I'll Never Love You

CHAPTER 2: Cheating



"I can’t believe we have each other again!"

He strokes her cheek with his hand. "It’s not permanent, though."

She nuzzles into his touch. "Shh, tonight is all we need. To touch you, even if in that cold body, is like…"

She says nothing more, she kisses and he responds because he agrees. A night of form after so many vaporous, longing years shouldn’t be wasted on talking or being solemn.

He wraps his arms about her waist, holding her close. She moves her hands under the front of his shirt, slowly tracing along the hard bumps and swells of his torso. He’s surprised by how searing her skin is against his. She burns him with her touch.

She is even hotter below the waist; the heat is throbbing on his thigh as she grinds herself into him.

Curious, he slides his hand between their bodies. She groans as long, strong digits, trace along her erection. He smiles into her kiss.

I guess sex is all in the mind, he thinks.

Tongues play, dancing from mouth to mouth. She tastes delicious. Or rather the young man does, because although she possesses his form with her spirit, her original zest is lost.

She is also very hot here, too, and he can’t help but consider this peculiar quality. A stray memory from his host’s mind answers the minor mystery. He’s in a vampire’s body and humans are like flesh wrapped fire when touching or being touched. He imagines what it will be like when he buries himself inside of her.

She takes her hands from beneath his shirt and reaches up to grab the back of his head, pulling him closer. She sups on his lips. Biting licking sucking drawing blood—tepid blood. She is so hungry for him and he surges in his pants.

Abruptly, she pulls away, abandoning him. The absence of her lips leaves him reeling and a growl far more animalistic than any human is capable of producing escapes his throat. He looks at her, an unasked question gleaming in his gold flecked eyes.

"The boy, he riles against this. His soul is very strong," she says shaking her head. Her unruly mass of dark hair sways. He brushes the bangs away from her forehead, his fingertips grazing her skin.

"I don’t think these two care for each other very much," he replies with some uncertainty. The vampire’s thoughts and feelings remained somewhat clouded, so he couldn’t be sure of the two mortals’ relationship.

"But Xander shouldn’t be this difficult to suppress. Is Angel fighting you?"

"No. Xander and Angel, those are their names?"

She nods.

"Strange, I can’t sense the vampire’s thoughts ably. I hardly know anything about them…" He muses.

She smiles and moves back into his arms.

"I’m okay now. Time is short."

He nods this time and gathers her up into his arms. He carries her to the bed, his eyes locked with hers. She’s kissing him again.

He’s lost in the kiss. It entrances him… paralyzes him as he holds her over the tousled bed, his legs nudging the edge of the mattress. She begins unbuttoning his shirt; only her sense of seduction keeps her from simply ripping it open. When she finally exposes the pale chest beneath she’s touching him again with both hands, her middle fingers finding his cool nipples, tracing around the hardened nubs with slow, agonizing, deliberate-ness.

He gently lays her down on the bed, his mouth never leaving her steamy mouth and her fingers stay in contact with his nipples. He settles on top of her and she spreads her legs, granting his groin access to her own pulsating crotch. They never break the kiss. He aligns their erections, figuring out the swollen mechanics of the intimate, non-penetrating contact quickly. She moans, thrusting her hips up at him.

He stills; almost lured to orgasm so sudden is the intense pleasure. She doesn’t notice his near loss of control, or doesn’t care and continues rolling her pelvis. He has to push at her hips with his own, pinning her to the mattress to check her gyration. This too nearly makes him peak, but he manages to hold back his release.

She bucks and groans in frustration when his body is unmoved. He smiles. The vampire’s strength readily restrains her.

The smile disappears however when she punishes his aroused nipples with vicious twists between her thumbs and forefingers. He shudders above her, growling into her mouth as he comes inside his slacks. She laughs.

"We better get rid of these since they’re all messy," she says, her hands pushing at waistband of his trousers. His embrace is weak now, and their bodies aren’t a hindrance as the blend material slides over both the curve of his buttocks and the slick length of his shaft, which, to both their delight, remains firm.

He lifts and continues to slide his slacks down his legs when her reach ends. He kicks the pants off letting them fall to the floor at the foot of the bed. She gently takes his erection in hand, his cold emissions allowing her fingers and palms to glide along smoothly.

He’s glad he came; now he can enjoy her touch without the risk of wasting himself again anytime soon.

"Your turn," he whispers and starts to undo her pants. She places the palm of her free hand against his chest, pushing slightly. He stops.

"Wait. Let me up."

Reluctantly, he rolls away from her and sits up on the bed, taking this time to undo the rest of his shirt. Watching her when she stands up beside the bed. Her gaze breaks from his and slides down to his erection. She bites half her lower lip briefly, and then lets it slip from between her teeth. Crossing her forearms over her stomach, she takes a hold of the front of her tee shirt and slowly lifts the hem, revealing smooth fair skin. Muscles flex and change shape as she pulls the shirt off over her head.

He wants to reach out and explore the taunt rippling flesh, his hands burning with the anticipation of doing so. He leans forward but she sees his intention and steps back.

