TITLE: Sailing (part 2 of Promises and Lies)

AUTHOR: Oni

EMAIL: WasabiOni@n...

RATING: NC-17, for Angel/Joyce SEX.

SUMMARY: Years after the end of the War, Joyce and Angel meet in Jamaica and begin a relationship.

DISTRIBUTION: List Archives, JOYFFA, and my site at www.angelfire.com/id2/WasabiOni. Anyone else please ask, there is a *very* high probability I'll say yes.

FEEDBACK: Want it. Need it. Got to have it. The more detailed the better.

NOTES: I know nothing whatsoever about sailing and it probably shows.

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters in this fic belong to me and probably that's just as well. Because I'd wear the poor boy out, yes I would...

SPOILERS: Vague, through the end of season 4 Buffy and season 1 Angel, but nothing major.

Sailing

Joyce leaned out over the rail into the wind, drinking it in. It was like

flying, she was flying. She closed her eyes and felt the air rushing past, as

they dashed headlong into darkness. Opened her eyes to look past the sails to

the stars, pinpoint brilliants against a black, black sky. So many stars.

How long had it been since she'd been away from city lights and ordinary

concerns and looked up at eternity?

The waning moon stood high in the black sky, a few tattered clouds

scattering its light. The soft crash of the hull against the water, the creak

and whoosh of the sails were the only sounds. They were alone on the moonlit

sea, with the faint lights on the distant shore the only evidence that they

were not the only people in the world. Angel, intent and silent, was

concentrated totally on the task of making the boat do his will. She was his

passenger, sent to sit at the front of the boat while he plied sails, rope,

and rudder to send the boat skimming over the waves.

She felt like a new woman, a distant relative of that sad, lonely person who

had been crying alone in her bed a few nights ago. A young woman,

responsibility-free with an ardent young lover. Angel was the best fuck she'd

ever had, hands down. No surprise really, God knew he'd had enough time to

practice. He fucked like he sailed, with total concentration and it was

wonderfully intense; Joyce suspected she had to be closing in on the Guinness

world record for the most orgasms in a 48 hour period.

She loved his body, loved touching him, loved exploring that vast expanse of

creamy white skin, the hard muscled, flat bellied perfection of him. Though,

sometimes, there were things about that gorgeous body that disturbed her.

Times when she noticed the silence in his chest, when the coolness ceased

being pleasant and seemed to invade her, freezing her to the core. Moments,

when he kissed her with velvet soft lips, and she found herself thinking of

*teeth*; when she looked into those beautiful dark eyes and wondered who was

in there, and what did he really want?

She'd thought about what it would be like to have this, have Angel, for

longer than a few days; to stay with him. But her practicality killed the

thought before it got too far. Even if he wanted her, other than sex, they

really had nothing much in common. They didn't talk much and when they did,

she occasionally felt a certain amiable condescension from him that made her

feel like she was a five year old being indulged by a favorite uncle. It

reminded her that despite surfaces, he was the older by a couple of centuries

(yet another thing that would definitely interfere with her vacation if she

let herself think about it); well she'd been there, done that, and the older

wiser man/younger naive woman thing held no attraction for her. Six days

would be enough, and then she would go home, back to her real life.

But right now, she was busy flying...

Angel held the rudder steady and watched Joyce, topless, posing like a

figurehead in the prow, her back arched, bare breasts offered to the night.

She laughed out loud as the boat dipped and spray splashed her. Angel's lips

curved, he would never have suspected that Joyce had such a talent for -- joy.

She was like a child, greedy for sensation, throwing herself into it without

reservation now that she'd made the decision to do it. No shadows of fate

stained her enjoyment.

Had Buffy ever been truly happy once she was called? Was she happy now,

free of the chains of prophecy? Would she wait in Iowa for Riley, or would

she move on to find another father for her children?

He shook his head to exorcise Buffy's painful specter. Joyce was here, with

him now. It was her heartbeat he craved the sound of when he held her in his

arms; her voice he wanted to hear say his name; her body he wanted to feel

warming his. He wondered what she would say if he told her. If he asked her

to stay with him.

A sudden gust of wind made the boat jibe unexpectedly, Angel's attention was

focused on the sail for a moment, and when he looked back Joyce had

disappeared. Angel felt stark terror as he realized she'd gone over the side.

