A Secret Soul 12/12
Kate leads the way to my room, never looking back. Once there, she folds her arms and paces the floor, shoulders hunched angrily.
I don't have any idea what this is about. I watch her from the door for several minutes before speaking.
"What is it exactly you're so pissed about?"
"Is it true?"
"It was just the one thing - you left it behind and I forgot to give it back."
"Not that! Angel ... the other thing."
It's funny. I've wanted to be human for so long and now I am, it seems to cause nothing but trouble. I shut the door behind me and lean back against it.
"Wesley says ..."
"I don't give a damn what Wesley says. What do you say?"
"I think it's true."
She pushes her hair behind her ears and nods.
I wait for a moment before saying, "What's wrong?"
"I've spent the day with Darla."
"And?"
"We talked. Then I staked her."
She looks at me, straight, and I look back. The advantage of not knowing what you're being accused of is the genuine lack of guilt. I try again.
"I'm glad you're OK. I'm glad you staked Darla. Did you think I'd be mad?"
"She told me, Angel. She told me everything about you."
"She doesn't know everything about me. And ... you knew I slept with her before we ... became involved."
Almost too low to be audible, I hear her say, "That's not what I'm talking about."
For the first time since coming into the room, I feel apprehensive. Like there might actually be some problem I can't fix. Something I can't overcome with reasoned argument.
"What then?"
"She told me about what the both of you did, back in the glory days."
She's dressed in an old pair of jeans with ripped knees. They might be new and ripped for fashion, or perhaps she tore them fighting Darla, but I think not; they're clean, and accompanied by a grey, police-issue sweatshirt. Like she's been home and changed, just grabbed the first things that came to hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair wilder than usual.
I wish for the thousandth time that I could stop noticing everything about the way she looks.
"I was a vampire then."
"You were a vampire last week."
I ignore that. "I'm human."
"Yes, she told me all about your human years too."
She sighs and tucks her hands into the back of her jeans, like she used to do when interrogating a suspect. After a moment's silence I try again.
"What do you want me to say?"
She shakes her head.
"Nothing. I just really came to tell you guys about Darla. I could do with a long bath and some sleep. I'll ... I'll get gone."
"Are you coming back?"
She doesn't answer.
Finally I find the will to act and reach out to pull her against me. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze until she makes a small gasp and then I realise I might be hurting so I relax just a little. She's warm and musky, as if she's been running.
I'm not sure what I'm doing; but I push my face into her neck to drink in more of her scent; I want to make the most of it, to drink her in while I can, store her in my memory before she leaves.
"It's OK ..."
She's stroking my hair and whispering soothing words to me as if I'm a child, and I have a strong and sudden realisation that I don't want to be an object of sympathy. Not to her. Not ever. I don't want to be soothed and pitied. I don't even want to be loved, not at this moment.
It is her passion I covet. She should feel my frustration and pain, she should be obsessively noticing whether I've showered this morning or changed my shirt at lunchtime, she too should have this craving to be closer.
I think I kiss her to prove I can, that I am human, have been so for a hundred years, not some half-formed animal with deficiencies that she has to pet and humour. Accepting, she opens her soft mouth but she's still, as if waiting for me to stop or enduring my touch for some greater purpose. Perhaps she's afraid, waiting for a chance to get away. Perhaps she's allowing it because it comforts me and she's sorry about Cordy.
I can't stand that thought, but instead of being repulsed I become more sure of what I want; I have to show her what she is to me now, or be the pathetic object of her concern forever. I deliberately kiss her harder, deeper and her whispers are silenced.
Under my mouth, she tries to speak, and I brake off to let her say whatever it is she's trying to say.
"What are you doing?"
"It's not obvious?"
"Angel ... is this a good idea? After what's happened? Are you feeling ..."
"Do you still want me?"
She blinks at me and looks away.
"Kate, tell me. Tell me what you want."
