The Prophet
by Rainne
Part Ten
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I wandered through downtown Sunnydale smiling at people randomly as I wended my way toward the Magic Box. The day was warm and pleasant, and I had that familiar and welcome tingly sensation that I always had after committing random acts of violence. I thought briefly about Giles's Lignatior entity, the higher-planar being that liked to take over from vampires sometimes. I wondered if a higher-planar entity could take the kind of pleasure in bloodshed and chaos that I did.
Somehow it just didn't seem right that something of the upper levels could get such a tingle out of arson.
But I felt it and there was no denying it. It was the same heady rush — almost orgasmic — that I felt when I killed. I liked to kill. I wasn't sure the Scoobies, even Willow, would be able to understand or accept that fact about me. I liked the killing. It was the best high I knew of, and I'd tried plenty. The stalk, the prowl, the lure, the scent of sudden fear and revulsion at the first sight of my gameface, the tearing of the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder, the sudden rush of the blood across my lips tasting stronger and sweeter than any wine, flavored with the evil and the sudden stark terror of the realization that I am what I am and that death is imminent and merciless... all these things, just thinking about them was enough to make my skin hot and my pupils dilate. If I'd had a heartbeat, by the time I arrived at the Magic Box with these thoughts in my head, it would have been going at a triphammer pace.
And there in the window at the table, absorbed in some huge, dusty tome, was my Willow. The sun was shining right in on her and she wore an expression on her face of the deepest concentration. A tiny furrow had appeared between her eyebrows and she was chewing on her bottom lip as she read, turning the pages slowly. Her hair shone so brightly that I wondered if there was any fire left in the forge of Hephaestus. I rather thought not — it was all down on Earth, masquerading as Willow's hair. I grinned at myself suddenly at the ludicrousness of such a metaphor, and that was when she looked up and saw me standing there.
Her smile answered mine. A nuclear missile could've detonated on the sidewalk next to me, and I don't think I would have noticed. She was, at that moment, my entire universe. And I knew that I was lost in her.
And I had to have her. I let my desire show on my face. I knew she saw it, because her expression slowly changed from Willowgrin into something wicked and sexy. I crooked a finger at her. Come here. She nodded and took her book to Anya. I watched through the plate glass as she walked, every step she took seeming to send a message straight to my libido. She spoke briefly with Anya and then came toward me. When her eyes met mine I felt like I was suddenly on fire. I had to have her, and I wasn't going to be able to wait until we got to my house.
Fortunately, quick thinking provided me with a second option.
When she stepped out the door, she opened her mouth to say something and I stopped her with a finger to her lips, shaking my head slightly. She obeyed, her eyes twinkling, and I took her hand, leading her down the sidewalk. We walked without speaking for several blocks; fingers entwined tightly, thumbs rubbing the backs of each other's hand, the occasional brush of hip or thigh serving only to heighten the tension between us.
And then I pulled her into the dimness under the overhang of the old Bijou theater, recently restored and showing classic movies to the older crowd that were still willing to patronize it instead of the mega-multi-plex out by the college. I smiled at the elderly party behind the glass and held up two fingers, paying and taking the tickets without a word. Then I led her into the cool, dark interior of the lobby.
I had to give the decorators credit — I felt like we'd fallen into the forties with the furniture and movie posters they'd used. They'd done a fabulous job. We passed the popcorn counter without a second glance. Salt was a bad idea for what I had in mind.
There were three movies to choose from: The Maltese Falcon, Weekend at the Waldorf (a Ginger Rogers classic I simply adored), and "Three Hours of Charlie Chaplin's Greatest Silent Films." Oh, the Fates were kind that day.
I led her into the theater where the marathon was just beginning and led her into the darkest corner, pushing her gently into a seat and straddling her knees as I bent down to capture her lips with mine. Her mouth was hot and I could feel her smile under my lips. I kissed her gently but thoroughly, making sure to leave her breathless, and then I slid my mouth down to suck gently at her pulse point. She gasped and I grinned, then nipped playfully at the spot where I most liked to bite my victims. I felt a tremor go through her body as her hands slid up my sides, and I reached behind me to take her wrists and very firmly plant her hands on the arms of her seat, accompanied by a stern look. She got the message and left her hands where I'd put them.
With three hours of Chaplin I wasn't in any kind of hurry. I carried my kisses and nips up the left side of her neck and back down the right, listening to the little hitches and gasps that my actions put into her breathing. Just that sound and the feel of her hot breath on my ear was enough to make my head spin. And I wanted to rock her world.
