Disclaimer: As ever, I don’t own the copyright to
these characters; Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy do. This is fanfic,
with no copyright infringement remotely intended.
Warning: NC-17. With a sappy ending. Bet you
didn't think I could manage that, huh?
Content: The only time Buffy and Angel ever
danced, at the time I started writing this, was in her dream/nightmare
during the third season ep, Faith, Hope and Trick. I felt the poor
girl deserved at least one slow dance in the arms of the man she loves…even if a demon is wearing his face.
This didn’t turn out exactly the way I planned, though. And Buffy did get
her dance in The Prom… But it isn’t enough for me, and if
you've read the fiction that precedes this, it probably isn't enough for you,
Rant: Sorry, have to do this. I just need
to say how much I hate the break up of Angel and Buffy on the show. I’m
looking forward to the spin-off, but I’m wondering if even having twice the
Joss and twice the Buffyverse each week is really worth the pain of seeing
these two characters torn apart. I am devoutly grateful for fanfic,
particularly to beautifully romantic and sensual stories like the ones
Harpy writes, and the steamy ones Laure Alexander writes, and that Lex has
written, so that I can share their visions of a Buffyverse in which Angel
and Buffy are together. I am happy that there are sites like Lynne and
Jill’s Buffy and Angel’s Place and Crystal's Angel's Secrets where
my wounded sensibilities, [flayed to pieces by lines like -- Buffy:
"Angel, I want my life to be with you." (Pause) Angel: "I
don’t."--when you know from the wedding dream that there is nothing he
wants more] can be healed, a little. And I am more grateful than I can say to
bec, my almost sister, for her constant support in creating them.
Sequence II – Dance
Margot Le Faye
Set during the ep Passion, the night following the events in Bitter
Passion. Okay, so I stuck an extra day into the timeline. Creative
license. Or licentiousness. *G*]
She couldn’t go home. Not
yet. Not after last night. She could not walk calmly into her bedroom,
could not lie down to sleep upon the bed where Angelus had forced from her
ultimately compliant flesh every response she had longed to give Angel.
Buffy Summers turned down the street that led to the Bronze, hands shoved
into the pockets of her coat, head bent down, gaze fixed upon the pavement.
She was still alert: it was amazing how much you could tell about your
surroundings from shadows on the ground. But her mood was contemplative,
not combative. The initial, overwhelming need to fight back had been worked
out of her system during that night’s patrol.
Now, the adrenaline of the
fight washed away, there was nothing to keep her from her memories. Nothing
to protect her from what had been done. Angelus had ripped out another
piece of her heart last night. She wondered how much was left for him to
rend. Surely not much, not after all the pieces he had already carved for
himself. Yet every time she thought she had reached her lowest point, every
time she thought she had endured as much pain as it was humanly possible to
bear, he proved to her that she could survive a little more torment, a
little more agony, that the limits of her strength had not yet been
Sometimes she hated being
Buffy drew in a shuddering
breath and walked through the door of the Bronze. Sooner or later, she
would hit her limit. Sooner or later, she would be so deeply sunken in
despair, nothing he could do would hurt her further. Then, maybe she would
be able to drive her stake straight through the heart of the demon in her
lover’s body, and watch unmoving as both exploded into dust.
Buffy gave herself a mental
shake. This train of thought was getting her nowhere. She had come to the
Bronze to distract herself, until she was so tired that last night wouldn’t
matter. Until she could just go home and crawl into bed, forgetting what
had taken place there, ignoring the sweet, delicious ache in her flesh from
the ways he had forced her to rapture… Buffy shook her head, as if to clear
it. She would not let it get to her. She would survive this, as she
had survived so much else. And the first thing she needed to do was get
herself something to drink, something soothing and minimally caffeinated.
Something with chocolate. Straightening up, she cast a glance over her
surroundings as she headed toward the counter to place her order.
She had stayed out on patrol
a bit longer than usual. Most of the kids her own age had already gone
home. It was a school night, after all. The remaining customers were the
young college crowd and their peers, with only a few high school seniors in
the mix. If she were wise, she would do what Willow, Xander, Oz and Cordy
had already done: call it a night and go home. But she wasn’t wise. She was
hurting, and home was no longer a refuge, but a battleground in a viciously
Buffy got a decaffeinated
café mocha with extra whipped cream topped by lush curls of shaved dark
chocolate and a dusting of cinnamon. Taking it over to one of the high
tables just off the dance floor, she set it down then took off her coat,
tossing it onto one of the vacant stools. Smoothing her short leather skirt
over her thighs, Buffy settled onto her stool, picked up the oversized
teacup and took a long savoring sip. Heaven. Warmth and chocolatey goodness
spread from her tummy to her chilled limbs. Not that it was a cold night.