She lets out a breath and says, "I want you to ... have what you want. I don't think I know what that is. I don't want you to be hurt or damaged. Or miserable or confused. I don't want to be the cause of that."
They're meaningless words to me, nothing to do with the selfish possessiveness I feel in regard of her. I slide my hands under her sweatshirt and lift it over her head. She isn't wearing anything underneath. I undo the top button of my shirt and pull it over my head, then throw both onto the floor. Her skin is bruised and covered in small cuts, just like mine. She stares at my chest and shakes her head as if confused.
"Does that mean no?"
She doesn't answer so I reach out and tuck my fingers into the belt loops on her waistband, and pull her back close to me. I nuzzle her neck, worrying her skin and not bothering to think about where I've bitten her and Darla's scratched and beaten her and whether it might sting. I'm hard and ready, and I made sure she's close enough to know all about it. I want her to know what she's refusing; to appreciate what she's rejecting - not in a conceited way (after all what do I have to offer now that she couldn't find elsewhere if she cared to?) - but that being a vampire wasn't the most essential thing between us, wasn't even a factor in how I felt about her, how she makes me feel now. On the contrary, the effect she has on me has always been terrifyingly human.
Only she can say if that's true for her.
Finally I stop and raise my head, brushing my lips over hers once. Then I take hold of her head in both my hands and make her look at me.
"I want to make love to you. Now. Here. I'm not scared of it or what might come later. The only thing that matters is whether you say yes or no."
"Angel ..."
I steamroller on. "I'm not going to apologise for the way I was. I'm not him any more. I'm the same Angel you thought I was last week. And my heart beating - don't you see, that's just physiology. It has nothing to do with being human. It has nothing to do with us."
She closes her eyes, "I thought you didn't want this. You said ..."
I squeeze a little tighter with my hands until her eyes pop open again. Then I hold her gaze and take her hand and place it on my groin. "It doesn't matter. Forget what I said. The only thing that matters now is whether you want it as much as me. Do you want to feel me moving inside you?"
"Angel ..."
"Darla was right, I wasn't a nice man. I never was, particularly to women, particularly in bed. When I was human I took what I wanted and expected my partners to do the same. When I was with her, I was evil. I was obsessive. I liked to play games. But it doesn't have anything to do with this ... us ... If you don't want me you shouldn't make the distant past your excuse."
"I'm not making excuses ..."
"I don't want to play at being a lover any more, Kate. I want you. I want you to say my name because you can't help it. I want to make marks on your body with my mouth and my hands that will take hours fade, and have the thrill of see you wearing them later when we're with other people. I don't know why I want these things, it could be me or it could be the demon that wants them. And I don't care."
"Please ..."
"This is what I am. Is this what you want? Or did you only want it when it wasn't really going to happen?"
"Please ..."
"Please? Please hold me or please stop?"
"Please... now. Please Angel... yes."
I stumble back towards a sofa, I can't think straight enough to find the bed, and she comes down with me. She's unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them over her hips and I do the same and she watches me, then puts her hand back on me and encourages me to lie back. I wait until she's on top of me and enter her straight away. With each stoke her eyelids flutter closed and then open again, until a flush of red comes over her face. She comes, strongly and quietly.
We freeze, knowing that this is it: the point of no return. If Wesley is wrong ... I want her to take over and not leave me this choice.
But she won't, she's silent and watchful, and in control. Eventually I can't wait, I push her back into the cushions and sink into her. I don't hold back until I feel it - the relief of orgasm, the strong, unique sensation of pouring everything you are and everything you have into another willing human body. Past, present and future, my very identity is obliterated in the moment.
As I collapse against her, she gasps and my name is expelled from her throat, like the rush of blood from a wound, like a soul taking flight, buffeting my eardrums like a gust of air, rising into the Hyperion's lofty spaces.
We stare at each other and find we're still who we thought we were, before.
Nothing's different. Not really. I may have changed - but that happened a long time ago.
THE END
Feedback is prized *way* above sanity.
