Measuring Time in Moons
Pairing/Character: Angel / Fred
Rating: FRM
Summary: She was convinced that time moved differently when he got in these moods.
Disclaimer: So very not mine, I just like to make them do things they didn’t do in the show
Timeline: I believe we've moved passed Waiting in the Wings
A/N: written for fanfic_fiesta prompt # 1: In the beat of moons, not seconds, he stroked her, so say the Scriptures. ~ William Kotzwinkle // Jewel of the Moon. Exceptional beta skills brought to the table by the ever so talented velvetwhip
She liked it best when no one else was in the old hotel. When it was just the two of them, he’d hunt her throughout the building, finding her in whatever long abandoned room she’d discovered. He’d lean against the door frame with his hands steepled in front of him, the smirk on his lips and the gleam in his eye making her wonder if his soul was truly as in control as everyone had told her it was.
Tonight was no different. She had found a room with no furnishings in it and patches of the floor missing. Sitting down in the middle of the room on a blanket she’d brought for just this purpose, she waited for him.
After what seemed like ages, she heard the slow, measured cadence of his walk. When he had finally made it to her doorway, he lounged there, as usual. For hours, it seemed he did nothing but stare at her. She could feel the weight of his gaze running over her so very slowly. Everything he had been doing to her lately was done slowly. The buttons that would have taken her seconds to undo, took him far longer than she had thought physically possible.
She was convinced that time moved differently when he got in these moods. It was as if the humans he worked with, those chosen few, were the regulators of time here, keeping it moving in an orderly manner. When they were gone, it moved in jumps and spurts. Sometimes an hour seemed like a second and a minute flashed by in less than the blink of an eye. However, when he began the chase/capture/conquer game, time moved by at the pace of gods.
It took days, she was convinced, for him to kiss a path from her mouth to her earlobe. From there he would move, over the course of weeks, down to her pulse point, lingering there for years. His hands would move in an achingly slow path from shoulder to wrist, and back up again, only to trail across her clavicle and down the swell of one breast. As always, she’s biting back the words she wants to scream at him. Words like ‘more,’ ‘faster,’ ‘harder,’ ‘kiss me,’ ‘touch me,’ ‘move’ and ‘please.’
His teeth were at her breast and she was convinced he must hate her. Either that or he had become so attached to her insanity that he wanted to drive her further into it. Why else would he always go so slowly? Surely, her grabbing hands, thrusting hips, and constantly moving limbs proved that she wouldn’t stop him if he tried to move faster. Perhaps he had lost his soul and decided to use this new form of torture, carried out repeatedly over the span of the last few months, as his coming out celebration.
His fingertips were trailing over her waist, down her hip and along the outer curve of her thigh. When his hand had traveled as far as the length of his arm would allow, he trailed those same fingers up the inside of her leg. A frustrated noise escaped her as his maddeningly slow caress, and a dark chuckle against her stomach was the only response.
He was finally sliding one finger inside her, but far too slowly. It took hours, days, months, years, eons. Countless summers had passed and winters had gone by and he was still barely there. She could no longer measure time by the minute hand of a clock or the beats of her heart. Her breaths were too uneven to be relied on as well. Time was impossible to measure by all modern means. It was measured in suns and moons.
Neck arched and back bowed, she could now see out the window. She could see past the neighboring buildings up into the night sky. She could see the moon. Moon, Luna, lunatic, lunacy... lunacy. What she was thinking of doing was pure lunacy. It could bring a screeching halt to this thing between them. However, it had to be done, for the sake of her sanity.
With a deep breath, she became the hunter, the predator. A leg wrapped around one of his, pulling as her hand pushed his opposite shoulder. His surprise and her desperation gave her victory. Stretched out on top of him, nose-to-nose, hands holding his down on the tangled blanket, she sees the confusion in his face.
“Fred?”
Rating: FRM
Summary: She was convinced that time moved differently when he got in these moods.
Disclaimer: So very not mine, I just like to make them do things they didn’t do in the show
Timeline: I believe we've moved passed Waiting in the Wings
A/N: written for fanfic_fiesta prompt # 1: In the beat of moons, not seconds, he stroked her, so say the Scriptures. ~ William Kotzwinkle // Jewel of the Moon. Exceptional beta skills brought to the table by the ever so talented velvetwhip
She liked it best when no one else was in the old hotel. When it was just the two of them, he’d hunt her throughout the building, finding her in whatever long abandoned room she’d discovered. He’d lean against the door frame with his hands steepled in front of him, the smirk on his lips and the gleam in his eye making her wonder if his soul was truly as in control as everyone had told her it was.
Tonight was no different. She had found a room with no furnishings in it and patches of the floor missing. Sitting down in the middle of the room on a blanket she’d brought for just this purpose, she waited for him.
After what seemed like ages, she heard the slow, measured cadence of his walk. When he had finally made it to her doorway, he lounged there, as usual. For hours, it seemed he did nothing but stare at her. She could feel the weight of his gaze running over her so very slowly. Everything he had been doing to her lately was done slowly. The buttons that would have taken her seconds to undo, took him far longer than she had thought physically possible.
She was convinced that time moved differently when he got in these moods. It was as if the humans he worked with, those chosen few, were the regulators of time here, keeping it moving in an orderly manner. When they were gone, it moved in jumps and spurts. Sometimes an hour seemed like a second and a minute flashed by in less than the blink of an eye. However, when he began the chase/capture/conquer game, time moved by at the pace of gods.
It took days, she was convinced, for him to kiss a path from her mouth to her earlobe. From there he would move, over the course of weeks, down to her pulse point, lingering there for years. His hands would move in an achingly slow path from shoulder to wrist, and back up again, only to trail across her clavicle and down the swell of one breast. As always, she’s biting back the words she wants to scream at him. Words like ‘more,’ ‘faster,’ ‘harder,’ ‘kiss me,’ ‘touch me,’ ‘move’ and ‘please.’
His teeth were at her breast and she was convinced he must hate her. Either that or he had become so attached to her insanity that he wanted to drive her further into it. Why else would he always go so slowly? Surely, her grabbing hands, thrusting hips, and constantly moving limbs proved that she wouldn’t stop him if he tried to move faster. Perhaps he had lost his soul and decided to use this new form of torture, carried out repeatedly over the span of the last few months, as his coming out celebration.
His fingertips were trailing over her waist, down her hip and along the outer curve of her thigh. When his hand had traveled as far as the length of his arm would allow, he trailed those same fingers up the inside of her leg. A frustrated noise escaped her as his maddeningly slow caress, and a dark chuckle against her stomach was the only response.
He was finally sliding one finger inside her, but far too slowly. It took hours, days, months, years, eons. Countless summers had passed and winters had gone by and he was still barely there. She could no longer measure time by the minute hand of a clock or the beats of her heart. Her breaths were too uneven to be relied on as well. Time was impossible to measure by all modern means. It was measured in suns and moons.
Neck arched and back bowed, she could now see out the window. She could see past the neighboring buildings up into the night sky. She could see the moon. Moon, Luna, lunatic, lunacy... lunacy. What she was thinking of doing was pure lunacy. It could bring a screeching halt to this thing between them. However, it had to be done, for the sake of her sanity.
With a deep breath, she became the hunter, the predator. A leg wrapped around one of his, pulling as her hand pushed his opposite shoulder. His surprise and her desperation gave her victory. Stretched out on top of him, nose-to-nose, hands holding his down on the tangled blanket, she sees the confusion in his face.
“Fred?”