Under the Water
Disclaimer: Joss, not me.
Summary: Faith and Angel are desperate.
“You know, I coulda told you working for Wolfram and Hart was a bad idea,” Faith said, straddling Angel’s chest as she pulled out the hypodermic. “How long did it take the evil dead and her man to get rid of you and put themselves in charge? Eight months? Ten?”
The hotel room was ridiculously small, dominated by a king-sized bed with a mattress so hard that it made the back of Angel’s head ache as he stared up at Faith’s bare breasts, the nipples hard, small, and a dark rose. He wanted to suck them dry, to douse this endless and horrible hunger he had to possess someone, anyone, so fully that he couldn’t tell where she began and he ended.
It was urgent, it was passionate, and the need could not be denied.
“Nine months and two days,” Angel replied, his pupils alarmingly wide as he reached up and touched the bruised red marks in Faith’s throat. “How long did you and your stability guy last, Faith? Six months? Four?”
“Two years,” Faith replied curtly, tapping out a few bubbles from the syringe before taking a deep breath and slamming the needle into her empty and hungry veins. “Sweet baby Jesus, that’s good.”
She emphasized good by rubbing herself against Angel’s boxer-covered erection, grinding herself into him wetly and urgently. Faith’s body didn’t have any secrets from Angel, especially as it was slowly but surely disappearing. Disappearing into him, dissolving into the dark. Faith didn’t have a choice, the same way he didn’t.
Angel always tried to resist the shadow. He fought. He’d fought longer than usual this time, a good decade before failing miserably and letting himself sink into the depths silently and without any desire to keep struggling.
This time he had someone to accompany him down, and it made it sweeter somehow. More fitting.
Faith rocked back and forth against Angel, sweat beading up on the hollow of her collarbone, eyes closed, mouth open and wanton. He let her work herself up, enjoying how needy she smelled, how she made small animal noises as her fingers trembled over her breasts, teasing them to painful tenderness.
Salt water. Fucking Faith was like being engulfed in warm salt water, except hotter, tighter, and a damn sight more enjoyable. She was so desperate. Buffy had never needed him like this. Buffy had been content to fuck Spike.
Spike. The weaker, more controllable version of Angel.
Faith needed the abyss he offered her, and he wanted the taste of a woman to accompany this lifetime into its oblivion. In a hundred years, he’d tell another girl how good it had been, how bittersweet. Maybe. If Wes didn’t hunt him down and carve his heart out of his chest for his beloved’s trophy case.
“Angel,” Faith gasped hoarsely, bringing him back to the situation. “C’mon, man. I need it, baby. Please.”
He looked at her dispassionately, the heat coming off her in almost-visible faces, red rising in her cheeks, her chest, her neck. Faith tasted sweeter when she was too hot to touch comfortably, and to that end, Angel ran his thumb against her clit.
“Fuck!” she choked out, pushing herself against his hand greedily, still fondling her own breasts and closing her eyes. “Oh, yeah, like that, please…”
Need, that was Faith’s button that Angel could push over and over, the same way he worked her body for his own satisfaction. Once, he supposes he’d care that he was dragging Faith toward a brutal and meaningless end, but now?
She sure did taste sweet desperate. Angel pushed her backwards against the mattress, appreciating the gasp as he parted her legs and lowered his tongue to those damp curls. Something about her enthusiastic surrender pleased Angel much; he could let the demon run with her and she’d scream louder, beg, grip her fingers in his hair and tug.
“Oh fuck yes,” Faith moaned, her thighs slick and hot against Angel’s bare shoulders. Her heels were kicking against his spine as she tried to tilt herself to a more amenable angle. Angel chuckled and went back to work, sucking and licking as Faith thrashed against the mattress.
When she started to gasp and choke, Angel took a moment to get rid of the boxers and pull himself up before entering her wet and willing body, enjoying the feel of her arms wrapping around his neck and her legs wrapping around his waist, trying to get him in her as deep as she could.
“You’re so pretty when you want it hard, Faith,” he murmured into her ear, biting her earlobe. “You can’t ever get away from how much you want it from me, can you?”
“No,” Faith agreed, moaning. “Oh, God, Angel–yes–”
He sank his teeth into her neck just as she started to tighten and spasm around him. The hit of her Orpheus-tainted blood and her orgasm were enough to send him over the edge, taking a bit more blood than the last time, leaving her limp and dazed against the bed when he pulled back and out of her soft little body.
Hell was coming for them now, hell in the form of a thousand different faces, willing bodies bleeding and fucking and writhing in the humid dark. Angel pulled Faith closer, listening to the shallowness of her breathing and licking the last drops of blood off his lower lip.
“Mmm,” she whimpered. “Angel.”
“Shh,” he answered, his eyelids falling shut. “Just let it happen.”
Her head fell against his chest.
Time for dreamland.