Reading, Writing, and Improving

[icemink]

So let me start off with a fic rec for a wonderful story I discovered recently. darkapple's story Donner, Party of Four is an amazing story. Really if you loved the Fanged Four even a little bit, you really have to go read this.

Along with that story I've been reading a lot more fanfic in the last week or two than I have in a really long time. Most of it has been Spangel, becuase I've gotten so picky in my Spuffy tastes that it's hard for me to find new Spuffy stories that I want to read. However there's so much Spangel I haven't read. And also cause I'm kind of on a vampire kick right now.

Anyway, my point is, while I've been reading I've become a little disatisfied with my own writing, even though I've been writing a lot more than I have been recently. I just feel like my writing has become clunky lately, and that it isn't flowing too smoothly. The thing is, I'm really glad I've noticed this. It's given me a sort of goal in my writing to overcome that. I've always belived the best way to be a good writer is to both write and read. But now I have a specific area of my writing I'm trying to improve, instead of just writing more in the vague hopes that I'll become better.

Here's the funny thing. I have a couple stories sitting on my computer that I've started that are written from a very clear first person POV. Whenever I go back to look over these and play around with them some more I'm always like wow, this really works. I feel kind of conflicted about this. I like writing from that first person POV, although it doesn't work for every story. On the other hand, I feel like it's an easy way out. There's just this different flow and emphasis in the first person POV that gets rid of the clunkyness I'm finding in my other stories. So I'm torn between wanting to dive into this new style, but also wanting to improve my other writing style.

On the plus side, I will finish both Fearful Symmetry and Possession, and I'm not going to switch styles in the middle, so that gives me plenty of time to work and improve my old style.

The real point of this post, is I want to know what people think of my attempts at writing from a first person POV. So I thought I'd post the Prologue to a Spuffy story I've been working on. Here's the thing, even the the story would be a Spuffy story, this Prologue is basically a short Angel/Darla fic that stands on it's own. In fact I don't think either Buffy or Spike are mentioned once in it.

So any feedback would be really appreciated, and let me point out that no one has seen this yet, so it hasn't been betad or anything like that.

Title: Perfect (Prologue)
Rating: NC-17 for sex and violence
Pairing: Angel/Darla
Summary: Begins at the very end of "The Trial" and some dialogue taken from there. Just as Darla learns to accept the fact that she's dying, Lindsey bring Dru to try and turn her. Goes AU when Angel manages to break free and rescue Darla.
Disclaimer: They all belong to Joss, which may be good cause I'm not really sure I'd be nicer to than the he was.


Prologue: Angel

The silence hangs between us, in this dark lonely motel room, and I feel like I can see her dying before my eyes. I have to break the silence.

"Maybe it would be different," I offer. "We don't know. Maybe, uh... because, you know, I have a soul, if-if I did bite you..."

It' the best I have I left, and as always it's not enough for her.

"No," she says, although her voice is gentle, resigned.

"We don't know what it would do to you," I argue. I can't let it end here, like this. There has to be more, we, she can't end here.

"Angel, I've seen it now. Everything you're going through, everything you've gone through. I felt it. I felt how you care. The way no one's ever cared before,not for me." She gives me this tiny smile. There was a time I would have heaped bodies at her feet to ear a smile like that. And now she gives it to me freely, when I have nothing left I can give her. "That's all I need from you."

"That's not enough," I insist.

"It is," she replies simply.

And I wonder how can she be so calm when all I want to do is put my fist through a wall. I'm almost grateful for the pain in my hands and feet, the bruised ribs which are the only prizes I took away from The Trials. There has to be a reason for all of this, a way to make it better, to make it mean something.

"How could the powers allow you to be brought back and dangle a second chance and take it away like this?"

"Maybe this is my second chance," Darla says. But it's not a question, it's as if she knows.

I look at Darla in surprise, mostly because she can still surprise me at all. But then ever since she's come back I've been trying to convince her and me that she's nothing. That all she ever was to me was a really good fuck. Because Darla the whore is safe, she's dirty and beneath me and could never be a threat.

Except she has a soul, a beautiful tortured soul, capable of so much more than she realizes. I look at her, and for the first time in a hundred years there is someone who can understand me, and I've never felt so alone.

"To die?" I asked her bitterly.

I can't let her go. I can't lose her again. It's my fault. If they had only really killed me, they could have fixed her, I'm sure of it. If I had only died she'd be healthy and okay.

"Yes," she says calmly. "To die, the way I was supposed to die in the first place."