She unfastens her jeans then unzips them. Her sleepy, cola brown eyes full of promise and desire. She leans forward as she pushes her pants down to her calves, straightens and steps out of them, her gaze now having rejoined his. She’s swollen beyond the confines of her powder blue boxers. The inflated tip of her length caught between the elastic of the undergarment, wet.

Hooking her thumbs around the elastic of her boxers she begins to slide them down far too tediously. He’s run out of patience before half her erection is exposed. He moves with super human speed and yanks her back onto the bed, one hand ripping away the boxers.

Mounting her he once again aligns. She is hot everywhere! Her leaner body infuses his bulkier form with searing heat and he just wants to crush her into him and be burned alive.

He is unaware that his face has changed until he presses his mouth to hers and his elongated teeth cut into her lips. With the scent of blood in the air something rouses in him, and it is more than passion. His senses flare. He can hear her heart beating, sending blood through her veins in a rush. More smells below her blood assail his nose, scents he doesn’t recognize until his host’s knowledge burgeons forth once more.

Lust. Sweat. The semen oozing from her hardness. Her pre-come has a much different odor than his drying fluid. It is sweet scented, like honey, and he wants to discover if the taste matches.

She stretches out her tongue and explores each incisor. His tongue is lapping at the blood welling up from her plump bottom lip. Then she purposely stabs the tip of her tongue on one of the fangs and extends the bleeding appendage deep into his mouth.

He starts to suck on her cloying offering. Her willingness to satisfy his adopted vampire’s hunger thrills him. Eventually, her blood stops flowing and they fall back into kissing, the gentle rhythm of their lips belaying the furious undulation of their groins.

"Now," she cries, "I need you in me now!"

"But the pain…"

"I can control it. But be gentle, I don’t want to hurt Xander more than we have to."

He nods and lifts himself partially from her body. "I will be careful."

"Gee, thanks," a sarcastic male’s voice murmurs through her lips.

"Xander?"

"Yes. I told you he is very strong."

He crawls down the length of her nude body, drowning in her scent, tasting her feverish skin with his tongue until he arrives at her hardness. Its milky smooth texture fills his mouth when he inhales her. She screams desperately and tries to push his head away. This isn’t what she wants and he knows it, but one good turn deserves another. He quickly brings her to release with his mouth.

He never tastes her seed, the thick fluid bursts from her with such force that it sluices down his throat in just a few quicksilver volleys.

"Bastard," she whispers weakly when he takes his mouth away from her, looking down at him through narrowed eyelids. He grins briefly before lowering further sticking out his tongue and tracing the tip along the connecting skin where her scrotum met her pucker. She shivers and her slowly wilting erection regains its full majesty.

He takes his time licking between her spread thighs. Teasing her with feather strokes from his tongue until she’s mewling and clawing at the sheets, her legs trembling. Soon he worms his tongue inside her, twisting it around as he burrows, until his lips are touching her tight, pinkish ring of muscle.

Soon he’s pressing in a finger, then two, using them to stretch her while his tongue continues to slather her insides with saliva.

He hears her hands twisting the sheets with her fists when he rotates his middle and forefinger pushing them inside her further. She is nearly unconscious when he’s slackened her entrance and deposited enough fluid into her. He rises to his knees then lifts her lower body from the mattress, and positions his fully erect penis to the thoroughly moistened furrow of her buttocks. He lifts her right leg up against his chest and then presses into her. The tip of his shaft enters without difficulty. He groans; she gasps.

He inches into her, she separates around his thick member with painful tightness. The internal pressure is crushing. And his sensitive, thin-skinned erection is stewing in her broiling heat; it's like he's being cooked.

"Deeper," she bids him and he feels her relax around him. He slides further inside her with patience he does not feel until his cock fully immerses itself. Her inflamed, clenching folds surrounds every inch of him. The cry of pleasure she unleashes is so hoarse; it sounds as though it might have issued from the young man, not her.

He watches her chest rise and fall with excited breath, her skin glistens under the firelight. He places his left hand on her torso and runs it down to her flat belly and lowers his hand further still to take possession of her erection. Her breath hitches and she trembles as he strokes in rhythm with his thrusting hips.

Her tightness is almost unbearable to him, crushing, but sweet, so sweet and he doesn’t last long. He cries out hoarsely, exploding inside her and it hurts him. Her clenching hinders the flow of his seed, making his eruption feel somehow blocked. And the pain only increases when she comes again, every inch of her going taunt, her shaft launching a single bolt of come into the air, falling down over his gently stroking fist and onto her abdomen. He lets her leg fall away from his shoulder, allowing the limb to join its mate in wrapping about his thighs as he collapses upon her, still embedded into the root, her hardness pulsating between them.

Their chests are rising and falling into each other’s, her heart is pounding alone.

His face is buried in the pillow beside her head, but only for a moment before he turns his nose into her sweat dampened hair just above her ear, inhaling, wishing… He slides his lips from her hair across her ardent cheek and finds her mouth, open, hot gasps hitting his face. He takes her lower lip between his careful not to slice the wet, supple flesh with his elongated fangs, and sucks, licks while it’s inside his mouth.

