Reparation(11)

“I'm okay, Ang. I'm happy here. Everything is great,” she whispered, massaging her fingers back down his spine. He shivered under her touch.

“You can always come live with me,” he said softly. She laughed low in her throat and pulled away a little, running her hands up and down his sides.

“Do you think your girlfriend would appreciate that?” she asked, watching him from under hooded eyelids. He ran his hands under her hair, lifting it away from her shoulders and piling it all on the back of her head.

“I don't think she'd care, but more importantly, I don't care. You've been my best friend for a million years,” he replied. She smiled, running her teeth over her bottom lip while she pressed herself against him.

“Sometimes a little more than a friend,” her voice was soft. He laughed, scratching his fingers over her scalp.

“Most of the time. God, we used to have fun,” his voice fell into a murmur as his eyes wandered over her face.

Please, don't hate me after this. I have to get my soul back.

“Used to?” she asked, her voice soft as she ran her hands along his body.

“Tater tot, we haven't had fun since Satan came to town,” Ang chuckled, his hands moving to the back of her neck.

“Hmmm, he's not in town right now,” Tate reminded him. He narrowed his eyes.

“No, he's not, and I doubt he would appreciate me seducing his succubus in his lair,” he told her.

“I doubt he'd care. Besides, succubi are supposed to sleep with lots of people,” she pointed out.

“Succubi? Is that how you pluralize it?”

“Succubuses sounds weird.”

“Like a slutty bus.”

“Slutty buses.”

“Wait,” he stopped. “Did you just imply that you want to sleep with me?”

“Ang. If I laid it on any thicker, I'd be staked out on the mattress,” she said bluntly.

“I thought it was 'against the rules', or some bullshit,” he said, glancing around the room, like he was checking for hidden cameras, or waiting for Jameson to pounce out of the shadows and eat him.

“That was before; besides, since when have you cared about what upsets Jameson?” she evaded answering him.

“I don't. But I don't want to piss off Ellie, either. She's not exactly as free a thinker as you and I,” he laughed.

I'm counting on that.

“That's not fair. She wouldn't know you if it wasn't for me – she owes me a finders fee,” Tate mock pouted, sticking out her bottom lip. He pinched it between his thumb and finger.

“What's going on with you, babydoll? Satan not giving it to you good enough?” he questioned. She tilted her head down, drawing his thumb into her mouth and sucking on it. He hissed air through his teeth. She let him go and he dragged his thumb down her chin.

“How about you stop worrying about him for tonight. I know I have,” she said in a husky voice.

Like that would even be possible.

She knew she had him. The temptation to put something over on Jameson was too great for him. She knew Ang very well, knew how to get to him. They hadn't slept together in a long time – since August. They had quit cold turkey, and he hadn't had a say in the matter. In fact, he'd been pretty angry about it for a while. Here was his chance to strike back. Fuck Tate, in Jameson's bed. In Satan's home. Much too hard to resist. She closed her eyes as his head lowered towards hers.

Please, please don't hate me.

“It's haaaard out here, for a BITCH!”

His pocket started blaring Lily Allen. Talk about a mood breaker. They stared at each other, in the darkness of the bedroom. The only light was coming from the closet and the windows. The chorus to the song repeated itself, and she realized it was his phone. He licked his lips.

“Ellie,” he said, then pulled away, walking into the closet to take the call.

Moment gone, plan ruined. She huffed and fell backwards onto the bed. She tried to ignore how elated she actually felt; she wouldn't have another chance like that one for a while. It would've been perfect. Fuck Ang in Jameson's bed, piss off all three of them. Originally, she wanted to do it in the library. She hadn't even gone into it yet, so if Jameson found out she had not only gone in there with Ang, but slept with him in there, game over. But she couldn't make herself go in there yet. The bed was a close second.

“How's the little woman?” Tate asked, staring up at the ceiling as Ang walked back into the room.

“Okay, she has a cold,” he said, standing in front of her legs. He reached down and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her upright.

“Does she pee when she sneezes?”

“What? No. What the fuck was all this about?” he demanded. He had taken off the jacket and was holding his car keys in his hand.