstory of this little interlude are not mine, and the last moments of the scene that lead into it are in italics below, signifying that I didn't come up with them.
Now, without further ado...
Touch
"Well, you've already killed me once. If it happens again, you know where my battery is…"
He kissed her again, and she felt a sort of instinctive panic. But she didn't let herself pull away again.
She sighed, feeling his lips cross hers. This was what she had been missing. What she may well have died for tonight.
It was terrifying. Facing those Japanese thugs with the guns had been frightening, but this was something entirely different. She could do danger. Hell, it was all she did. All she had ever been able to do.
But this… She felt his lips leave hers, travel down her chin. Then they were gone for a second, until they reached her neck.
The panic returned. "Wait! Stop!" She pulled away, and he pulled back like she had shocked him. Well, not literally…
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm… I'm sorry." He had that expression in his eyes that was uniquely his, that eternal kindness that seemed to always be visible there—even when he was fighting. She looked away, anywhere but at him.
She felt like a child.
"It's okay."
She didn't look at him.
"Hey, Gwen." He reached out and touched her arm. There was that instinct to pull away again, but she fought it.
Still not looking at his eyes, she touched his hand. Her fingers ran across his skin, up to his wrist and across to his arm. There was no spark, no deadly blue streak.
He unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt and pulled it up. Her hand continued. His muscles shuddered beneath her fingers. It felt strange, and she smiled, recalling all his talk earlier about being the muscle.
She continued up to his elbow, feeling the bones there. She couldn't remember ever touching anyone else's elbow, and it occurred to her what an odd little part it was, all pointy and, well, jointy.
She reached the fabric of his sleeve again, and then finally looked at his face. There was that eternal expression of his again. His lips were slightly stained with her lipstick, and for some reason that fact tickled her.
She reached for the top of his shirt, her fingers finding the buttons. She undid a couple of them, then touched the skin beneath them. His chest. It was all muscle and bone, and trembled rhythmically. His heartbeat.
That same heartbeat that she had stopped.
She couldn't move, couldn't look away. She stared at her hand on his chest, transfixed by the feeling of the beating heart beneath her fingers. At any moment, the prototype could wear off, and just like that, he would be dead. Again.
But she couldn't pull away.
His hand reached for her arm again, and she watched his fingers glide across her skin. She looked back at his eyes, and let that eternal expression reassure her.
She brought her other hand up to finish unbuttoning his shirt, but felt the part of the dress that was covering her front start to slip away. Instantly, her hand returned to hold it up, and then she felt heat rise in her cheeks. She looked away, once again feeling utterly juvenile.
He didn't move, the one hand still on what was clearly her braver arm. Finally, she looked back at him.
He leaned towards her, and his lips returned to hers. That was for only a second, and then they were gone. Seconds later, they were on her neck.
She gasped, shutting her eyes. Her braver hand found the back of his neck, and she rubbed it as he kissed hers. The feeling was absolutely surreal.
His kisses descended to her shoulder, then down towards her chest. The cowardly hand that was holding her dress up tightened its grip. He reached the fabric, and paused. Seconds later, his hand was over hers.
It didn't move her hand, but simply sat there, covering hers. She felt its warmth, and finally, her hand moved. The dress slipped, and fell away.
He stared at her. She felt heat fill her body, and hoped that she wasn't visibly blushing. Not that it really mattered, she was sure he could plainly see how she was feeling.
His hands rose, and touched her. His fingers were light, but she felt sparks beneath her skin as they moved. She felt the panic return again as she wondered if they device was wearing off. But these sparks were different.
His lips returned to her torso, and toured the previously-hidden skin. A moan escaped from deep within her throat, sounding utterly foreign to her. The sparks developed into bolts, which crisscrossed her insides. She felt like her body was a machine coming alive beneath his touch, just as she could make actual machines come alive beneath hers.
She lay back on the bed, and he continued his tour. His fingers explored her stomach, and his lips followed. It tickled a little bit, and her stomach muscles clenched. She remembered his muscles move beneath her touch, and wondered if she could make his body react in the same way hers was reacting to him.
"Stop." He pulled up immediately, springing all the way back to his earlier sitting position, and looked at her with anxious eyes.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry." He didn't need to be quite so cautious with her, although she appreciated it. She sat up.
"You really don't need to apologize. We go at your pace."
"I didn't mind the pace. It just felt a little one-sided." She returned her hands to the buttons of his shirt, her confidence borne on her intent to touch him again. Once all of the buttons were undone, she pushed the shirt out of way, and her hands found his abdomen. She felt his muscles, and they did move a little bit beneath her touch.
Smiling, she leaned forwards and kissed his chest. It was hard and smooth, and her lips traveled easily across it. She left tiny streaks of lipstick, just as she had done on his lips.
"Damn," he whispered. His arms moved, and he finished removing the shirt, letting it fall onto the bed behind him. She pulled up and looked at him. His body was strong and defined. He was indeed the muscle, and yet so much more.
She was staring, and he watched her. A smile crossed his lips. "You should have seen me six years ago."
But his comment reminded her of how old they were, how late she was to the game. She felt juvenile again, and she covered herself self-consciously.