Her hands have found their way to his hair when she changes the shape of her mouth to join his kiss.

"You’re still hard," she interjects against his lips. Emphasizing her comment by squeezing him inside her.

"I’m not finished," he says…



I woke up with a moan. Feeling refreshed and relaxed. My muscles were like Jell-O and my bones… what bones? On mornings when I felt like this I don’t even want to get up. I don’t even wanna open my eyes.

But I do. School today. And there he is.

His arm draped weightily over my chest underneath the blanket we’re both lying under.

This close I notice how big his head is, and how rough his features are. His forehead accounts for more than its fair share of his face, and his nose is blunt like his chin. His eyes are close together under a prominent brow.

But it’s his mouth that I really focus on, that makes my heart pound and my breath get so labored that my chest feels like it’s about to cave in.

I remembered what those lips were capable of, how they kiss and mold to parts of my body when they get really eager. And his tongue—God, his tongue…

It’s my breathing that makes his eyelids flutter and eventually open. We stared at each other. Angel’s blank-faced. This expression goes way beyond Cryptic Guy. It’s like absolute Absence Guy.

Dead as the are, vampires’ eyes do have something in them that expresses humanity. Eyes that can shine with a hundred different shades of emotion: malice, bloodlust, amusement, hatred—and love too, I guess. But Angel’s dark eyes are utterly dead. Not glassy or dull—just two black holes of nothingness. Though black holes aren’t exactly nothing. Willow says they’re chock-full of Matter…

God, am I babbling?

I turned away and he did, too. Burying his face in the pillow we shared. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to catch my breath, but it wasn’t working. The more memories I recalled of the night before made that impossible. I was hyperventilating before I lost it completely. I wanted out of that bed, post haste.

"Get off me. Get off me. Getoffmegetoffmegetoffme!" I screamed rolling away from him, kicking at his naked body. Angel hardly seemed to notice.

I realized too late that I have no strength in my legs, not enough to move Angel’s bulk, anyway, and all I was accomplishing was to push myself closer and closer to the edge of the mattress. I ended up tumbling off the bed, my naked back and ass smacking against the cold stone floor. I quickly reached up onto the bed and yanked the pillow from under his face, and covered myself before I stood up.

For the love of God, where were my clothes!




I swung my legs off the bed and stood up; I didn’t care that I was naked. Xander was scanning the room for his clothes, but he missed a whole section trying to avoid looking at me. I found my trousers at the foot of the bed and put them on.

These last few centuries have been the worst of my life. I get the girl of my dreams, lose my soul, go on a killing spree, try to destroy the world, got sent to Hell by said love of my life… it goes on and on.

Then a week out of Hell and my body gets possessed, yet again, and…

"Angel, where are my clothes?" Xander asks me, his voice was frantic, but I don’t really hear him. His voice is an annoying buzz in my ear.

I wanted to believe he wasn’t even in the room.

I walked over to my reading chair and carefully sank down into its plush upholstery, tilted my head back and rested it on top of the backrest.

Evidently, Xander decided that I was far enough out of his way and came over to "my" side of the bed to find his discarded clothes. As he rushed by me, he clutched that pillow to his groin like it was all that was standing between him and emanate death. I smelled my scent all over him and I shuddered, both mentally and physically.

When I was in Hell it was bad. There was pain, always pain, never ending pain. I let my demon take over in Hell. I wouldn’t have survived as long as I did if I hadn’t. Angelus, I imagine, would have loved the irony: I spent a hundred years trying my damnedest to hold the beast under my humanity, only to give myself over to it for centuries more.

Angelus would be even more delighted to know that, at this very moment, I wished I could do so again.

I was never one for disassociation, even before being turned by Darla, but I faded in and out of awareness there for a while. Sometimes I could register the sound of Xander struggling into his clothes, and around the edges of my vision I saw him trip in a pant leg, timber face forward and hit the floor. Probably would have gotten a smirk out me any other time, but I found Xander’s painful clumsiness less than humorous at the moment.

What am I going to do? This is… I… need to find a way out of this.

There’s no real evidence that anything happened here last night besides what Xander and I remembered, and therein lay the problem: Xander. I can’t trust him to keep his mouth shut, to not spill everything the minute things get too stressful. I mean I’ve seen the kid nervous and anything could come out of his mouth if he was nervous.

Hell, he might hate me enough to tell Buffy no matter how embarrassed he he’d get. Sure, it wasn’t the two of us in bed doing what was done with our bodies, but damnit, there’s going to be enough to sort out between Buffy and I without this… this… shit!

My head snaps to the side and I’m brought back to the real world and I turn my face forward and see Xander standing in front of me. Towering above me fully dressed, if a little disheveled, his expression as resolute as it was that night in Sunnydale General. I stared waiting for him to say what’s on his mind—he slapped me so I figure it’s probably important.

"This never happened," he says, his dark eyes steely and blacker than black.

I nod.

Xander returns a curt nod, and with that turns on his heels and walks away from me.

His feet were slapping against the floor; he wasn’t wearing any shoes.