Title: Seduction
Author: kbk
Disclaimer: Though I barely use one of them, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer", "Angel" and all characters are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and various other people and companies. Not me. I make no money from this.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Angelus is hunting. Erotica.
Notes: I should probably dedicate this to Sonja Marie, since I'm on her links site under "Adult" - this has also given me a topic of discussion for the week, which is just lovely.

He rubs his thumb across the soft skin of her inner wrist, and she blushes a little. "Come now, pretty," he says, "let us talk more privately." Her heartbeat speeds a little faster, and the blood under his touch pulses a little more urgently. She guides him quietly to a small room, outside the body of the party, and sits demurely on the loveseat. He raises her hand to his lips, and sits next to her.

They talk of desultory things, passing fancies, fellow attendees; all the while, his voice weaving a spell upon her, the lilt and slide of his bass a sensuous counterpoint to her restrained soprano. She barely notices as his hand slides up her slim arm to rest on her shoulder - still an almost acceptable touch - and then moves on to cup the nape of her neck, fingers gently moving on the skin and coaxing her to relax still further. He leans in.

"But sir!" she protests as he attempts to capture her mouth for the first time, "I do not even know your given name!" He chuckles, a sound of genuine amusement with only a hint of darkness beneath, and bends still closer to say, "It's Liam, my pretty Rose." She smiles at his flattery, and allows his lips to touch on hers, sending a few sparks skittering thorough her body. Head twisting away demurely, she breathes as deeply and as quietly as she could. "Ach, ye willna deny me another?" he asks, "not now I've tasted the sweetness of your lips? And I back off to Eire in the morn for my father's funeral, mayhap never to return to the beauty of London," his mournful tone belied by the spark in his eyes as he looks boldly at her face, driving home his thinly-veiled compliment and forcing back a smile as she colours prettily.

Hours of gentle kisses and small caresses slowly work their magic, for he can be patient when the reward is such a one as this. In the end, he does not have to argue for her to accompany him to his hotel room - she acquiesces immediately, with only a deep blush as her acknowledgement of the implications of her agreement. They take a cab, and sit demurely by each other, but for his restless hand stroking the small of her back, causing her to arch slightly in her stays. The hotel is small, but not inexpensive, and despite her fears, not one of the people they pass looks at her as if they know what is about to happen. Once inside the room, she hesitates and demurs; he looks at her with such an expression of longing and determination that she cannot help but submit and honour her agreement.

He works at the knots of her bodice, glad that she cannot see his face as he mentally curses the maid who tied them, the dressmaker who made the ties, the person who invented the style of bodice in the first place, Rose herself for being a delicate virginal flower who won't just hitch her skirts up, and anyone else he can think of at the time, including himself for being such an idiot as to wait to taste her, to kiss and nip at the nape of her neck instead of simply biting down and draining her. His demon features flicker to the surface as his bloodlust surges, but he forces them back down instantaneously, concentrating harder on the carnal pleasures of the evening that were yet to come.

Eventually the constraint is gone, and he moves round her to kiss away the gathering apprehensions. He cups her face, brushes by her lips, her cheek, her jaw and back to her lips, feathering his tongue into her mouth and delighting in the gasp she cannot sound out as he pushes a little harder. He nips lightly at her lower lip, then leans back a little to watch as his hand slides slowly down her elegant neck to rest atop the swell of her cleavage. "Your hands are chilly," she complains as he slides a finger under the neck of her petticoat, and he kisses her a little more in apology. "They'll warm up soon enough, my dear," he murmurs in her ear, sliding another finger under the fabric and skimming the hand down, "and it can feel..." he slips in further, "so..." cupping the side of her breast, "good", sliding his palm across her nipple, which crinkles under his attention as she chokes back a gasp.

Once the bud is pebble-hard, he releases her and grasps the edge of the fabric; divining his intentions, she too takes hold of the hem, but to hold it in place. "Come now, beauty, let me see you," he coaxes, pushing back his irritation and showing her only innocent joy and arousal. "It... it would not be seemly," she falters, and for a moment he squeezes his eyes shut in vexation. "Not to be rude, dear heart," he says with a hard edge to his brogue, "but I doubt your dear mamma would approve of the liberties you have already allowed."

