Summary: Post-Orpheus, Faith and Angel find strength in each other as they recover from their near-death experience. Things get carnal.
A/N: Woot! Another rare pairing to add to my repoitoire. This is also my first Angel fic. I swore I would never write him, and looky. I did.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No profit is gained from my writerly endeavors and no copyright infringement is intended.
Enveloped. This is what it is to be enveloped, she thinks as her knees sink into the soft, plush leather of his easy chair, his large thighs wedged under her as she rises and falls steadily on his cock. She’s been with big men before, been with all sorts, but she’s never felt this small or this known. Angel’s solemn gaze levels her, his unwavering focus zeroed in on her wide, brown eyes. His hands cover her hips like a catcher’s mitt, huge and unwieldy, but stabilizing. On every down stroke, the pads of his fingers press into the soft flesh of her waist. The action is subtle, but she knows he’s with her when he simultaneously arches his hips up to meet hers, sealing himself inside momentarily only to be released again.
The pace is slow. It has to be after what they’ve been through. The magical mystery tour sapped a lot out of them, and they’re both running on fumes. It’s not her style though. She doesn’t do leisurely, but she succumbs to the rhythm regardless, barely rising off of him at all now. When she crawls to a snails pace, her hips rocking only slightly, his hands release her to skate up her back and tangle into the untamed mane of her hair. Beneath the dark tendrils, a square of gauze still clings to her neck over the vicious bite he gave her. Angel flinches and looks away. When Angelus drives, it’s easy to forget the unforgiving blow of guilt.
“Don’t do that,” Faith says, hoarseness coating her voice, as she drags his hand up onto her breastbone. “Heart’s still beating. The time for self-flagellation’s come and gone.” She would know. She had three years to work through her shit, try and do the repenty thing. With two sinners like them, it’s hard to check your baggage at the door. She gets that, but she isn’t here to be Miss Understanding. She came to save the day and, right now, she needs all the strength he can give. She wrings it out of him the only way she knows how, primally calling on him to provide what she needs.
“Got a war to fight back in SunnyD, Angel. Something about girls gettin’ killed. Don’t poop out on me now.”
He grunts and pistons himself up into her in response, his mouth set with determination. Taking advantage of the reprieve, she slumps against him, her arms threading around his neck as his hands frame her ass and bounce her in time with his thrusts. She’s content to let him do the work, and goes along for the ride, jouncing against his groin and belly. She wonders if this is what they mean by getting back in the saddle. It sure’s been long enough for her.
With her breasts pressed tight against his chest, Angel moves her on him, his head cradled against her shoulder. She’s so small. All of them are, these beautiful girls. It’s always a wonder to him the power they have at their disposal. He listens intently to the thrumming of her heart, the hitching gasps as he grazes her clit on every upstroke. In that respect, at least, she is like any other woman.
He fleetingly wonders what it would have been like to sink into her evil depths years ago when she double-crossed Buffy to play little orphan Annie to Wilkins’ Daddy Warbucks. He offered to help her then. She refused. But here she is, alive and delivered on the other side.
Holding her close, his grunts start to synch up with hers and she begins to move again. Faith’s not the sort of girl to get lost in, but right now he can think of no one else that would understand the place they’ve come to, the road they’ve traveled. Pushing himself as deeply as he can go, he gives her everything he has because he’s never known anyone more deserving of the effort. If they had only believed in her…
“Angel! Oh God…fuck. Right there,” she moans, her brow pressed against his, lips turned back in a grimace of pleasure as an orgasm starts to shake her. He feels the trembling deep inside, its radiating force constricting and fierce. She clings tight to him as he pumps hard and fast through her resistant muscle, listening to every cry he wrings from her. Breathing rapid fire pants against his neck, she tips his head and bites down on his throat, catapulting him into his own release. Heaving deeply against her shoulder, he mouths her skin, dull teeth lingering over toned muscle.
When they both raise their heads, Angel reaches around and reels Faith into a kiss, palms cradling her head as he faces her honestly, intimately. He wants to say he’s sorry, but she won’t want to hear those words, is tired of them, having thought it so many times herself. So he brushes her lips instead, tongue sliding inside to sign his apologies to her, his thanks, his awe, his pride. She faced the darkness and won. She even faced his own, at the cost of her own life, to bring him back to the light.
Inhaling the scent of her climax, he feels the slight tremors still rippling through her in little ebbs and crests. He knows now the strength that lies inside, seen the inner fortitude and self-sacrificing courage that drives her. Slayer, warrior, fighter are no longer adequate words to describe her, he realizes. She’s so much more than that now.
She’s a hero. Part II