Kate leads the way to my room, never looking back. Once there, she folds her arms and paces the floor, shoulders hunched angrily.
I don't have any idea what this is about. I watch her from the door for several minutes before speaking.
"What is it exactly you're so pissed about?"
"Is it true?"
"It was just the one thing - you left it behind and I forgot to give it back."
"Not that! Angel ... the other thing."
It's funny. I've wanted to be human for so long and now I am, it seems to cause nothing but trouble. I shut the door behind me and lean back against it.
"Wesley says ..."
"I don't give a damn what Wesley says. What do you say?"
"I think it's true."
She pushes her hair behind her ears and nods.
I wait for a moment before saying, "What's wrong?"
"I've spent the day with Darla."
"And?"
"We talked. Then I staked her."
She looks at me, straight, and I look back. The advantage of not knowing what you're being accused of is the genuine lack of guilt. I try again.
"I'm glad you're OK. I'm glad you staked Darla. Did you think I'd be mad?"
"She told me, Angel. She told me everything about you."
"She doesn't know everything about me. And ... you knew I slept with her before we ... became involved."
Almost too low to be audible, I hear her say, "That's not what I'm talking about."
For the first time since coming into the room, I feel apprehensive. Like there might actually be some problem I can't fix. Something I can't overcome with reasoned argument.
"What then?"
"She told me about what the both of you did, back in the glory days."
She's dressed in an old pair of jeans with ripped knees. They might be new and ripped for fashion, or perhaps she tore them fighting Darla, but I think not; they're clean, and accompanied by a grey, police-issue sweatshirt. Like she's been home and changed, just grabbed the first things that came to hand. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair wilder than usual.
I wish for the thousandth time that I could stop noticing everything about the way she looks.
"I was a vampire then."
"You were a vampire last week."
I ignore that. "I'm human."
"Yes, she told me all about your human years too."
She sighs and tucks her hands into the back of her jeans, like she used to do when interrogating a suspect. After a moment's silence I try again.
"What do you want me to say?"
She shakes her head.
"Nothing. I just really came to tell you guys about Darla. I could do with a long bath and some sleep. I'll ... I'll get gone."
"Are you coming back?"
She doesn't answer.
Finally I find the will to act and reach out to pull her against me. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze until she makes a small gasp and then I realise I might be hurting so I relax just a little. She's warm and musky, as if she's been running.
I'm not sure what I'm doing; but I push my face into her neck to drink in more of her scent; I want to make the most of it, to drink her in while I can, store her in my memory before she leaves.
"It's OK ..."
She's stroking my hair and whispering soothing words to me as if I'm a child, and I have a strong and sudden realisation that I don't want to be an object of sympathy. Not to her. Not ever. I don't want to be soothed and pitied. I don't even want to be loved, not at this moment.
It is her passion I covet. She should feel my frustration and pain, she should be obsessively noticing whether I've showered this morning or changed my shirt at lunchtime, she too should have this craving to be closer.
I think I kiss her to prove I can, that I am human, have been so for a hundred years, not some half-formed animal with deficiencies that she has to pet and humour. Accepting, she opens her soft mouth but she's still, as if waiting for me to stop or enduring my touch for some greater purpose. Perhaps she's afraid, waiting for a chance to get away. Perhaps she's allowing it because it comforts me and she's sorry about Cordy.
I can't stand that thought, but instead of being repulsed I become more sure of what I want; I have to show her what she is to me now, or be the pathetic object of her concern forever. I deliberately kiss her harder, deeper and her whispers are silenced.
Under my mouth, she tries to speak, and I brake off to let her say whatever it is she's trying to say.
"What are you doing?"
"It's not obvious?"
"Angel ... is this a good idea? After what's happened? Are you feeling ..."
"Do you still want me?"
She blinks at me and looks away.
"Kate, tell me. Tell me what you want."