He saw the change, and his face quickly transformed. "Hey," he said, leaning towards her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… It's okay."
She looked away from him.
He got up from the bed and knelt down in front of her, his hand finding her cheek. "Gwen, there's nothing wrong with you."
"Don't pull the crap, Gunn. I might as well be twelve years old."
"It's not your fault. And it sure as hell isn't a bad thing."
"Well, I'm not a damn nun."
"No, you're an electric girl."
"I'm cursed."
He returned to his previous position beside her, and she felt his hand on her back. It moved gently over her skin. "Then it's a good thing we just lifted the curse."
"For now."
He kissed her neck again, and she allowed herself to focus on the feeling. Her hand found his body, and explored it.
Then she pulled away and stood, and he looked concerned again. Pushing the dress away from her waist, she let it fall around her feet, and stood before him in just her stockings and underwear.
He stared again. "Damn." Then he stood. "For a girl who's never touched a guy before but to hurt him, you sure know how to pull off sexy."
He brought his hands up to her waist, and they ghosted downwards, over the sides of her underwear to her thighs. Stepping forwards, he kissed her.
She wrapped one arm around his body, and the other hand tugged on his shoulder, trying to pull him even closer. She knew that she was sexy, and it was a big help in pulling off her jobs. But hearing him say it, that was different. This was a different kind of sexy, or at least a very different use for it.
The kiss ended, not so much being broken by one or the other as just reaching its natural conclusion. She met his eyes, and her hand slipped down to the waist of his pants. The belt was a bit of a struggle without looking, but she didn't want to break their eye contact. He seemed to enjoy it.
She finally got the belt undone, and then did the same with the button of his pants. She pulled down the zipper as lightly as she could, not quite ready to touch what lay beneath it.
Then his pants were around his ankles. He simultaneously stepped out of them and his shoes, then used the heel of each foot to pull off the other sock, trapping it against the floor. She took in his legs, which were as muscular as his arms were. Then her eyes inevitably moved to the black boxers that were bulging in the front.
Seconds passed, and he started to shuffle a bit. She raised her eyebrows, finally returning her eyes to his face. "Are you feeling self-conscious now?"
"No." He gave a casual shrug, then a small laugh. "Girls don't usually stare for quite this long."
"Sorry." She wasn't sure what to do next. She knew where it was all supposed to lead, but the path from point A to point B was looking increasingly vague.
He smiled, and stepped back to her. "Don't apologize." Then he kissed her again.
She pulled him close, and felt the bulge against her body. It thrilled her, and her hand moved to his waist, before starting a very slow path downwards.
He pulled away. "Patience." Sitting back on the bed, he looked at her, then patted the empty space beside him.
She returned to the bed and crawled around him, sitting back against the pillows. He turned and reclined beside her, and then his hand moved to the top of her stocking. A tingle followed the hem of each stocking down her legs.
Then he moved down and kissed her thigh, down to the knee. He moved to the other one and kissed upwards. Passing her underwear, he continued to her stomach, then all the way upwards until he was back at her lips.
As they kissed, she returned her hands to the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped her again, and instead his hands went to her underwear. She felt a rush of cold air as he pulled it away from her skin. Breaking the kiss, he pulled the last garment down her legs, and she instinctively pushed her thighs together to hide from him.
Returning, he kissed her again. "Relax." She did her best to comply, and then she felt his hand down there. His fingers quickly found the best spot, and sparks began to fly through her body. No, the device wasn't wearing off. These were the good sparks again.
He brought her up quickly, far more quickly than she had ever managed to do on her own. By the time a finger pushed inside of her, she was already close. It felt a little foreign, but the mystery was lost on her as she went higher still.
She flew like a bird through a lightning-filled sky, and then everything exploded in flashes of bright blue. Her thighs squeezed his arm, but the idea that she might break his wrist was hardly her primary concern.
Once she was able to focus enough, however, she saw that he was still alive, and was smiling at her as he withdrew his hand.
"I saw lightning," she gasped out.
His smile widened, and he shrugged. "Well, that's just who you are."
"That is so not how lightning feels."
"I know." He climbed back over and kissed her. "Are you complaining?"
"No." Then she pulled away. "But if I kill you, I am bringing you back just so I can kill you again."
"Deal." He went back to kissing her.
It didn't make sense that she hadn't killed him. The device was only a prototype, and with what he had just put her body through, she couldn't believe she hadn't fried it already.
She wasn't fond of the military, but they sure knew their machines.
Gunn kissed her more urgently, and she started to lose herself again. Her body clung to his, and her hands returned to his boxers.
This time, he helped her push them off.
She looked at him. There was no way that was going to fit. The math wasn't right.
"Wait," he said. He got off the bed and stood, then pulled off all of the clothes that had been left on it. Returning to his pants, he unbuttoned the back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
Thief habits kicked in as she focused on the wallet, noting where he had pulled it from and where he returned it to afterwards. Then she shook it from her mind. That was far from the point of this little venture.
She noticed what he had drawn from the wallet. "You brought that along for the heist?"