But it had been so long since she had felt warm…
Buffy stared out across the
dance floor. It was empty. The last band to play for the night was on
break, not due back until their final set at 1:00 a.m., by which time she
would, she sincerely hoped, have gotten up the nerve to go home. She was
badly in need of sleep…sleep which would elude her in the bed where Angelus
had taken her, unless she were tired beyond thought. Music came from a
jukebox that held an eclectic mix, but no one seemed interested in moving
to it. After midnight on a weeknight, there just weren’t a whole lot of people around.
The Bronze’s near desertion
suited her just fine.
Her gaze wandered over those
who remained, mostly small knots of people talking, a few playing pool or
working the pinball machines. She was wondering if she should make use of
one of the latter, when the song that had just started playing registered.
She sighed, setting down her cup. The last thing she needed right now was
k.d. lang crooning about Constant Cravings, not when her own craving for
Angel was forever with her, and destined to be forever unappeased. At
least, she thought that listening to that song was the last thing she
needed. But there were some things she needed even less.
She couldn’t blame the song.
It was her own inattention that was responsible. She should have heard him,
should have felt him, should have sensed him long before two arms wrapped about
her from behind, immobilizing her own arms, banding her ribs, and pulling
her up against the solid, well-muscled wall of his silk-covered chest. A
beloved, dreaded voice whispered in her ear, "Hello, lover."
Buffy closed her eyes
against the pain. The arms that were exerting just enough pressure to
confine her, without crushing her ribs, were arms that had once offered her
the most complete comfort, the safest haven, in the world. No longer. She
was in at least as much danger as she had been the night before. But then,
so was he. Buffy gathered her reserves of courage.
"You don’t want to do
this, Dead Boy," she deliberately used the name with which Xander had
taunted him, knowing how much Angel had loathed it. She hit her mark…and
the arms about her tightened just enough to make her bones ache while a low
growl sounded in her ears. She ignored the pain and carried on with the
offensive. "My mother doesn’t visit the Bronze, Angel." He could
not use that threat, so effective last night, here. "This place is
nearly deserted. You are just begging for me to stake you." Amazingly,
her voice didn’t shake. More amazingly, her words didn’t further enrage
him. He chuckled instead.
"Sure it won’t be you
who’s begging, lover? You know I can make you."
She would not cry, she
wouldn’t. "I’m not the begging kind," she rejoined.
"Oh, Buff, you should
know better than to issue a challenge like that. Because now I have to
prove to you how wrong you are." The whisper in her ear was low,
seductive, and it was followed by the cool, wet assault of his tongue into
the sensitive shell of her ear. Buffy couldn’t suppress the tremor that ran
through her at that caress. Verbal sparring would get her nowhere; Angelus
enjoyed it too much.
"What do you want,
Angel?" she demanded as coldly as she could, lulling his suspicions,
making him think she wouldn’t fight back…just before she tried to break his
grip on her arms. But he knew her too well. She didn’t succeed.
naughty," he taunted, gripping her tighter against his chest. Her
bottom was pulled to the very edge of the stool, pressing into his hips as
he stood behind her. She could feel the answer to her question, hard and
jutting against her body.
"What do I want?"
Angel mused, kissing her temple, and rocking his hips slightly forward.
"What do I want?" he repeated, his fingers stroking the flesh
imprisoned beneath his hands. "Well, the Bronze is kinda dead, music’s
unimpressive, and the espresso is a tad on the bitter side, this late. What
could I want? Oh, I know.
"I want a dance,
A dance. That was the piece
of her heart he wanted to shred this time, she thought bitterly. His words
hurt. Because she had longed to be held in Angel’s arms for a slow, sweet,
romantic dance, but they had never quite managed to do that. Their time
together had been spent fighting evil, or stealing kisses. There had never
been time for the simple romantic pleasures of young love. Now, the demon
who had taken over Angel’s body was demanding that she allow one more
cherished dream become a nightmare.
"Nope. Your boyfriend
was too busy mooning over you to actually do anything…interesting. Which is
why I had to wait so long for him to get gone. I don’t deny myself the
things I really want, like he did. And I want to dance with you." The
last words were spoken with unmistakable threat. But Buffy would not tamely
allow him to pollute one more unrealized hope.
"Take a look around, lover,"
she said caustically. "The Bronze is nearly empty. Bet if I staked
you, no one would notice your dust until time to sweep up."
"Bet if I drained your
blood, no one would notice your body until closing," he retorted,
punctuating the threat by setting his lips against the pulsing beat of her
jugular. His tongue swept the skin there, telling her how easy it would be
for him to use his fangs, instead. Why didn’t he? Before she could puzzle
that out, he repeated his demands
"C’mon lover, dance
with me. You know you want to."
