SUMMARY: pre-series. Darla and Angelus after sunset.
WORDCOUNT: ~600
WARNING: dark!
THANK YOU to ashes1753 for the icon. :)
Written for devylish at comment_fic. Prompt: Angelus, was it his fault that it felt so good?
LITTLE PLEASURES
by Leni
"You want to know why I do this? It's not too complicated. In fact, it's the easiest answer of all: It feels so good. What do you think?" Angelus pauses to hear the answer in the woman's hitched breathing, the race of a heartbeat going nowhere. He nods in agreement, but doesn't loosen his grip against her scream. "Ah, of course. You're not the first. You think: it's unfair; it's ignoble; it's painful.
"You are right."
"Darling?" Darla drawls from the doorstep. The whimpers of the children have been long quieted, and it is obvious that his lady is bored by the slow development on his side of the house. Her green eyes flick to the woman in his grasp, and her nose furrows in distaste. She's hated every moment that he had courted the little widow, but she also understood that a man needed his diversions. Her patience is now at a low ebb, though. Not even Darla understands his little pleasures. "I am sure she's had plenty of time to regret letting you in. Do us all a favor and finish her."
Her words sound too much like a command for him to do it now. Instead he lifts up the woman until his forehead touches his. Her sweat is cold, but the tears running into his hand are warmer. He licks the bridge of her nose, and tightens his grasp at her shudder. "We don't have to listen to her, do we?" he whispers, leaning back and turning them until she can see Darla.
She wasn't nearly as stiff when he twirled her around the dance floor a week ago. How fickle is the woman.
"Well?" Darla snaps, all impatience.
Sometimes Angelus wonders why he does still keep her company...
At his silence, she searches his face, then looks at the woman between them, and her expression softens. "Unless you are giving her to me?"
...but her little weakness for him keeps him close.
He is about to respond, when the woman in his arms starts fighting in earnest again. A wild thing now; her struggle, the last hope of the damned. He glances down at her, bemused, and sees her eyes fixed on Darla's bodice. "My dear," he says, amused even as he contains his suddenly feral little widow, "perhaps you should have cleaned up before meeting my new friend?"
Darla looks down, and purses her lips at the blood drops now adorning the costly fabric. "Children are so messy," she sniffs.
Angelus laughs. The woman has passed out, at last. Keeping his hand over her nose probably helped. Ignoring the slower tempo of the only heartbeat in the house, he lifts the body in his arms and lays her down on her bed. After a moment's thought, he arranges the bedclothes around her, and steps back to admire his handiwork.
"Well?" Darla snaps, rolling her eyes.
"Now we go," he says, walking to her and offering his arm.
She nods toward the bed. "What about that?"
"She will wake up. She will cry, bury her dead. Perhaps she will kill herself," he guesses. "Not necessarily in that order."
"Such a waste."
Angelus lifts his shoulders, already tired of this conversation. He will need to make haste is order to make up for the dinner he's denying himself. "The theater has lacked true drama this season."
That surprises a laugh out of Darla. "Indeed," she allows. She glances at his face, and his good mood must be contagious because she links her arm through his and allows him to escort him to the door.
The End
05/08/13