Rogue shivered. Just the tip of his fingers on the silk of her nightgown. She started to speak until he shook his head and her lips closed, only to open once again as his hand glided over her breasts.
Her face was hot from the chatter Logan had walked in on. Girls talking first times, perfume choking the air. They scattered when he glared.
She knew he followed her to her room, his shadow in the dark.
He knew she’d never had a first time. That she never would.
“Close your eyes.” He whispered.
“I can give you this, Marie.”
Angel Season One
The city was too big. Too sprawling. Too many people who needed too much help. Angel stood on a street corner. Motionless as crowds passed him, cars driving by, lights changing and changing. The breeze flapped the edges of his coat, the stink of pollution rose around him. A million voices, a thousand dialects, languages. Faces upon faces and no one that he knew. No one called his name. No one with a wave or a smile in his direction.
Angel hadn’t known how much he missed *Buffy* Sunnydale, how much he enjoyed being acknowledged ... *Buffy* ... until he wasn’t.
Angel/Lindsey, season 2
It was never enough. They pushed harder each time. They were never gentle. Lindsey would hit him and Angel would growl. Clothes torn, old bruises pressed, new ones made. Someone would reach for lube and someone would smack it out of the other’s hand.
“Fuck me now.”
Never on a bed. Never lasting longer than it took to break in, spread thighs, thrust up and up.
Angel’s palm would bleed where Lindsey bit just above his wrist. And each time Angel got closer to biting the neck that Lindsey would bare with a smile that held the challenge.
Four more! Thank you to everyone that requested. I'm having a marvelous day off.
*covers you with kisses*