The hell of it was, she did.
Not with Angelus, of course. Buffy wanted, desperately, to be able to dance
with Angel. But she never had. She never would. The curse used to restore
his soul was a bit of lost knowledge that couldn’t, according to what Jenny
Calendar told them, ever be recovered. Her beloved was irretrievably lost
to her, replaced by an all-too-intimate enemy. An enemy now demanding a
dance she had no intention of giving.
"You’re wrong, Angel.
You are the last man --well, no, the last thing on earth I want to
dance with." She wanted to make him angry. Maybe he’d do something
stupid so she could fight her way free of this mess. But he was under
breathed against her ear. Suddenly he was lifting her from the stool,
hauling her onto her feet, and now he pulled her yet tighter against him,
until she shivered anew at the feel of his well-remembered, once-loved body
pressed so enticingly against her. "I am the only man on earth
you want to dance with."
Bitter truth. She
acknowledged it to herself, but she would never admit it to him.
"Have it your
way," she snapped, not willing to let him know how his words
devastated her. "But you can’t dance with me in this position. So let
She had amused him again.
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," he chuckled against her ear, "I
thought, after last night, you’d have a clue how nicely we could dance in
this position. Then again, maybe not in the Bronze. All right. I’m gonna
let you go. But before you reach for that stake up your sleeve, you
look around. I didn’t come alone."
Frowning, Buffy scanned the
crowd again. Then she swore silently. A dozen vamps were scattered
throughout the Bronze, chatting amiably with the unsuspecting young people.
"If you go all Slayer on me, my boys will kill the first human they
can reach, and flee before you can get to any of them."
insurance," she taunted. "If I go all Slayer on you, your boys
won’t have any reason to do anything for you at all."
"And you are so ready
to take that risk, aren’t you?" He knew her too well. She couldn’t
risk even one young life, not with the only thing at stake her already
"Can we just do
this?" she demanded.
say," he said agreeably. The arms confining her released their grip.
Bracing herself, she turned to face him.
Bracing herself had been
pointless. It hurt anyway. Her dark and beautiful Angel stood before her.
It would have been easier if he had been smirking, easier if he had been
mocking her. But, instead, his face was grave, unsmiling, and he was
looking at her just the way he used to…the way Angel used to.
He was wearing an Italian
silk shirt in deep wine red, a killer combination with his black leather
pants. He was dressed for seduction, she realized. Any young woman who took
his fancy would have to be flattered by his attentions, would have to throw
caution to the wind and common sense out the window when he suggested they
leave wherever they were, and go for a midnight stroll. Would have to
surrender to his embrace, anticipating kisses and finding something fatally
What would Buffy herself find
in his embrace tonight? Love or death? She was beginning to think that the
difference, with Angelus, was almost negligible.
"Let’s just do this,"
she muttered again, heading out to the dance floor.
He smiled wickedly and followed.
k.d. lang had long since sated
her cravings, and now another, fairly forgettable melody wound to a close.
As Angelus pulled her into his arms, a new song started.
Or rather, a very old one. Buffy
suppressed a groan. Who in the Hellmouth had decided that the soundtrack
from Sleepless in Seattle was suitable for the jukebox in the
When I fall in love
It will be forever
or I’ll never
fall in love…
Even as his arms closed around
her, pulling her into an embrace, even as he pressed her head against his
shoulder, Buffy desperately hoped that she had not fallen in love forever.
But the bitter truth was, she was pretty sure she had.
"The thing about modern
music is, they don’t know romance," Angelus confided as he moved her
gracefully across the empty dance floor.
"Which is, of course, your
field of expertise," she said.
He smiled. "Tell me you
don’t want this," he taunted. She looked up at him, starting to say
that she didn’t, but the mockery in his eyes told her the futility. She
shook her head and let it fall back against his shoulder. It was easier if
she didn’t have to look into his face. He said nothing, just held her,
tenderly, the way she had dreamed Angel would hold her for their first
dance. Buffy forced back tears, and tried to ignore the song’s lyrics. She
In a restless world like this is
love is ended before it’s begun.
And too many moonlight kisses
seem to fade in the warmth of
Everything they were had faded
away… Angel was gone, leaving Angelus in his place. Angelus who never tired
of tormenting her, and whose latest torment was sapping a little more of
her will to fight. She so did not want to cry in front of him, but the
stupid, sappy song lyrics were reminding her of everything she had lost.
And being in his arms was reminding her of everything she had never had.
When I give my heart
It will be completely
Or I’ll never
give my heart
"It’s true, isn’t it, Buff?