She steps back, blushing in shame, and he curses himself for his impatience. "Come now, my beauty," he cajoles, "I'm sorry. I just want to see you." She looks at the floor, doubtful. "It is not seemly," she half-heartedly objects. He tips her chin up with one finger and drops another kiss upon her lips. She does not resist at all as he deepens the kiss, and her arms wind around his neck, leaving him free to strip off her next layers of material. She swallows in embarrassment as he steps back to look at her, and her hands flutter up to cover delicate milky breasts, round and well-formed though not particularly large. He bows forward to kiss his way down the swell of flesh, and her small gasps increase to break out into a breathy moan as he wraps his lips around a peaked pink nipple.

Her moans come faster as he keeps on kissing her, kneeling on the floor before her and scattering open-mouthed kisses across her gently rounded stomach, interspersed with a few tiny nips that draw sharp gasps from her lips. He loosens her last underskirts and they slide easily off her slim hips to leave her standing naked before his fully-clothed form. She is mortified, but he smiles up at her, covering her hips with his large hands. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel," he pleads, and she nods nervously. Holding her still with his grip on her hips, he licks and kisses at her skin, moving up each thigh by slow degrees. Her arousal grows, and he pauses to press his nose to the juncture of her thighs and inhale the scent of her. She squirms, unsure whether to tell him to stop or to keep going, but that decision is taken away from her when his tongue flickers out to dip between her feminine folds. He curls it at the tip, and when he drags it across the bundle of nerves close to him she shudders and almost falls.

In a moment, she is laid softly on the bed and watching her lover undress. Much of the male body is a mystery to her, and she watches with fascination as the removal of his shirt reveals well defined pectorals and abdominal muscles. She blushes, of course, when he removes his trousers and his underwear to leave her staring at his erection, which seems to her unconscionably large. He chuckles, drawing her gaze back up to his perfect face, and she colours still further. "Look at you," he says, "that blush goes all the way down." She can feel her skin heated by her blood and his unabashed gaze, and curls up slightly, abashed. He sits next to her and runs his hand over her hair, removing the pins that held it in place and fluffing it out around her head. She smiles up at him, reassured by this small evidence of affection, and he bends down to take her lips once more.

He shifts to swing one leg across and cover her body with his own, and she reaches out to run a tentative hand down his chest. He growls softly, approving her daring even as he is surprised by it, and dips his head to take her nipple between his teeth. He teases her with his mouth on her breasts until she moans in frustration, then slides one hand gently between her legs, stroking at the wet flesh there. His fingers slowly part the folds of her labia and press in, moving up and down but never resting at any one place until she whimpers and bucks her hips, pressing down into his hand. As a reward, he strokes lightly over her clitoris and swallows her moan with a deep kiss.

She cries out when he moves his hand away, scratching her nails down his back, and then cries again as he returns it to push one finger up inside her tightness, giving her a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. He can feel the muscles fluttering around his digit, and he is tempted to simply force his way in - to rip her apart with cock and teeth and end his aching hunger - but he sticks to the plan and strokes in and out with his finger instead. She is liquid, and soon he adds another finger, using his thumb to stroke at her most sensitive point. He is implacable, touching, stroking, penetrating, kissing, building the waves of sensation one upon the other until her vision blurs with need. "Please," she whimpers, not knowing what exactly she is asking for. He removes his hand, and she wails softly in distress.

He guides his cock to her entrance, and she stops moving as he presses slightly in. "Hush," he counsels in a low tone, "wait it out." She does, lying still and breathing deeply as he pushes past her maidenhead, pinching at her clit as he does so to distract her from the pain. It takes some long moments for her to become accustomed to the feeling of his hardness inside her, but eventually she does, and her need quickly builds once more as he thrusts into her, gentle and slow at first but with increasing urgency. She does not know, but Liam can tell from her desperate moans that her orgasm is approaching. He allows himself to indulge in a little more roughness, biting at her shoulder with human teeth, bruising her hip with his hand, knowing that she will not notice as she surfs on the waves of pleasure he is coaxing from her body with his hand roaming across her torso and his lips at her throat.

She peaks, and his control slips, demon features rushing to the surface. She screams in fear even as she falls into her crisis, and he grins savagely, pumping his hips still harder as he feels himself on the edge of climax. Then, he buries his fangs in her neck; the piquant mix of virgin lust and terror slams him into orgasm.

Later, he takes one look back at her dishevelled corpse, hair arranged to hide the bloodstains, legs still splayed open, before leaving the hotel. He snaps the bellboy's neck as he goes.