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Little deaths

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She dies a little each night...

He steals into her bedroom with barely a whisper of sound. Yet she knows when he arrives; she can feel the shift in the air.

Angel creeps up to her bed, she’s lying with her back to him, feigning sleep.

Slowly Angel peels down the zipper of his fly. Willow’s eyes flutter open at the sound, but she remains still.

The mattress buckles slightly under Angel’s added weight; the springs groan – or perhaps it’s a sigh.

They don’t speak.

They never speak.

He brushes back her hair and his lips skim her neck, hands slide under her shirt.

Willow rolls over and meets his mouth with hers.

He tugs up her shirt. Willow raises herself so he can remove it. It’s the white night shirt with orange sleeves. The one she was wearing the first night he came to her bedroom; the night it all began.

He shifts himself on top of her. His skin is cool against her flushed flesh.

He dips his head down, mouth engulfing one of her breast.

Willow bites her lip to keep from moaning and arches into his mouth.

His hands roam over her body frantically, not sure where to settle, wanting to feel all of her.

His tongue slides down her belly. His fingers sneak under the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips obligingly and he pulls them down.

He kisses his way up her legs, her thighs. His tongue rasped against her swollen, tender flesh.

Willow whimpers.
He raises his head and moves back up her body. His lips find hers again. His skillful tongue pushing its way into her mouth.

She can taste herself on him.

Angel thrusts into her with a strangled moan. Willow gasp at the incursion.

He moves inside her, unrelenting.

Willow’s hands twist in the sheets. She clutches them desperate to hold on as Angel threatens to push her over the edge.

The faces of her friends fly by behind her eyes; Buffy, Xander, Giles. What would they say if they saw her right now?

The thought of them finding out excites her almost as much as it terrifies her.

She can’t stand it anymore.

She lets go of the sheets.

She falls.

Angel takes Willow’s breast in his mouth.

She feels the piercing of his fangs.

She bites down on Angel’s fingers so she won’t scream.

The intensity of her climax causes her body to quake almost violently. Her inner wall strangle Angel’s cock.

She must be dying.

No one could survive this much pleasure.

Suddenly, she hits the ground. The crash jars her back to reality.

Angel’s body leaves hers, somehow making her feel heavier than before.

The mattress springs sigh thier disappointment– or is that relief?- as Angel lifts off the bed Willow keeps her eyes closed. She hears the zzzp as Angel redresses himself. His footfalls make no sound. There’s a muted click as he closes the door behind him.

He’s gone.

Willow is left alone with her guilt, her shame.

She shivers as the sweat dries on her skin. She curls into herself and pulls her blanket up over her.

She weeps inside the safety of her makeshift womb.

She tells herself that that was the last time; it won’t happen again. Tomorrow she’ll lock the door, she won’t let him in.

She knows it’s a lie, but it’s comforting in the moment.

If – when– he comes back she’ll let him in. She has no choice; he’s already been invited.

She wonders how long before all these little deaths add up and finally, truly destroy her.