You feel everything so deeply. You only give your heart completely, and you
can only give it once."
He dipped her, a romantic move
that left her helpless in his arms, looking up into his face. His
expression was still devoid of mockery; he still looked achingly like
Angel. "I have your heart, lover, and we both know it." Slowly,
he raised her back up.
She shook her head in denial.
"You have nothing of me at all."
"We both know that’s a
When I fall in love…
"I have entrée into your
house. And Willow’s and Giles, in case you’d forgotten." Fear swamped
her at his words.
"I swear, if you hurt
"That isn’t what this is
about," he cut her off. "Right now, I have you in my arms and we
both know that this is where you belong." Pain and rage replaced her
"Since when?" she
demanded. "You hate me for what I made Angel feel. Do you think I
don’t know that?"
"Hate and love, they’re so
very close. And you made Angel feel some things I don’t mind feeling at
all." His eyes held hunger, and not for her blood. Buffy paled, taking
his meaning all too well.
"So, how about it, Buff?
Will you stay in my arms forever?"
It was the cruelest thing he had
yet done. "You bastard," she said shakily. She tried to pull out
of his embrace, but he was prepared. Another romantic dip forced her to
cling to him to keep from falling. "Bastard, bastard, bastard," she
repeated. He raised her again, as slowly as before. He wasn’t unduly upset
by her reaction.
"You haven’t thought this
through," he said, his tone reasonable. "You get what you want,
to be with the man you love forever, and I get what I want. You, and you
alone, in my bed."
A surge of treacherous heat
coursed through her at his words. Oh, Angel… she mourned.
When I give my heart…
"You. Aren’t. The man. I
love," she choked out. "And it wouldn’t be me in your bed. It would
be some demon walking around in my body."
"Is that what you
think?" he said. "That all I am is Angel’s body with a demon
inside? Look, I lost my soul and my conscience, that’s all. Everything else
is the real me. The demon is just an animating force, it doesn’t control
"Liar," she said, but
she was shaking. Giles had told her that a vampire wasn’t a person at all.
That even though the demon had the memory and personality of the original
person, that person was dead and gone, his or her soul floating in the aether.
Angelus’ words could not possibly be true.
But they were seductive.
"All you have to lose is
your conscience, your remorse," he said, his voice like velvet,
wrapping her in soft darkness. "Don’t tell me you don’t hate being the
Slayer, that part of you doesn’t want to just chuck it all and tell each of
the wimps you protect to get off their asses and fight for
themselves." He was remembering, she knew, the times she had vented,
to a sympathetic Angel, all her frustration at having had to give up a
normal life to fulfill her duties. He also remembered her fears. "Why
should you risk your life for them every night?" he said in that
velvet, oh-so-reasonable-sounding voice. "Why should you die for them?
Because you know, sooner or later, you are gonna die in this gig."
That was blunt. Likely true, but where Angel would have moved heaven and
earth to keep it from being true, Angelus would move heaven and earth to
make it so. He lowered his face until his mouth was beside her ear.
"Wouldn’t you like it to be in my arms?" he whispered.
And the moment I can feel that
you feel that
You feel that way, too…
Longing nearly overwhelmed her.
She was shocked by how tempting his words were. Because part of her wanted
nothing more than to be held, forever, in Angel’s embrace, and it would be
so very easy to simply surrender, bare her neck, and let him take her.
Let him make her exactly the
kind of murdering, ravening beast he was himself.
Buffy turned her head away.
"I will never give you what
you want," she told him.
"Won’t you? ‘Never’ is a
long time, Buff."
Is when I fall in love with you…
The interminable song ended at
last, and she stopped moving. She slowly straightened up, and gathered her
courage to look at him. He still wasn’t smirking. He was still more Angel
than Angelus. He could still break her heart. She would have to work at not
"Thanks for the
dance," she said as coolly as she could manage. He laughed and let her
go. She moved away from him quickly, heading back to her table. The jukebox
came on again and more music drifted across the Bronze, something loud with
a driving rhythm and no lyrics she could distinguish, which was a profound
relief. Buffy grabbed her coat, planning to head out and go home, but this
time, she did feel him, just behind her.
"What now?" she
demanded, without turning around, her coat clenched in her hands.
"You haven’t finished you
mocha. Why don’t we take it back to my table?"
"You. Are. Out. Of. Your.
"Am I? Are you sure I haven’t
just found my way back into it?"
She was tired, so tired.
"What do you want?" she said, fighting tears. "Stop playing
games. Just tell me."