I want to believe she's calm because she's suicidal. That I can deal with. That I understand. That I can save her from. But she isn't. She doesn't want to die, she's just not willing to lose her soul to keep on going. She's become wise and it throws me for a loop. Darla is many things: cunning, smart, knowledgeable, experienced, but not wise.

Yet when she looks at me, I can see she's at peace. Not happy, but at peace. She looks at me and I can see she's worried about me, that she's trying to comfort me. And it's all wrong. Everything is all wrong. I'm the man, I should be the strong one, I should be comforting her. Just like the old days when I protected and provided for her.

Of course I didn't, not really. It was all just a game. Darla never needed me that way, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. But we both liked to pretend that she was weak and needy. I know what I got out of it, the thrill of power to have a woman like her need me, but I never understood why she liked it so much. Why she liked to pretend that I was stronger than her?

And I do it again, because it's too old a habit to break now. I get up and sit next to her on the bed trying not to limp or wince too much as I walk on feet that have crosses burnt into their soles.

"I'm not going to leave you," I tell her. She looks up at me and I can see how hard she's trying not to cry, and I think this was a mistake. I hurry to continue, so that she won't cry so that she'll understand that somehow I'm going to make this right. "Every moment you have left, I'm going to be by your side. You're never going to be alone again."

I drape my arm over her shoulder. I want to hold her tighter, but my hand is still too burned from the holy water. I can feel her tears staining my shirt as she presses her face against my chest and I think they burn even more than the holy water did.

And just like that the door bursts open, and before I know what's happening a dark clad man has hit me with a tazer. I can feel the electricity burning through my limbs and my body convulses and shakes.

I'm trying to put it all together. The tazer makes it hard to think, and they're hitting me with it again, and I smell things. Familiar things. Lindsey! Of course he'd be here. Of course he'd show up and ruin things. But it isn't until a bit of velvet brushes by my cheek that I suddenly understand what is happening.

I've been turned so inward, so focused on Darla that I never even noticed her presence until she glides by me. Drusilla.

I can't let them do this. And I can't stop it either. Lindsey is speaking, but I can't hear him. I'm drowning in despair and I can't watch this, but I can't look away.

I can smell Darla's fear and then her blood. That's when something snaps. Drusilla is my Childe and she has no right to take what is mine. Both the demon and I break free at once.

Somewhere in between tazerings they taped my hands behind my back, and it might have worked, except that the skin of my right hand has all but been boiled off. I can't rip the tape but my skin gives way a lot easier.

It's not me in control at the moment anyway. The pain only spurs the demon on. Besides, when the scent of my blood fills the air Dru stops and turns to look at me. Her face is stained with Darla's blood, but it's obvious that she's forgotten why she's here.

"Daddy," she calls out hopefully.

But I don't have time for her. My left hand closes about her throat and she's flying across the room, knocking over the goons Lindsey brought with him. As Darla and I half run, half stumble out of the room, I notice that Lindsey is retching. I think of him as having a stronger stomach, but then I see the ripped flesh and bloody muscle of my right hand and it occurs to me that he might be a little sensitive when it comes to hands.

By the time we make it outside to my car, Darla is half carrying me. The surge of demon adrenaline is gone and all I think about is the blood running down her neck. Sire's blood. I haven't tasted it in over a hundred years and I'd do just about anything for it now.

All of sudden Darla's hand is in the pocket of my pants, confusing me as it brings my attention to my cock, which has been slowly hardening ever since the scent of her blood first hit the air. For a moment, my mind is addled with the notion she's about to give me a hand job, until I realize that she was only after my car keys.

I start to protest as she hurries to the driver's seat of my car, but she gives me this annoyed look that clearly says, 'Now is not the time to mess with me, boy' so I just get in. And she's right. There's no way I could drive with my right hand in the shape it's in. That doesn't mean I don't wince as I hear the tires squeal as she hits the gas and sends the car flying into the night.

The pain in my hand is agonizing, so I try to ignore it, and think of something else. The problem is when I don't think about my injury, it's Darla's that grabs my attention. I can see now that the bite isn't deep. Dru barely got her fangs in, and Darla's in no danger of bleeding out. It surprises me, because it's evidence of how quickly I lost control, how quickly the demon took over and stopped Dru.

Not that I'm not thankful for once. But still, it's not good knowing that I can lose control that easily when Darla's around. So I focus on something else; I watch Darla drive.

It's a little strange watching her drive. I don't think of Darla as being able to drive, which is ridiculous because she's probably been driving for as long as me, longer maybe. It's not as if I was out buying Model-T's when I was living in the gutters and dinning on rats.