I licked the outer edge of her left ear and took the lobe between my teeth, tugging gently before sliding behind it to bury my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of the fruit-blend shampoo she was using while my hands slid slowly up her arms, just barely touching, feeling the gooseflesh rise. I trailed my fingers over the shoulders of her t-shirt and down her front, pausing at her breasts to tease them through the thin cotton. Immediately I felt two stiff peaks rise and I made sure to give them my complete attention as I returned to tasting her neck. Just this little bit of stimulation was dizzying to me; I could only imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of my ministrations.
Quite possibly even more erotic than the actual touches was the absolute silence that we had to keep in order to avoid being caught and thrown out of the theater and possibly even facing criminal charges. I didn't dare speak to her, for fear that whatever I might whisper into her ear could carry across the theater. Certainly she had to restrain herself as well; she was a moaner and a screamer and here she could do neither.
Suddenly I couldn't wait any longer. I left her neck, sliding my hands under her shirt and bra, moving both articles of clothing out of the way with one motion, and took her breast in my mouth. Her nipples were hard as rocks under my tongue and her skin was hot and deliciously musky, smelling of citrus body-wash, arousal and pure lust. The aroma was intoxicating and I breathed it in as deeply as I could while I switched sides, ministering now to the other breast.
I could feel her straining beneath me and I knew what she wanted. It seemed cruel not to give it to her. Just my luck, or the Fates watching out for me again, she was wearing a skirt — a long, loose thing that I had no trouble pulling up as I slid off her lap and knelt between her knees. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and her hands clutched the arms of her seat convulsively as I trailed my fingers teasingly from her knees up her inner thighs toward the place where I could smell her lust the strongest. Her hips bucked once and I knew she was close. I hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties and drew them down and off, then I gently stroked the outer rim of her sex, feeling the heat and reveling that I was the one who had done this to her. She gasped when my fingers touched her, and as I slid one finger into that moist heat her entire body tensed and she came, shuddering.
I took a brief moment to be impressed with myself, and then got back to the business at hand.
I moved the now-slick finger out of her and up to the tiny bud that was the root of her pleasure. My ministrations were gentle at first, bringing her up from the first orgasm until her hips were thrusting gently in rhythm with my movements, then I threw one leg over hers and began to stroke her at a more rapid pace. She wasn't expecting it and she gasped as the pressure and intensity picked up, biting her lip to keep from crying out, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her hips rocking with me as I worked my finger in that one place. Suddenly she went from biting her lip to gasping for air and I knew the moment was at hand. I leaned forward, taking one of her nipples in my other hand and teasing it as I claimed her mouth with mine.
I could feel the shudders like little electric shocks through her body when she came that time, and she lost control enough to let go a tiny whimper in my ear. I waited until her breathing slowed and her eyes opened again before laying a finger across her lips in warning and shaking my head. She nodded, biting her lip again, and I smiled, leaned forward and kissed her very gently, almost a peck on the lips. She sighed and when I lifted my face from hers, I saw that her eyes had fluttered closed. They flew open again though, in something akin to panic, when she realized I was kneeling down between her legs. I saw in her eyes that she knew what I was about to do, and she shook her head frantically at me. I winked at her and pushed her knees apart, leaning forward and taking one moment to deeply inhale the aroma of arousal on the woman who was mine, before my mouth laid claim to her hot sex.
She was hot and delicious and I reveled in the feeling of the tender tissues that were now my banquet table. I wrapped my arms around her hips and held on for dear life as she bucked under me. A glance upward showed me that she was biting the side of her hand in order to keep from crying out.
I closed my eyes and focused on driving her over the edge, and I succeeded faster than I thought I would as she convulsed in my arms, her entire body lifting out of the seat as her orgasm took her. Her flavor was making me drunker than any liquor ever could have. Even the blood didn't taste as good as she did, and I licked her clean before I let her go, gently straightening her clothes and then lifting her up and sliding into the seat under her. She sat in my lap, spent, clinging to me with arms too weak to really do more than just lay across my chest. Her breath was coming in great heaves and her eyes were closed. She looked almost as though she were asleep, but I knew that she wasn't. I brushed a finger along her cheekbone and her eyes opened, looking into mine. They were deep and limpid and I felt a sudden rush of satisfaction at the pleasure I'd been able to bring her. I leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Are you gonna be okay, sweetie?"
She grinned and whispered back, "Just you wait until I get my strength back. I'm gonna get you so bad. In about a million years." Her eyes fluttered closed again and she snuggled into me. I grinned, holding her close to me as she fell asleep in my arms, and settled back to watch Charlie promenade across the big screen.