Sequence II – Dance
lover," he assured her, picking up her cup and saucer with one hand,
wrapping his other arm around her waist. "I just want you." She
wasn’t sure if she allowed herself to be half-dragged to his table
because she was still worried about the vampires interspersed amongst the
gradually thinning crowd of young people, or if it was because she was too
drained, emotionally, by his psychological and sensual warfare to put up a
fight. Still, she ended up at a table in a dark corner of the Bronze, with
Angel seated on a couch, and she herself pulled unresisting onto his lap.
His body cushioned her, surrounded her, supported
her. Her head rested on the crook of his shoulder as if she had been
specifically designed to fit into his lap. Maybe her patrol hadn’t been as
successful as she’d thought. Maybe she had died, and this was hell. She shivered,
suddenly chilled. Instantly, he draped her coat over her, then reached for
her still-warm mocha, holding it to her lips. Buffy looked into his eyes,
wishing she could hate him, as she took more mouthfuls of the beverage. His
arm was firm around her back, holding her close, his lover-like attentions
calculated to make her long for her own Angel, to make her believe that
Angelus could be what she so desperately wanted. Finished with the mocha,
she looked into his eyes, hoping to find the difference she had clung to
the night before.
They were as cold as she’d needed them to
be. Buffy sighed in relief --let him believe it was in surrender--and put
her head back down on his shoulder. She resettled against him as he put her
cup back on the table, and moved his other arm around her, so that she was
held close against his unbeating heart. Buffy had seen his desire for her
in his eyes, but she'd seen more. He hadn't lied when he said he wanted her
in his bed forever. He might even have thought he meant it when he said he
wanted only Buffy in his bed. But while that was unquestionably true
for Angel, she couldn't believe it was true for Angelus. He had been
obsessed with Dru when he changed her...and had given her to Spike, not
long after. His protestations of fidelity and his gentleness with Buffy now
were simply weapons in the newest battle he was waging; insidious,
devastating weapons in a brutally tender war. Buffy looked out toward the
main room of the Bronze. The crowd was thin, but it was there. The Bronze
wouldn't close before 2:00 a.m. She might be in for a long haul. Wonderful.
Well, she had wanted something to tire her out so she could get some sleep
in her violated bed. By the time Angelus let her go, she would be
If Angelus let her go…
Another slow song came on, but the demon holding
her wasn't interested in dancing to this one. Instead, one of his hands
moved along her back, caressing her through the leather of her jacket. Joy.
More sensual torture. She didn't try to stop him, though. No sense letting
him know how his imitation of Angel got to her. His hand moved gradually
lower, from her back to the curve of her hip, to her thigh. And then he
slipped his hand beneath the edge of her jacket.
Angelus was touching the skin of her leg through
the minimal shielding of her stockings, and it felt so good, she wanted to
weep. He caressed and soothed her flesh, even as he abraded her heart. The
intrusive hand traveled farther up her thigh, skimming now under the hem of
her skirt. Buffy stiffened, but the arm around her back held her still.
"Just relax, lover," he said.
"What the hell do you think you are
doing?" she demanded, raising her head to meet his eyes, but keeping her
voice low. His eyes were no longer quite as cold. Heated lust had replaced
calculation. Buffy's heart began to race. He was all too dangerous like
"I told you last night that you were too much
of a virgin for my taste," he reminded her. "This is another
lesson. Public sex, Buff."
"What!" she said, shocked.
"You have no idea how much fun you are going
to have," he told her. "But I'm going to teach you how the need
to pretend that nothing unusual is happening, the need to be quiet, and the
knowledge that you are doing something forbidden under the noses of a
roomful of people who have no idea what you are up to, can make you hotter
than you have ever been in your life."
"I think that's a lesson I could do
without," she said, clamping her thighs together, hard, against his
traveling hand, trapping it before it could reach dangerous territory.
"Did you forget what's at risk, lover?"
he reminded her, his voice velvet, but the steel beneath obvious. Buffy
shivered. His eyes had gone cold again. In that moment, she knew he would
have his minions kill everyone in that room if she didn't let him do what
he wanted with her…to her. Reluctantly, she eased her thighs apart,
allowing him access to what lay hidden at their juncture.
"Good girl," he said, as his strong,
skilled fingers slipped upward, pressing, through a thin layer of nylon and
another of Lycra, her intimate flesh. A tiny sigh escaped her. Angelus
smiled, and then he bent to her mouth.
There was, apparently, quite a bit of her heart
left for him to tear, and all of it was aching, now. Just so, had Angel
kissed her, with just this mix of hunger and fire and reverence. As if she
were a goddess to whom he owed fealty and his lips upon hers were an act of
both prayer and supplication. Oh, God! How strong was she supposed to be?