But she knows what she's doing, and we're soon on the highway, and Darla has us going over a hundred as if she does this all the time.

It's a surreal reminder of just how different the world was when we were last together. It makes her seem far away, and reminds me that she has an entire century of life about which I know almost nothing. She must have had lots of cars, and I try to guess which ones she would have stolen.

But the cars I see Darla in are all the ones I've wanted over the years. I finally decide on a Viper. That's the car for Darla, although I can't quite figure out if it should be red or black.

Darla takes a random exit, and as we emerge onto the city streets I watch her hand on my stick–my car's stick–as she down shifts and all I can think about is fucking Darla on the hood of a Viper. Who cares if it's red or black? My left hand is drifting down towards my cock that just wants out of the tight confines of my pants when I'm startled out of my fantasy by her voice.

"Your hand?" she asks, and I realize that we've stopped.

Realizing after a moment it's my injured right hand she's talking about I respond, "In the trunk."

She gets out and goes to retrieve the first aid kit from the back.

I'm annoyed. I can't quite seem to find my way back into the fantasy. I'd done such a nice job of compartmentalizing the throbbing pain in my hand that I'd almost forgotten about it. One of the advantages to being a vampire. But now the pain is in the fore front of my mind and I can't quite seem to shove it back down.

Then she crawls back into the front seat with me and I can smell her blood again. She wrinkles her nose in distaste and removes the tape with the patch of my skin still stuck to it on my left hand. Then she begins to bandage my right. As gentle as she tries to be, it just makes it hurt more.

It doesn't matter because now she's close to me. She's kneeling in the middle of the front seat and reaching across me to get to my hand. Her skin is so close I'd barely have to move to lick it. The wind caused the blood from her neck to feather backwards, but now the wound is starting to bleed again, and I watch as a tiny red stream flows down her neck onto her chest. Just as the trail of blood is about to disappear into her cleavage I realize I can't take it anymore.

I snake my good arm around her waist and pull her into my lap, as my tongue reaches out for the trail of blood on her breasts. I moan as the first taste hits my tongue and I'm half amazed I don't come as I feel her heat settle on my cock.

For one blissful moment my whole world is the salty taste of her skin, the power of her hot blood, the scent of her desire, and the feel of her body against mine. And then I feel her knee in my gut.

"Let me take care of your hand first," she orders me.

I give in. Because it's easier, and I need things to be easy now. I can't let my mind wander beyond this second, this moment. I can't deal with all the pain that trying to claw its way into my head. Not just the physical pain. That's too tied in with my arousal. Darla, blood, pain, and sex are all tied together in my memories. It's this huge gnawing sorrow that I won't acknowledge, because maybe if I pretend it's not real, it'll go away.

Besides, Darla doesn't give orders often, but when she does it's best to obey. Not because I fear the punishment, but because the rewards. . . oh god the rewards Darla can give are worth just about anything.

It seems to take her forever to finish, and I can't help but wonder if she's taking her time on purpose. Sexual torture was always Darla's favorite. But then she's finished and when she looks away from my bandaged hand to me I can see there is nothing but seriousness and concern in her eyes.

I feel like a jerk. Here I am thinking about nothing but getting laid and she's the one who's- I can't think that. I can't accept that. And I can make her happy. She doesn't have to be serious and concerned. I can make her forget, at least for a little while how bad things are.

At least that's the lie my cock tells my soul to make me feel better about the fact that I'm an insensitive bastard who's determined to fuck her one way or another.

But I try to be good, try not to be greedy. Her hands are covered with my blood and I take one of them in my one good hand and I kiss the palm. The taste of my blood isn't nearly as sweat as hers, but I hope it'll satisfy the demon, if only for a moment.

I hear her breath hitch in her throat and I look up at her and I have no words for what I see in her eyes. She's looking at me as if I really am her angel. But then her eyes go hard and she's realized that whatever she thought the gesture meant, it was just about blood, that I'm still just me, just Liam.

I want to tell her she's wrong. That I could be more, I just need her to love me. But you don't ask Darla for love; that only leads to torture, and not the good kind.

She tosses her hair back and offers me her bloody throat. "Just take what you want," she says.

What I want is to tell her that she is all I want. I want to tell her how beautiful she is, and not just the physical beauty the Master preserved for four centuries, but her soul. I can see it in her eyes, and I know how good she can be. She just needs a chance, and I don't know how, but I'm going to make sure she gets it.

But I don't say any of those things. I just reach for her and my tongue is licking the trail of blood up to the wounds on her neck.

