Disclaimer:  All hail the genius of Joss.

My Bloody Valentine

Angel couldn’t help but think her hair would shimmer and shine sun-bright in candlelight, so whenever he pictured them together, there were always candles.

He pictured them together a lot.  It was one of his favorite things to do.

Tonight, he would give her a rose – just one, because it was a gesture, and he was big on roses and gestures – and brush the flower gently over her lips, smudging her lipstick a little, so she looked like she’d been thoroughly kissed.  Seeing a woman’s maquillage passion-smeared… God, it had turned him on since the first time he’d ruined Darla’s.  He just couldn’t get enough.

He would kiss her next, lightly at first, until she made tiny little noises of want, and then he’d surge forward, pulling her against him and just absolutely ravaging her mouth.  He’d run his hands through the soft waves of her hair, mussing it all the while he was tasting her, and he’d taste her a long, long time.

When they finally broke apart, her lips would be red, and his would be stained pink from her lipstick, and the sight of her – gold and pale and so disheveled in the candles’ glow – would send him over the edge.  Angel knew he’d lose control of the demon; he just wouldn’t be able to stop himself.  He’d grab her and drag her against him, paw at her firm, plump breasts until she arched and moaned, and he’d nip at her with his razor-sharp fangs until she bled.

And the best part? She’d bite him, too, make him bleed, hurt him in all the right ways…


Angel shook his head to clear away the fantasy, and hurriedly folded his hands on top of his desk, because there was no way he was going to jerk off at his desk.  Remember the monitoring cameras, he told himself. 

And besides, it wasn’t going to happen.  He wasn’t going to let it happen.

No matter that he was hard as a rock just from imagining them… kissing, biting, bleeding, writhing...

No matter that he had drawn hundreds of pictures of her – mostly of her delectable ass as she sashayed away from him and out of his office doors.

No matter that the date on his desk calendar was enclosed in a heart of blood red ink.  The day didn’t matter.

In the old days, he reflected, leaning forward and willing his throbbing erection to subside, it wouldn’t have been a problem.  I would have been able to just take her, and to hell with the consequences.  It wouldn’t have mattered who she was, or her station in life.  She just would have been mine for the taking.  These days… He sighed heavily and started sketching her face on his notepad, wide eyes, full lips, brow ridges and fangs... 

These days, nothing would get a man in trouble faster than trying to initiate an affair with his secretary.

February 14, 2009
© randi (K. Shepard), 2009