How much was she supposed to endure when her very soul cried out to her
lost Angel? She couldn't stop what Angelus was doing without risking a lot
of lives. Why not take the pittance of pleasure this would bring her? Why
not let herself forget, for just a few minutes…? With a helpless moan, Buffy surrendered to that kiss, letting her
lips part beneath his, accepting the invasion of his tongue, entwining it
with her own. Her arms crept upward, her hands tangling in his hair,
pressing him more deeply into the kiss.
And now, the caressing stroke of his hand between
her thighs was not something to be avoided, but something to be sought out,
and savored. Buffy wriggled into his lap, allowing him greater access. His
hand found the waistband of her panty hose and panties, and slid beneath
His fingers brushed through the tight curls,
finding the seat of her pleasure, flicking gently over it. She drenched his
fingers with her longing. He growled approval into her mouth. One finger
found the hot, wet core of her and ruthlessly pushed inside. She clamped
down around it, shuddering. She needed to break the kiss for air. He
wouldn't let her. She grew faint, yielding further into his arms, her hands
slipping from his hair to settle on his shoulders. He was right. She was
aware of the people around them, of the minimal concealment of the coat
draped over her body, hiding the action of his hands. They could be
discovered any moment. She didn't care. He broke the kiss at last, and she
gasped for air. Hesitantly, she glanced behind her at the crowd.
"No one sees. No one knows," Angelus
whispered into her ear. Then his tongue swept the shell of her ear, making
her shiver anew, while a second finger slid into her liquescent depths. He
knew where to touch her, and how. He knew secrets of her body she herself
had yet to discover. He exploited them ruthlessly. Buffy continued to
wriggle, abetting the movement of his clever fingers. "That's right
baby," he crooned, "dance for me." He brought his mouth back
to hers for another breath-stealing kiss.
Hot pleasure coiled inside her, and he built it
with cold skill. She began to whimper, her breath coming in short gasps,
but it didn't matter because his mouth was on hers, swallowing the cries and
no one would hear, no one would know, no one would see more than a heavy
make-out session going on, something fairly typical for the Bronze.
His fingers stretched her, played her, pleasured
her, finding nerve endings that, sensitized by what he had done to her the
night before, hungered for what he did now. And then his thumb flicked once
more, with the greatest delicacy, over the swollen bud of her clit. Buffy
wailed into Angel's mouth, which opened further for her, his tongue pulling
hers into the cool reaches of his mouth, battling with hers there as he
swallowed her cries like the tribute they were. Buffy convulsed around his
fingers, clutching his shoulders, her whole body shaken by a shock wave of
climax. At that moment, had her coat fallen to the floor, and revealed her
wanton behavior to every curious eye, she would not have cared. At that
moment, had he chosen to drain her of her blood and her life, she would
have yielded both.
But she would not, even at that moment, have
allowed herself to drink from him, have turned herself into his partner in
bloodletting. She retained just enough sense of herself for that. And
somehow, he knew. Angelus broke their kiss, and his gaze locked onto her
own. His eyes were savage, and she was afraid he was going to lose it,
vamping out right then and there…with his fingers
still working inside her, not easing her down from the recently scaled
peak, but forcing her to make the climb again.
"You will come to me," he told her
softly, forcing a third finger deep inside her, increasing what was already
nearly unbearable pleasure.
"Never," she told him, just as she
shattered again. Her hungry sheath clamped around his fingers as she shook
with release. She kissed him, sucking his tongue back into her own mouth,
greedy for every taste of him, desperate to hold as much of Angel inside
herself as she could. As if he were the rain, and she the desert, and she
must hoard him against the long season of deprivation. She was shaking,
rocked anew by incredible sensation, her body responsive to his slightest
touch. It went on and on, his fingers ruthless in their torment of her
flesh, climax after climax jarring through her, giving her no rest, no
peace, no escape.
"You're already mine," he broke the kiss
long enough to tell her, then kissed her again.
"No," she denied. But he ignored her,
listening to the yielding wetness of her flesh rather than the soft protest
of her voice. One more orgasm. One more peak. One more convulsion of
white-hot pleasure that had her begging for a demon's touch, and a
monster's caress. He drew it out, demanding every nuance from her,
demanding that she push past the limits she believed she had, and yield all
to him. Helpless, she did, giving him one more wailing, supplicant cry to
devour, shaking, shaking in his arms as if the world were ending and only
he could hold her together through the storm.
Eventually, she lay exhausted, draped across him,
his fingers still inside her, but no longer moving. He nuzzled her hair,
dropping tender kisses along her brow, before he eased his hand from her
body, and smoothed down the hem of her skirt. He brought his hand up,
sticky with her essence, and inhaled the scent like the bouquet of a fine
wine. Humiliation crept across her now that pleasure was done.
