Body Drabbles
Skin (B/A) 100 words
She traces invisible patterns on his skin.
"It's so cool," she marvels.
"Though I never…"
"Yeah," he says quietly. He knows that her fascination with him can't be healthy for her. For either of them. Because it only feeds his growing obsession with her and were he to trail his hands over her hot skin he doesn't know if he'd be able to stop.
"It must be nice never to get hot," she says.
He's silent. He dreads the day when her skin is as cold as his is. Inside him, a demon laughs. She looks at him and wonders.
Bones (B/Aus) 250 words
"So now you're a coward as well as a monster," she spits at him.
He's been avoiding her since Jenny's death but every morning on her windowsill she finds drawings.
He smiles angelically at her.
'Sticks and stones may break my bones, darling. That is what you and those silly little children say, isn't it?"
She bares her teeth at him in an angry snarl.
She looks like a predator, he thinks. And she is. But she isn't a predator to him. She's just his. Time to change that look, he thinks.
"But words can hurt you, can't they darling?"
She's trying to ignore him. She must never ignore him. So now he wants to hurt her. Easiest way to do that is to bring up Angel, but he is loath to remind her of him. He doesn't matter, because he's gone now and shouldn't be competition to Angelus. Though he still is, and Angelus hates them both for it.
"It's awfully selfish of you really," he tells her. "After all, Jenny didn't feel any pain at all until I snapped her neck. Gosh I like those crunching sounds!"
She turns and flees. Pleasure at her pain and anger at her for running away war within him. She's not supposed to run. But eventually she will no longer be able to run away. She will exhaust herself. Or he will grow weary of waiting and break her until she can no longer escape him.
And then he'll have her forever.
Blood (B/A)
He is feverish, delirious, and dreams of red. The color drowns him, caresses him. Inside, a demon laughs.
Angel feels something cool on his face. Water trickles down the side of his head. A small warm hand gently touches the wound that throbs angrily. He hisses.
His world is tainted redder than ever, and when he looks at the golden child who loved him, held him, and took him into her body, he imagines her painted red, dripping with it, licking blood off of her lithe body.
Angel turns his head away in shame.
Much much later he will look back at the night with disgust and lust and remember that he did try to resist. But only for a little.
When he dreams there is a vast red ocean that pulls at him, urges him to give in. Damnably seductive, it calls to him, and tells him to get in his car and drive back to the sleepy little down where Buffy waits. He could pull her unresisting body close to his and drain her of her life. She would let him.
So he knows he can never return, for her sake and his. To do otherwise is madness.