I only intend to suckle at it a little. Just take a tiny bit. What can be the harm in that? But as my tongue grazes the flesh torn by Drusilla's fangs, the demon comes out again, angry that Dru would dare to try and claim what is mine.

My fangs slice into her already abused throat and her blood courses over my tongue. Human or not she is still my Sire, and if anything being alive only makes her blood more potent and I can feel my wounds starting to heal.

She screams. But there's no fear, just pure desire and I can feel her wet heat spreading over the front of my pants as she grinds against me. She must not be wearing any panties, and my good hand falls to her leg and rises under her skirt and up her thigh just to check. Nope, none at all. That's my girl, open and wet and ready for me.

I'm starving for her, and I want every last drop. Luckily there is one thing more powerful than my demon, my cock and little Liam is very clear on the fact that he wants her hot and alive and squirming. So as much as I want to continue drinking from her, I start to press the wound shut with my tongue. If I wanted I could lick it shut so that it would heal perfectly, no scars to show I'd ever bitten her. But I don't want that. She's mine, and I don't want anyone to be confused about it again.

With her blood racing inside of me, I feel strong, like I could take down the Senior Partners with one hand tied behind my back. Instead I lift her up and some how manage to get us over the front seat of the car into the back. It's not graceful, but I don't care. I have her sitting now on the back of the car her legs dangling inside as I kneel down in front of her.

I don't give a fuck about what some assassin posing as a guru says about a vampire who drives a convertible in LA. I love my car, and I certainly couldn't do this with the top up.

I thrust my tongue inside of her so that I can taste how wet I've made her. She tastes like heaven, but even so I don't have the patience to eat her out properly. All can I think is how good it's going to feel to have my cock in her. That doesn't mean I'm totally insensitive to her, especially since I know I won't be able to last long once I'm finally inside her.

I move my mouth up to her clit, sucking it into my mouth. She moans, and I'm willing to bet that she's biting her lip. I can feel her trying to fight the sensations I'm sending through her body. But this is one battle I'll always be able to win. I know her body so well, I can bring her off quickly or make her suffer for days. I promise myself that later on there will be time, and I'll tie her to a bed and spend hours just worshiping her with my tongue, but not now.

I flick my tongue against her clit one last time, and her heels scrape my back as she comes. I give her just a moment to relax before pulling her down into the back seat of my car. She's lying on her back now, one leg up where she'd been sitting a moment before and her other leg dangling down so that she's wide open to me.

My hands fumble with my zipper, but my bandaged fingers can't seem to get it to work. Then her delicate hands are there, undoing the front of my pants and pulling my cock out. I gasp as the cool night air hits the head of my cock which is wet with precome and at the heat of her hand around my shaft.

Then she's guiding me down onto her, into her. I push my way inside and I feel like I'm going to die. She's so hot and tight, I don't think I've ever felt anything so good.

Thank god she's so tight. It's just one more bit of evidence that she hasn't been fucking Lindsey. Unless of course he has a pencil-thin dick, and Darla wouldn't put up with that. In fact right now she's going on about how she forgot how big my dick is.

As much as I love hearing that, I realize I haven't kissed her yet. I bend down to plunder her mouth with my tongue, and we engage in a series of broken kisses as I pound into her. I have to be careful though, she's human now, and I can't just let myself go. I couldn't forgive myself if I hurt her.

And just like that I can feel her inner muscles fluttering around my cock and she's coming again, screaming and clawing at my back. Another thrust and I let her take me with her. As I collapse on top of her it amazes me how you can get rid of a hundred years of tension in a few short minutes.

After a moment I'm afraid that she might be uncomfortable so I push myself up and look at her. She takes my breath away. She's always been the most beautiful like this, with her make-up smeared, her hair in disarray, and that look of bliss on her face when she's been thoroughly fucked.

And then my heart breaks, because I love her, and less than an hour ago I promised her I would stick with her to the end, but now I know I have to break that promise. I can't be with her. I can't watch her die; I'm not strong enough. I know that when the end gets near I won't be able to let her go. I'll turn her, I'll damn her, and things will never be right again.

I pull myself off of her, and struggle to tuck myself back in. I can tell that her blood has done wonders for my hand, but the bandages still make it clumsy. She sits up and helps me but I try not to look at her. I don't want her to see that I'm already saying good bye.

Comments

[lafemmedarla]

Angel. Darla. Sex in a car. Angst. This is made of win.

[icemink.livejournal.com]

LOL thanks. I liked playing around with Angel's car obsession and mixing it with Darla and the sex. This is what I'm planning for my next WIP and it's very high on the angst.