"You dance divinely, Miss Summers," he
smirked, slowly sucking the taste of her from his fingers. "And you
taste…good enough to eat."
"Go to hell," she said tiredly.
"Not without you Buff," he returned.
"Never without you." Suddenly, he pushed her upright, so that she
was sitting under her own power. He pulled her coat off her body, and began
to work her arms into the sleeves.
"What are…" she began.
"Dance is over," he growled. "Leave
before I change my mind." She did not hesitate. She didn't know why he
had decided her torture was over for the evening, but she wasn't going to
challenge him, now. At least not about that. She scooted off his lap,
forcing her unsteady legs to lock and hold her upright, adjusting the coat
as she did so.
"I'll be glad to leave. As soon as you call
off your boys." He glared at her, but again, his strange mood held. He
caught the eye of one of his lieutenants, gave a signal. Within a few
minutes, the Bronze was vampire-free once more…except for the one vampire before her.
She said nothing further, merely nodded, turned
and left. With luck, she could still catch up to some stragglers, and get
in a few stakings…
She dusted a few who hadn't been quick enough to
get away from her, but it did nothing to sooth the turmoil inside her.
There was no longer any point in avoiding the inevitable. She went home,
stealthily entering the house so as not to wake her mother…only to find a light on in the kitchen and a note
taped to the fridge. Buffy's Aunt Carol had called. She had flown in from
the Midwest for a conference, replacing another company rep at the last
minute. Joyce was going out to LA, dinner was in the fridge, Joyce would be
home tomorrow night. Buffy sighed in relief. Angel's access to her house
made Joyce a target. Buffy was grateful that she was out of harm's way for
at least tonight. Not that she thought Angel would come anywhere near
Revello Drive, now. He'd had his fun. Still, one less worry for Buffy. She
ignored dinner, and headed for bed.
Buffy was as exhausted as she had hoped she would be,
but that didn't help. She headed to her closet, reached for a nightgown,
rather than her sleep-shirt from the night before. In the bathroom, she
made quick work of cleaning up and changing for bed. She wanted a shower,
wanted to wash from her thighs the reminder of how very quickly her own
body betrayed her, but that would simply have to wait for morning. Buffy
left her clothes on the hook behind her bathroom door, and returned to her
bedroom. She pulled down the covers, and hesitated for a moment. But she
realized the futility, and got into the bed.
The sheets smelled of him, of her lost Angel. The
tears started, then, the ones she had held back all evening. Slow,
corrosive, helpless, pointless tears. Buffy turned her head into the
pillow, clutching it to her as she wept. It hurt so much.
What am I being punished for? she had asked Jenny Calendar, when she had first
learned why Angel had changed, when she had first been told about the cruel
twist to the curse. She still didn't know. What had she done so wrong in
her life, what sin had she committed, that she was condemned not only to
risk her life night after night, in an unending battle against evil which
she knew some day she would lose, but that the one source of comfort given
to her, her love for Angel, should be turned into her deepest source of
pain? There was no one she could ask, no one she could turn to. Her friends
knew she was hurting over being the cause of Angel's losing his soul, but
she could not bring herself to tell them the latest twist in her personal
descent into hell. Sobs wracked her, tearing through her body, as she gave
in to her grief. What am I being punished for? she wondered again.
"Aw, crying because I didn't give you enough,
lover? You should have known I wouldn't let you down."
Buffy gasped, sitting up, her tears stopped by
sudden terror. Angelus was standing at the foot of her bed, smirking down
at her. A glance showed the window she had closed and locked forced open.
She should have heard him come in! No time to wonder why she hadn't. Buffy
rolled away from him, off the bed, coming to her feet in combat position, a
stake held before her.
"Get. Gone," she said. He laughed,
making no move to engage her in a fight, merely standing there regarding
"Don't say things you don't mean, lover. You
don't want me to go, you want me to come. Preferably, while
"I want you as far from me as you can
get," she said, tightening her grip on the stake. "Preferably, in
another dimension. Like, say, hell?"
"I've told you. I won't go there without
"Come any closer and I'll send you on
your--" His right leg snapped toward her in a sudden, deadly,
perfectly aimed kick that sent the stake flying from her hand. An instant
later she was struggling beneath him on the floor...until his mouth came
down on hers again and his pelvis ground into her hips. His hands were
locked around her wrists, holding them to the floor on either side of her
head. His greater weight, his vampirically enhanced strength overmatching
her. She was the Slayer, she was supposed to be a match for any vampire.
Why wasn't she a match for him? Or maybe, the problem was that she matched
him all too well. She felt the tears begin to start again, and her
struggles lessened. She still couldn't fight him.
"I'm coming closer, baby," he warned her
between punishing kisses, "I'm coming all the way inside."
