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Angel was fuming by the time she got back to her room, her chest heaving and her wings fluttering angrily behind her. Her hands were fisted at her sides, but her fake nails were too thick to bite into the meat of her palms the way she was used to. Just another thing to be angry about. Slamming the door behind her, Angel let out a wordless scream that echoed the loud clang of metal.
Fuck, she wanted to tear something apart. Wanted to burn something to the ground. Wanted to get out and fly, soar through the sky and feel the wind whipping through her hair as her wings carried her places no one would ever be able to follow her to. She just wanted to get away, just wanted a goddamn break from the crazy shit show her life had become ever since Erik and Xavier had shown up at her club and whisked her away with the promise of being normal, of being safe.
But she couldn't. She wasn't able to get out, not since Erik had killed Shaw and locked them all up in a metal prison. Which...maybe she was being harsh calling it a prison, 'specially as she flopped back onto the soft, queen-sized bed in her room that was layered in pillows and blankets softer than anything she'd ever felt, almost all of them gifts from Emma given to her after an argument or, even more often, just because.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
God, her anger was already ebbing away as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest. Angel was used to men buying her affection, used to taking what she needed and surviving off the wealth that lined their pockets. It was why she went with Shaw when he first showed up, why she left what truly was a fancy prison disguised as a base where they were stared at like freaks until they were attacked.
Then Shaw showed up, sauntering into the room like he owned it.
That type of confidence came from wealth. She'd seen it before, with men who could afford to take her away for days on end. She knew that type of money, and she knew how to benefit from it. So she'd gone with Shaw, and she'd done what she had for years, thinking of it as just another job.
Now she was with Erik, and things felt like they were falling apart around her. She stayed, ‘cause she had nowhere else to go. ‘Cause these people had become her family, slowly. ‘Cause Azazel and Janos, who had become her brothers during their time under Shaw’s thumb, stayed too.
Azazel, who wore his red skin with pride, no shame in his mutation. Janos, who read the Spanish off her lips and taught her how to speak with her hands. They were a haven during a hell storm, were the family Xavier had reached into her mind and knew to promise her. There was Raven, who wasn’t the privileged brat she’d been when she was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, but knew what it was like to be looked with disgust, to hide who you were, to use your body as a weapon—even if she used hers differently than Angel, that feeling stuck with you no matter what.
And...there was Emma. God, was there Emma, who had kept Angel from Shaw’s bed the moment she returned, who showered her with luxury she didn't have to sell herself for. And now there was Erik, too, not a rich man but one hardened by life with eyes that had seen too much.
So it wasn't a prison they were trapped in, not when the metal walls kept them safe, kept out the baseline humans who wanted to hurt them just for being who they were, kept them away from the government and the teams searching for them. But it had been months since Angel had been outside, months since she'd been able to fly, and she felt like she was going crazy. Rolling onto her side and hugging the pillow in her arms tighter, Angel figured that was why she was so upset right now.
It wasn't just that Emma kept buying her things, even if that was part of it.
Dammit, she couldn't be mad, not really. Not when she stopped to think about everything for longer than half a second. Now that she was thinking about it, alone in her room and able to sort out her thoughts, she knew she had snapped at Emma so badly ‘cause she was feeling stir crazy.
God, she was such a bitch.
Before Angel could do something real pathetic like start crying just ‘cause she’d yelled at her girlfriend, someone knocked on her door.
Sugar? Emma's voice was quiet in her mind and it was more hesitant than Angel had ever heard it. Without a single thought of keeping her out, Angel opened her mind and welcomed her in deeper. Oh, it's so good to feel ya.
Angel was across the room and pulling her door open seconds after Emma's words stopped echoing through her mind. Taking a deep breath, she let her eyes trail over Emma's form, running over her snow-white skin and the white leather she always dressed in, letting her eyes linger appreciatively over her curves.
Emma looked gorgeous—she always looked gorgeous—but her eyes were tight and her lips were pursed. It made Angel's heart hurt, knowing she was the cause of the tension there. All Emma had done was try to give her a new coat, since it was getting colder out, and Angel had been a crazy bitch and yelled at her for it. As Angel watched, she noticed Emma wasn't moving, not even breathing, and Angel couldn't hold herself back for a minute more 'fore she was rushing forward and flinging her arms around Emma, knowing she would catch her.
“I'm sorry I'm so insane,” Angel said into her neck, breathing in her sweet scent and focusing on the more bitter notes of the perfume she wore, twisting her fingers into the blazer Emma was wearing and holding on desperately.
Before Angel could start crying into her chest and begging embarrassingly for forgiveness, Emma wrapped her in her arms and smoothed a hand down her hair in long strokes. Angel shivered, pleasure running down her back as Emma carded her fingers through her hair and carefully picked apart any knots she caught on, rubbing her back with her other hand and gently massaging the joints of her wings.
“No need to be sorry, sugar,” Emma told her kindly, but Angel shook her head and pressed closer, holding tighter. “Hey, baby, it's alright.”
“I'm still sorry I yelled at you like that,” Angel said quietly, then, I'm sorry of what I accused you of. 'Cause she had called Emma some bad things, told her she didn't care, that she just wanted someone pretty on her arm, that she was no better than Shaw.
Shit, it was a wonder Emma was even here.
“Don't think I don't understand, darling,” Emma told her, and that...maybe it was the worst part. 'Cause Emma came from where she did, knew what it was like to use your body as a weapon and an advertisement, knew what it was like to come from nothing. Emma had built herself from scraps and wore her luxury like an armour that she was wrapping Angel in. God, Angel was awful.
Before Angel could apologize again, Emma was kissing her forehead and then talking again.
“I've never had anyone to spoil before,” Emma said quietly, slowly, like she was feeling out the words. Angel wasn't surprised when she finished in her mind, and it makes me feel good to see you in pretty things and know I put them on you. It... Emma trailed off, but a moment later a rush of possessive pleasure ran through Angel so strongly she had to breathe through it and remind herself she was just feeling Emma's emotions.
“I love you,” Angel whispered, something she'd never said to anyone because she'd never meant it, not until now.
“Oh, sugar,” Emma said softly, her cool fingers cupping Angel's jaw and tilting her face up. When their lips met, it was so soft Angel could’ve cried, almost did, but kissed back with everything she had instead. Emma pressed her mind forward, letting Angel feel just how much she cared for her, loved her, even if she wasn’t good at saying the words back.
She tangled their hands together and took a step back, looking at Emma from under her lashes as she asked, “C'mon, baby, let me make it up to you?”
Really, that was the least she could do. Later, after they were both feeling closer, she'd do something sweet, something that would make Emma blush in a way she so, so rarely did, and it'd all be okay.