||[May. 11th, 2006|04:26 pm]
Feedback: is a beautiful thing.
Word Count: 1254
Summary: Angel reflects on when, in her opinion, she lost her virginity.
Notes: Written for speed_rent
Special Thanks: None
Warnings: Mentions of sex
Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns Rent. I own nothing but an enjoyment for writing.
Technically, virginity was a state of sexual cleanness. It meant to many the status of never being sexually involved. To lose one’s virginity was to partake in sexual intercourse, nothing more and nothing less. That was the conventional definition.
Of course, nothing about Angel was conventional.
She could not see it for its literal meaning. If she did, she would see the vision of an attractive smile, pale blue eyes. She would see the name Jonathan in her mind. She would smile at the image of a loosely dressed young man with pale skin.
She would taste his kiss, urgent and desperate, searching for something, some type of answer. She still could feel soft hands on her face, on her body, touching her with curiosity and wonder. The coolness of his apartment was still there. It washed over her like wind, that icy feeling of being in his home.
His voice had been gentle, but afraid, when he told her he loved her. “Love you...” he murmured through passion, not real love. Boyish confusion, immaturity, those were the items fueling his want for her.
He had been the first man to want her, to need her. He didn’t care that she identified as a woman, he just wanted to be with her. “I...I love you,” her voice had said, desperate, wanting.
It had been bland. The desperate want, the need for this boy overrode everything else. She was eighteen, but he had been her very first lover. In her mind, a lover was something she would never have. She only had the options of a man who wanted her to be a man, or a man who wanted her to be a physical woman. She would never be either. Any other potential lover had suggested lewd things, hurt her, or degraded her. She had left immediately.
Still, as much as she wanted him to be the one, everything about him was cold. The cold, curious touches, the cold blue eyes, the cold words. The cold empty feeling as she lost her technical virginity to him.
The final words he had ever said to her, three months after their night together, were, “Honey, I have HIV, I’m...I’m going home to my parents. Take care of yourself.” The coldest words possible.
She would never forget the feeling, like drowning in an icy sea. She felt her life was over. That fact was confirmed when she got the test results. Her young love, her loss of virginity, was also the cause of the disease that would slowly take her life.
That was not what she felt was her loss of virginity. Something that was supposed to feel so special, should never have been so cold.
She was not sexual involved again, after that first time. Her fear of her disease overpowered her, even when she received smiles, gestures from a few men in the year that followed. She was a sick person, she could not have anyone love her.
Then he had came along. When she told him her name, he had smiled warmly at her, his eyes thankful to see she had come to his aide.
She had taken him to her apartment, his body warm against hers as she helped support him while they walked. They had talked about people and friendship on the way to her place. He had spoken gently, tenderly, about his friends. His sweetness had affected her in so many ways.
They had spoken for a long time, sitting in her apartment while she waited for his clothes to clean. His hand had rested extremely close to hers, sending a spark of heat through her. He smiled at her the entire time, and she figured it would melt her.
He told her he was attracted to her. She told him the same, though she had no idea how deep the feelings ran. He had kissed her before they visited his friends. It was a brief, innocent kiss, but she had seen the sparks, the fire that she had known existed in someone. He brought her alive, and she displayed that for the many hours that followed. It was as if she had never lived before him.
Three hours later, after this brilliant man had attended her Life Support meeting at her side, they had been standing in the cold, and he had wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, protecting her from the weather. He had spoken the words that the young boy had only a year earlier.
“I...I just love you Angel.”
She could not believe it. It was impossible to believe. Here was a man, more amazing than any man she had ever known, with a slight blush on his face as he told her he loved her. She had questioned it, the words leaving her shakily. “What did you say?”
“I said I love you,” he told her, his confidence brimming .
She had thrown her arms around him, and he held her closer. “My god, I love you...” she said. “I love you too...”
Three days later, the experience she had wondered about all her life came to her, beautifully.
They had been sitting on the same tattered sofa they had been when they feel for one another. His hand, instead of being dangerously close, was covering hers. His fingers moved idly over the back of her hand.
Enthusiastic, she kissed him. He shocked her, by not only returning her kiss, but gently pressing her back against the arm of the sofa she was leaning on.
“I love you,” he said, his voice hazy, passionate. “Just love you so much...
She had felt herself melt under his attention before. Now it seemed that his attentiveness would burn. His hands were on her shoulders, and he was kissing her before she could take another breath, deep and hot.
She wrapped her arms around his body, and held tightly. His hands were running up and down her back, the heat forcing her against him. He stopped kissing her. Not able to let that happen, she forced their lips together once more.
He was very tentative with how he touched her, how he held her, and even as he pulled the gold colored sweater she was wearing over her head, he was gentle, careful, afraid. “Baby, I don’t want to do...” he muttered.
“Please honey...you’re not doing anything wrong,” Angel had murmured into his chest, moving there, hiding from the sudden cold that resulted in her lack of clothing. His arms were around her again. “I...just please...” she was incoherent.
She had fallen into his arms, the feel of his body on hers something she never wanted to forget.
It had been a feeling close to heaven. She had felt none of the pain, the insecurity, the fear that she had when she had been with the other man. He had been with her, whispering every moment how much he loved her, worshiped her, and how he would be with her always.
It was right. It was warm, it was safe, and it completely covered her.
It was love.
That was how she defined the moment she was no longer a ‘virgin,’ to a man’s love. The moment the warmth overcame.