author: Lucinda
rating: pg13
main characters: Lindsey, Darla
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.
distribution: please ask first
note: response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #12, set in season 2 Angel.
summary: Sometimes, the best reasons in the whole world can't affect the heart.
I want to go with the one I love.
I do not want to calculate the cost.
I do not want to think about whether it's good.
I do not want to know whether he loves me.
I want to go with whom I love.
- Bertolt Brecht (I Want to Go With Whom I Love)
* * * * *
Darla was brought back for a purpose - to throw off Angel's game, maybe even bring him over to our side. The dark side, if you need to get technical. That was the whole reason why she was brought back to this semblance of life. Angel. Not for me, not even a little bit for me.
So why can't I stop thinking about her?
It's not in the 'how can I help her get to Angel?' way, or even 'God, she's got a great body' - although there's a lot of that one as well. I wonder what she's doing, what she's wearing. I wonder if she'd like Italian food or marzipan, if she'd like a nice white wine. I've memorize that seductive half smile that she gets when she's plotting... the fantasies that smile's appeared in...
She's in and out of my office as if she owns it. As if everything that's mine is hers. From anyone else, it would be exasperating, infuriating. From her, all I want to do is push her up against the wall and kiss her. Or place her on the desk and...
"Hello, Lindsey." Her voice caresses me from behind. She must have been hidden by the drapes.
Spinning the chair around, I smiled at her. "Darla... what brings you to my office this time?"
There's this incredible little sway to her hips as she moves towards me, and her hair shines against this deep red dress that clings to everything. It's sort of knit, and I'm not actually certain if there's anything under it. One hand runs over my head, as if I were a cat that she's petting. "Maybe I just wanted to see you?"
"And maybe there's something that you want." Part of me wants so badly to believe her, to think that she just dropped in to see me, or to slam me against the wall and have her way with me - please? But the odds of that are... absurd, and I'm not a gambling man. And I have to remember, it's all about Angel.
Then she just drops down, so that she's sitting on my lap. Her knee is brushing against a very sensitive part of me, and my arm has gone around her waist, my hand resting on her hip. I'm pretty sure there's no panties under that dress. One of her hands is playing with the hair on the back of my skull, and the other one is unbuttoning my shirt. "There's always something that I want. And just at the moment, what I want is you."
This seems almost too good to be true. Darla, warm and interested, is sitting on my lap removing my shirt. There has to be a catch, or maybe this is all just a dream… If this is a dream, to hell with it, I want her. I want this, and nobody has to know what I dream, what's dancing across the inside of my eyelids… And then I feel her skin against mine, her breasts touching my chest as her hair tickles my shoulder. My eyes snap open, and I can hardly breath at the sight of her. "Darla…"
"Shhh…. I want this. I want to have you, to feel you inside of me." Her voice is a whisper in my ear.
Who could resist that? Certainly not me. Joyfully, I surrender to her attentions and desires. For now, they're so close to my own.
She bites. It probably shouldn't be that much of a surprise, considering that she was a vampire for several centuries, at least, but at the moment that it came to my attention, it was a surprise. Teeth, sinking in over my collarbone. Not that it was such a bad thing, but it was pretty unexpected.
As I'm putting my clothing back on, she looks at me, her fingers reaching out, touching the mark she left. "Before, you would be dead now. I would have drank you up, and you would have died for me, in me."
I can't decipher all the emotions in her voice. Is she angry? Wistful? Does she want that back, all the predatory need and power of a vampire? Is she enjoying the freedoms of mortality? "But if you drained me, there would be no possibility of a second encounter."
"Silly boy…" She chuckled, her crimson nails running down my chest, leaving little lines. "What or who I do is up to me."
That's when the certainty forms. I don't know if this encounter had any meaning to her, if she really wanted me or was just trying to manipulate me. Part of me doesn't care, and part of me knows that the answer is important. But Darla is the sort of woman that mom warned me about. She's pretty, and manipulative, and the sort to use you for all your worth and drop you in the dust at her feet. She's the wrong kind of woman, unhealthy for a man to care about.
But I do.
It's not love, or at least, I'm pretty sure it isn't. There's lust, and curiosity, and fascination. I want to have her again, maybe in a bed this time? I'm pretty sure that I'm obsessed with her. And if the Senior Partners find out about this… well, I don't know. Maybe they'll incinerate me, maybe they'll just chuckle at the idea. But I'd risk it all for Darla, to have her with me, to have her looking at me like that again, full of need and hunger and lust.
And I'm not going to worry about the cost.
