When he slips his jacket around her shoulders she waits to feel the borrowed warmth from his body and misses it when the cool silk of the lining is just that. Cool. Makes her shiver.

She watches him leave and tugs the jacket tight around her, breathing in the faintest trace of him under the warm, reassuring scent of the leather.

She waits until she's home, with her bedroom door locked, to go through the pockets, feeling dirty, feeling sneaky, feeling... good.

Research, she tells herself, spreading it out on the bed and kneeling beside it. Mysterious men need investigating. Need exploring. Oh God, and wouldn't she like to.

She slides her hand into the first pocket and comes up empty. Same with the next. And the inner pocket, the opening dark against black silk, well, that's empty too.

She rocks back on her heels. Frustrated. Not defeated.

There's a stain on the lining, one her fingers find, not her eyes, because the thin silk is stiff there. She wets a finger and rubs it gently across the centre, bringing it away smudged with reddish-brown.

Blood.

She doesn't even have to think about it, or smell it, or, eesh, taste it. It's blood. His blood, probably, as it's ... hmm, about level with his shoulder.

She gets a quick-flash visual of him fighting, coat tossed aside, muscles flexing. Sees the twist of pain snap his face into new shapes as something scores his flesh; fangs or claw, maybe even a blade.

The shudder that races over her leaves her wet, leaves her wanting to fight, too.

With him, or beside him?

She folds the jacket carefully and places it on the chair beside her bed. The jacket that tells her nothing about Angel but blood and emptiness.

When she wakes, it's snuggled to her, the leather damp with sweat, her thighs clamped around it, her slick heat soaking into it. She moans, sleep-caught, and rocks her hips against the heavy folds, feeling them rub against her clit, supple and strong.

When she sees him next, she's wearing it, and she asks him if he wants it back. He leans in, sniffs, and drags his fingers over part of the sleeve, very precisely, and smiles, looking a little bemused, a little disturbed, a whole lot tempted.

Tells her it looks better on her.



30/6/05

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