He scanned the silvery water and spotted her immediately, a dark shape

bobbing far too far away, almost lost in the waves, diminishing quickly in the

boat's wake. He tossed the anchor overboard and dived into the sea. Panic

rose in him as he thought of the eager predators that haunted the dark

undersea; the watching eyes, the hungry shapes lurking on the bottom. He

imagined white teeth gleaming as dark shapes rose towards helpless prey, and

swam faster.

Joyce waited for him, treading water. She wasn't really worried. Falling

overboard had startled her and she'd bitten her tongue when she splashed down;

but she was a good swimmer, the sea was warm, the gentle swell no problem.

She watched him coming towards her, inhumanly fast, cutting through the waves

like an albino dolphin. Or a shark.

When he reached her she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, he

tasted saltwater and the electric shock of her blood in his mouth. She pulled

away, laughed, and he felt the heat of her body pulse through the tepid water,

thought of her scent drifting down, luring the night hunters. She had no

idea, he realized as they swam through the black water, she was totally

oblivious to the threat of the abyss, wide and ravenous beneath them. It

seemed a long way back to the boat, his belly prickling with every stroke

until they reached the relative safety of the boat, a fragile wooden shell

suspended between endless night and the deep sea.

Joyce gasped as Angel boosted her out of the water, throwing her onto the

deck. He followed landing heavily on the deck and pulled her to him, crushing

her fiercely to his chest, wanting to feel her warm and wet and alive. His

hands pulled impatiently at her swimsuit bottom and she gasped as cold fingers

slipped inside her without warning.

"Angel?" Her voice was thin and anxious as he brought his fingers to his

mouth, and tasted her. She trembled in his arms so he felt the friable bones

wrapped inside the delicate flesh pressed against him. She felt like a ghost

in his arms, bound to fade away too soon. He lifted her chin and kissed her

deeply, taking her breath into his silent lungs until she was gasping.

They had so little time. Only a few more days. It wasn't enough.

She looked up at him, open-mouthed, breath coming in quick hard pants,

looking as if she wanted to say something. As if she wanted to ask him

something. He wished she would ask. Yes, he would say.

***

The moon had set, and the wind had died down to a ghostly presence that

flickered teasingly around her hot skin. Becalmed, the little boat barely

moved on the water, its gentle rocking hardly disturbing the melted ice in the

glass she'd left on the deck.

Angel sighed under her, then moved slightly; the new position put her on the

edge of discomfort, the head of his cock prodding at her cervix. He was a

very big boy, she thought as she carefully adjusted herself until it felt good

again (And she would not think about her delicately built daughter with him,

nope, nope, nope). His hands were pleasantly cool on her hips, steadying her

as she resumed her gentle rocking, following the rhythm of the boat, lost

herself in the moment: sky, sea, Angel. She felt like she could do this

forever.

She looked down at Angel, it was hard to make out his face in the darkness,

but she thought he was smiling. She hoped he was happy; she knew she was.

She'd been happier these last few days than she had been for years, and if

that made her Cleopatra, so what? Six days left, and she intended to enjoy

them, to build memories that would keep her warm through winter...probably

more than one.

Angel smiled up at her, taking almost as much pleasure in her obvious

contentment as in the feel of being surrounded by her, the glorious slip and

slide of her moving around him, on him. Joyce began to moan as her climax

approached and began to move more urgently. He reached up to her beautiful,

slightly sagging breasts, tweaking and kneading them as she pressed them into

his hands. Her throat gleamed in the starlight and he could see the pulse

thundering just under the skin. The blood, always there, a temptation and a

delight. Another thing he couldn't have.

He slipped his fingers down to the junction of their bodies, manipulating

her clit in the way he knew she liked best and she rocked and gasped and came,

clenching him inside her, pulling him with her down into abrupt ecstasy. She

bent down and kissed him, and he held her to him. She lay down beside him and

closed her eyes. He listened to the lulling sound of her heartbeat, slowing

towards sleep. Lay awake looking up at the indifferent stars, feeling the

dark sea through the wood, pressing at his back, hungry.

"Stay," he said, letting the word out into the air at last; but she was

asleep, and there was no answer.

Continued in Auf Wiedersehen