End the Wrong Kind of Woman.
rating: pg13
main characters: Lindsey, Darla
disclaimer: If you recognize them, they are not mine. Anyone from BtVS or A:tS is the creation of Joss Whedon.
distribution: please ask first
note: response to Jinni's Poetry Quote challenge, week #12, set in season 2 Angel.
summary: Sometimes, the best reasons in the whole world can't affect the heart.
I want to go with the one I love.
I do not want to calculate the cost.
I do not want to think about whether it's good.
I do not want to know whether he loves me.
I want to go with whom I love.
- Bertolt Brecht (I Want to Go With Whom I Love)
* * * * *
Darla was brought back for a purpose - to throw off Angel's game, maybe even bring him over to our side. The dark side, if you need to get technical. That was the whole reason why she was brought back to this semblance of life. Angel. Not for me, not even a little bit for me.
So why can't I stop thinking about her?
It's not in the 'how can I help her get to Angel?' way, or even 'God, she's got a great body' - although there's a lot of that one as well. I wonder what she's doing, what she's wearing. I wonder if she'd like Italian food or marzipan, if she'd like a nice white wine. I've memorize that seductive half smile that she gets when she's plotting... the fantasies that smile's appeared in...
She's in and out of my office as if she owns it. As if everything that's mine is hers. From anyone else, it would be exasperating, infuriating. From her, all I want to do is push her up against the wall and kiss her. Or place her on the desk and...
"Hello, Lindsey." Her voice caresses me from behind. She must have been hidden by the drapes.
Spinning the chair around, I smiled at her. "Darla... what brings you to my office this time?"
There's this incredible little sway to her hips as she moves towards me, and her hair shines against this deep red dress that clings to everything. It's sort of knit, and I'm not actually certain if there's anything under it. One hand runs over my head, as if I were a cat that she's petting. "Maybe I just wanted to see you?"
"And maybe there's something that you want." Part of me wants so badly to believe her, to think that she just dropped in to see me, or to slam me against the wall and have her way with me - please? But the odds of that are... absurd, and I'm not a gambling man. And I have to remember, it's all about Angel.
Then she just drops down, so that she's sitting on my lap. Her knee is brushing against a very sensitive part of me, and my arm has gone around her waist, my hand resting on her hip. I'm pretty sure there's no panties under that dress. One of her hands is playing with the hair on the back of my skull, and the other one is unbuttoning my shirt. "There's always something that I want. And just at the moment, what I want is you."
This seems almost too good to be true. Darla, warm and interested, is sitting on my lap removing my shirt. There has to be a catch, or maybe this is all just a dream… If this is a dream, to hell with it, I want her. I want this, and nobody has to know what I dream, what's dancing across the inside of my eyelids… And then I feel her skin against mine, her breasts touching my chest as her hair tickles my shoulder. My eyes snap open, and I can hardly breath at the sight of her. "Darla…"
"Shhh…. I want this. I want to have you, to feel you inside of me." Her voice is a whisper in my ear.
Who could resist that? Certainly not me. Joyfully, I surrender to her attentions and desires. For now, they're so close to my own.
She bites. It probably shouldn't be that much of a surprise, considering that she was a vampire for several centuries, at least, but at the moment that it came to my attention, it was a surprise. Teeth, sinking in over my collarbone. Not that it was such a bad thing, but it was pretty unexpected.
As I'm putting my clothing back on, she looks at me, her fingers reaching out, touching the mark she left. "Before, you would be dead now. I would have drank you up, and you would have died for me, in me."
I can't decipher all the emotions in her voice. Is she angry? Wistful? Does she want that back, all the predatory need and power of a vampire? Is she enjoying the freedoms of mortality? "But if you drained me, there would be no possibility of a second encounter."
"Silly boy…" She chuckled, her crimson nails running down my chest, leaving little lines. "What or who I do is up to me."
That's when the certainty forms. I don't know if this encounter had any meaning to her, if she really wanted me or was just trying to manipulate me. Part of me doesn't care, and part of me knows that the answer is important. But Darla is the sort of woman that mom warned me about. She's pretty, and manipulative, and the sort to use you for all your worth and drop you in the dust at her feet. She's the wrong kind of woman, unhealthy for a man to care about.
But I do.
It's not love, or at least, I'm pretty sure it isn't. There's lust, and curiosity, and fascination. I want to have her again, maybe in a bed this time? I'm pretty sure that I'm obsessed with her. And if the Senior Partners find out about this… well, I don't know. Maybe they'll incinerate me, maybe they'll just chuckle at the idea. But I'd risk it all for Darla, to have her with me, to have her looking at me like that again, full of need and hunger and lust.
And I'm not going to worry about the cost.
End the Wrong Kind of Woman.