Cold Comfort II: Need

Written By: Lar

Every time he watched her, it was like having a lexicon of the forbidden unfurled before him. Descriptive words flew through his mind - luscious, ripe, delectable. He wanted to eat her alive, wanted to drink her down forever.

Hence, the problem. The drinking was definitely not on the list of things to do when you're making love to a woman. Particularly this woman. Particularly for this man, this demon in a man's masquerade.

Angel watched Faith dancing around his room. She was wearing headphones and nothing else, holding a Walkman in hands that had caressed him moments earlier. Every part of her was glistening in sweat from their coupling. Her firm body moved in rhythm to the barely heard beat, although Angel could pick it up quite clearly. Her hair lashed out as she swung her head around, grinning at him wickedly.

God, those lips. Full, soft... _juicy_ was the word he couldn't shake from his mind. And talented, very talented. He felt himself twitch, recalling what those lips had done to him, how they had made him moan. And beg. //Let's not forget the begging. Hardly fair to not give her her due//

She'd done a little moaning of her own. And a lot of whimpering under the ministrations of his own mouth and hands, schooled with hundreds of years experience in decadence and indulgence. //Like riding a bike, you never forget no matter how long it's been. And technically, I'm still riding...//

Faith pulled the headphones off abruptly and cocked her head at him. "What put that smile on your face, lover?" She stood in the light of the moon that was pouring in, reflecting it back like some pagan goddess. Her hair, wild and tangled and shining, had amber highlights he'd never noticed before. Her dark eyes were sparkling and her skin was still flushed. He could smell her, a scent that was getting cleaner by the day. Under the bitter fading fear and panic was her own odor of some mythic spice, vaguely citric and reminiscent of an orange grove in Madrid he'd been in once, many lifetimes ago. She could pass for a Spanish maiden, full of curves, and dark beauty, and eyes that promised heaven for the lucky man who could catch her.

"I'm remembering something, that's all," he finally answered her, not losing the faint smile that had caught her attention. "Oranges and bicycles."

He was being Cryptic Guy again, Faith thought with a sense of affection that startled her. She was getting used to the comfort of being near Angel, getting used to the relief of not being on the run all the time. She was happy to be sharing his bed. //Damn happy to be sharing that body, that mouth, that cock of his would make the angels weep// Her own smile twitched a bit at the sudden thought of Angel on a cloud with a bevy of heaven's own paying homage to his ... his, uh, blessings. She chuckled and then gasped when she found herself sprawled against his cool chest. //Fast, so fast, and I never even saw it//

His hands were in her hair, lifting the heavy damp veil from her neck. It felt nice and her eyes closed while she was soaking up his coolness and he absorbed a little of her warmth. Her lips curved into a contented smirk and she sighed. Angel was fast when he grabbed her and pulled her over to him, but now things were calm and languid and sweet. Her thoughts moved into the dark spaces, floated through the trickles of anticipation that led into the depths of real desire. //Fast, he's fast, but God he's slow when it matters//

Angel took in every inch of her that he could see from his vantage point under the sensuous weight of Faith. The porcelain of her skin rivaled his own, but hers was warm, soft even over the powerful muscles beneath. She was pale as the moon, shone like the stars when he had her in his bed and his arms. His own dark eyes sought out hers, night into night, unspoken words transmitted there, things they would never say aloud. Here was comfort, here was peace, here was home and heart and ... love. Here was a kind of love that they could only find with each other. Two dark warriors, two world weary spirits, each calling out the good in the other.

Angel's hands pulled her close and she lost herself in the fire of his kiss. Cool lips moved over hers, velvet soft and honey sweet. A familiar tug lurched into the pit of her stomach when his hands left her hair and slid down to pull her closer to him. She swung her leg over his hips, felt the hardening length of him nestle in the curls between her legs where she was still damp and rapidly getting wetter. His hands cupped the swell of her bottom and lifted her just the tiniest fraction. Now the most tender part of her was rubbing against the head of his shaft and she shuddered at the thought that he knew just where ... exactly where ... to move her, to do that to her. Her own hands got busy; Faith liked to share the fun.

She broke the kiss and leaned back, smiling as her eyes caught his. She loved knowing that she could give him the shivers. Her hands worked across his hips, caught the dip at his navel and brushed the dark hair there briefly, petting him. Her nails dragged ever so lightly up the expanse of his wide chest, no fur here to pet but there were two spots that craved her attention. Her fingers nimbly teased his nipples, and he did shiver then and push his hips up, lifting them both off the bed. His own hands came up to her breasts, returning the favor she'd done him, and she caught her plump lower lip in her teeth. A small sigh escaped her and she wriggled herself quite deliberately against him. His gasp was much louder than her own and she smiled at him. "Gotcha, lover," she whispered above him.

Quick as a cat, he was rolling her, was over her and inside of her with one smooth movement. All the way in, in fact, and this time they both gave voice to something between a shout and a scream. "Who's got who?" he whispered back, tongue slipping into her ear along with his words. Her legs came up around his hips, his newly warm skin seemed to belong to them both now, and she began to writhe beneath, a Faith sandwich between Angel and his mattress, white on white on white. Her tongue caressed his skin everywhere she could reach - chin, neck, chest, cheek, then finally lips and mouth as he brought his face to hers. She kissed him with her eyes wide open and he saw himself in her black pupils, the only reflection he'd seen in years, and the only one he wouldn't shrink from.

"Angel," she breathed against his mouth. He smiled and moved inside of her, slow circles in time to her own motions. There was so much to say to her and he had no idea where to begin. All he could think was how perfectly she fit him, curved to his body, warm in his embrace, tight around him everywhere. Her whole body was wet and sweet as ripe mangoes, tangy as raspberries crushed on his mouth, full of juice, full of life.

And then she was coming and crying his name over and over, an echo of ecstasy that he soon followed. Nothing felt like this did, joined to Faith, luscious joy, richer than blood. Her lips caught his again and she breathed her murmured thoughts into his mouth, and he swallowed her words to keep inside of him. And he answered her question with a kiss on the throat that she offered him in utter trust, complete assurance. //Faith// He gently placed his hand on her cheek and turned her face, and saw himself smile in the mirrored richness of her dark eyes.

The story continues in "Cold Comfort III: Fulfill Me"

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