She lets out a breath and says, "I want you to ... have what you want. I don't think I know what that is. I don't want you to be hurt or damaged. Or miserable or confused. I don't want to be the cause of that."
They're meaningless words to me, nothing to do with the selfish possessiveness I feel in regard of her. I slide my hands under her sweatshirt and lift it over her head. She isn't wearing anything underneath. I undo the top button of my shirt and pull it over my head, then throw both onto the floor. Her skin is bruised and covered in small cuts, just like mine. She stares at my chest and shakes her head as if confused.
"Does that mean no?"
She doesn't answer so I reach out and tuck my fingers into the belt loops on her waistband, and pull her back close to me. I nuzzle her neck, worrying her skin and not bothering to think about where I've bitten her and Darla's scratched and beaten her and whether it might sting. I'm hard and ready, and I made sure she's close enough to know all about it. I want her to know what she's refusing; to appreciate what she's rejecting - not in a conceited way (after all what do I have to offer now that she couldn't find elsewhere if she cared to?) - but that being a vampire wasn't the most essential thing between us, wasn't even a factor in how I felt about her, how she makes me feel now. On the contrary, the effect she has on me has always been terrifyingly human.
Only she can say if that's true for her.
Finally I stop and raise my head, brushing my lips over hers once. Then I take hold of her head in both my hands and make her look at me.
"I want to make love to you. Now. Here. I'm not scared of it or what might come later. The only thing that matters is whether you say yes or no."
"Angel ..."
I steamroller on. "I'm not going to apologise for the way I was. I'm not him any more. I'm the same Angel you thought I was last week. And my heart beating - don't you see, that's just physiology. It has nothing to do with being human. It has nothing to do with us."
She closes her eyes, "I thought you didn't want this. You said ..."
I squeeze a little tighter with my hands until her eyes pop open again. Then I hold her gaze and take her hand and place it on my groin. "It doesn't matter. Forget what I said. The only thing that matters now is whether you want it as much as me. Do you want to feel me moving inside you?"
"Angel ..."
"Darla was right, I wasn't a nice man. I never was, particularly to women, particularly in bed. When I was human I took what I wanted and expected my partners to do the same. When I was with her, I was evil. I was obsessive. I liked to play games. But it doesn't have anything to do with this ... us ... If you don't want me you shouldn't make the distant past your excuse."
"I'm not making excuses ..."
"I don't want to play at being a lover any more, Kate. I want you. I want you to say my name because you can't help it. I want to make marks on your body with my mouth and my hands that will take hours fade, and have the thrill of see you wearing them later when we're with other people. I don't know why I want these things, it could be me or it could be the demon that wants them. And I don't care."
"Please ..."
"This is what I am. Is this what you want? Or did you only want it when it wasn't really going to happen?"
"Please ..."
"Please? Please hold me or please stop?"
"Please... now. Please Angel... yes."
I stumble back towards a sofa, I can't think straight enough to find the bed, and she comes down with me. She's unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them over her hips and I do the same and she watches me, then puts her hand back on me and encourages me to lie back. I wait until she's on top of me and enter her straight away. With each stoke her eyelids flutter closed and then open again, until a flush of red comes over her face. She comes, strongly and quietly.
We freeze, knowing that this is it: the point of no return. If Wesley is wrong ... I want her to take over and not leave me this choice.
But she won't, she's silent and watchful, and in control. Eventually I can't wait, I push her back into the cushions and sink into her. I don't hold back until I feel it - the relief of orgasm, the strong, unique sensation of pouring everything you are and everything you have into another willing human body. Past, present and future, my very identity is obliterated in the moment.
As I collapse against her, she gasps and my name is expelled from her throat, like the rush of blood from a wound, like a soul taking flight, buffeting my eardrums like a gust of air, rising into the Hyperion's lofty spaces.
We stare at each other and find we're still who we thought we were, before.
Nothing's different. Not really. I may have changed - but that happened a long time ago.
THE END
Feedback is prized *way* above sanity.