"I brought my wallet along, yeah. This was just inside it."
"So you always carry one with you?"
"Two, actually. You never know just how lucky you might get."
He put it on, and she felt the panic rise inside once more. She fought it, determined that this happen. It was long past time.
He returned to her, and her legs fell open beneath him. He kissed her, settling between her thighs.
"Wait." She placed her hand on his stomach, and he froze. "If I kill you, and I can't bring you back, then—"
"That won't happen." He sounded completely certain, and when she gave no reply, he started to move closer again.
"Wait." One last surge of panic arose, and she fought it off. He stared at her eyes, holding himself completely still.
Finally, she brought her hands to her back and pulled, until she felt him start to enter. Then she stopped.
"Do it," she said. He complied with a single thrust, and she cried out. Her nails dug into his hips.
Then they were both still for a beat. The discomfort lingered.
"It hurts?"
"Yeah it fucking hurts." Dammit, he'd seemed so smart up until that moment. "Hang on."
He waited, until finally she said, "Okay." He began to move.
It took a little while for the discomfort to fade, but the pleasure quickly surpassed it. Every thrust sent a fresh bolt through her body. She moaned, and her hands moved up around his back, trying to pull him closer. "Dammit, Gunn."
"You okay?" he asked, though he didn't stop moving.
"Yeah." The word came out in a gasp, and that was the last sound that she made voluntarily. The subsequent noises, some of them gasps, some unintelligible groans, some managing to attain the form and scope of quiet, monosyllabic swears, all went straight to her mouth without clearance from any logical part of her brain.
The electricity filled her, and she felt sure that she would fry the prototype, but she wouldn't stop him. She couldn't.
He brought her up and over, and then did it again. Any form of comprehensible thoughts gave way to elemental flashes of lightning and stars and waves, rhythmically matching their movements, crescendoing and then exploding and then starting all over. Her thighs clenched repeatedly around his torso, but still he kept up his pace.
"You're amazing," he whispered, and his words were almost lost on her. She could only gasp in response.
It continued, on and on, and she began to feel like jelly, with static energy rippling back and forth beneath the surface. Just as her movements began to calm, he picked up the pace, beginning his own crescendo. His sparks passed into her for one last climb, and then they both fell still.
"Gwen," he breathed out. She tried to respond, but her jaw wouldn't move, and no more than a moan escaped.
His breathing slowed, and he pulled out of her, rolling on to his back. "That was amazing."
"Good," she managed. She had nothing to compare it to, but it certainly felt amazing. She was glad he agreed.
He got up to discard the condom, and she tried to move, but couldn't. All of her muscles felt like liquid, and she felt the steady march of sleep approaching in the distance.
He returned to her side. "You're gonna sleep just like that, huh?"
"Probably." She looked at his face, and he leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled back up, she added, "Thank you."
He smiled. "No need to thank me. The pleasure was certainly not all yours." He lay down beside her and placed an arm across her body.
She smiled, and soon the room faded into the grays and blacks of a dreamless sleep.
She awoke in darkness, and felt someone's arms around her. She panicked.
Then she remembered what had happened. It had really happened. And he was still touching her.
She wondered if she had killed him during the night. Then she felt his breath against her neck, and relaxed. The prototype was still working.
Something was beeping. It was a faint sound, and she barely caught it at first. It wasn't the prototype, the direction was wrong. She looked around, but everything was dark. She couldn't remember him turning off the light.
"Gunn," she whispered, pushing against him gently.
His only response was a muffled groan.
"Gunn, something's beeping."
Still no intelligent response, nor any movement.
Now she pushed against him harder, and his groan was louder. Then he tensed for a moment, and relaxed. "Hi."
"Hi. Something's beeping."
"What? Oh." Then his body was gone, and she felt cold. A moment later, light filled the room, and she shut her eyes against it.
When she opened them again, he was looking through his pants pockets. He pulled out the source of the beeping, and frowned at it. "I think you messed up my pager."
"Sorry." That happened sometimes with machines. Well, maybe it wouldn't happen anymore now. She dared herself to hope.
"I should go."
"Is the world ending again?"
"That's unclear." He began dressing, and as he donned each article of clothing, she recalled how it had been discarded. She couldn't believe it had all happened.
Once he was back in the suit she was letting him keep, he returned to the bed and leaned over her.
"Time to run off into the night?"
"Yeah, the boys probably need their muscle."
"Like I said, don't knock the muscle."
"You seemed to enjoy it." He gave her a boyish grin, and she rolled her eyes. Then he leaned down further and kissed her.
It was a warm kiss, not urgent like the ones earlier, but passionate. Then he pulled away.
"Go save the world."
"Just another night at the office." He turned and was gone, shutting the light as he left.
She stared at nothing, and the feeling of awe returned. That was unbelievable.
She knew the prototype would probably wear off eventually, but she was amazed that it had lasted through that, and extremely grateful. She recalled every one of his touches on her, and every one of her touches on him.
Regardless of what happened now, whether the prototype lasted forever or died that same morning, she knew that this night would be the most important night of her life. She had touched, and been touched, and everyone was still alive.