"No," she denied, turning her head away.
"No." He didn't bother arguing. Instead, he shifted, bringing
both of her tiny wrists together in one of his large hands, using the other
to snake between their bodies, into the neckline of her nightgown. He
ripped downward, neckline to hem, and pushed the edges away, baring her
golden body to his touch.
His mouth was on her own with punishing force,
when his free hand slid with aching slowness across her breasts. He didn't
squeeze or paw; maybe if he had handled her brutally, she could have fought
him. But the caress was as gentle as anything Angel had ever offered her,
and what little struggle was left in her died away.
As she went still beneath him, Angelus ended the
kiss. He raised himself up, contemplating the beauty beneath him. Her eyes
were closed, tears slipping beneath the lids. The golden splendor of her
hair was spilled across the rug, the golden glory of her flesh trembled under
his caress. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life or unlife
than Buffy Summers. The demon in him longed to conquer that beauty, to
subvert it, to turn it to evil. He would have her compliance. He would! She
could not keep him out of her house. He would simply spend every night
ravishing her until she yielded to him, until she willingly joined him. He
would kill all of her friends, her ineffectual watcher, her oblivious
mother, until there was no one she could turn to, until only he existed for
her. It wouldn't affect her as it had Drusilla, he knew that now. But it
would tear at her heart, weaken her resolve. She would blame herself for
every death, every torment, because she was the one who had insisted they
make love, she was the one who had released the hold of his soul on his
body, unleashing the demon within.
That ultimate victory would come in time. But for
now, the demon wanted to be sheathed within her. When he forced her, he
strengthened her resolve. So he became tender, kissing her differently,
using light, sweet kisses, adoring her mouth with his lips. She whimpered
slightly. He had hours for this. There was no rush. He took his time, his
kisses languorous, tempting, ultimately eliciting an unwilling response.
Angel's kisses were on her lips, she could taste
Angel, breath in the scent of him, his touch on her body soothing the ache
in her soul. Illusion, she knew. Danger, all too probably. But it no longer
mattered. Because it was becoming clear to her, now. All Slayers died, sooner
or later, at the hands of the vampires they fought. Sooner or later one
came along who was just a bit quicker, or stronger, or luckier than the
others, the Slayer died, and the next one was called. She would never
defeat Angelus. She wasn't meant to. She knew, now, what her destiny was,
what it had always been: she had been born to die in Angel's arms. He would
kill her, and another would be called, someone with the strength to kill
Angelus and protect Buffy's friends. Someone, maybe Kendra, to carry on the
fight. While Buffy's spirit rested, at last, in the aether, and if
there were any mercy in the world, it would rest joined with Angel's…
Angelus sensed the change in her. Not merely the
end of the struggle, but the beginning of capitulation. Her mouth opened
beneath his, her thighs parted to accept him, everything in her softened,
yielded, surrendered. He groaned into her mouth. An instant later, he
stood, pulling her to her feet. She looked at him, her hazel eyes showing
confusion. He said nothing, merely reached to pull the scraps of her
nightgown from her body, then lift her in his arms, carrying her the few
feet to the bed, where he settled her against the cushions.
She still made no struggle. He wondered briefly
why not, but decided it didn't matter. Her tears had stopped. She lay with
her hair spread across the pillows like the sun across the heavens and
regarded him solemnly. He made quick work of his own clothing and joined
her in the bed.
She held out her arms to him.
He almost suspected a trap, but something inside
him, something he didn't choose to examine, didn't care.
He went into her arms and she lifted her face for
his kiss and her mouth was like honey, like nectar, richer than blood, the
taste of her tongue, the sweet recesses of her mouth all of her was
delicious fare, a banquet of delights, his for the taking.
He took her with patience, with skill, with power.
He drove into her tight sheath, her body wet with her need of him, and
began to move slowly inside her. Her strong, supple, Slayer's legs lifted,
wrapped around his waist, as she rocked her hips up to meet each languid,
deliberate thrust. Her arms tightened around him, holding him close, and
for neither of them was it close enough. They did not speak, they did not
exchange love words. He did not threaten, and she did not defy. What was
between them was too intense, too overpowering, too consuming, for mere
He was inside her, her Angel, and death was not
too high a price to pay for having him there. When you kiss me, I want
to die, she had told him once. Because she had thought that nothing
could be better than his kisses. In truth, nothing was better than the feel
of him within her. Without him, she was empty, aching, lost. The truth was
that if she couldn't have him, Buffy didn't want to live. But he was with
her now, completing her. She was whole. And that it was a demon in his
flesh no longer mattered. Angel or Angelus, she was his. As he moved inside
her, exquisite pleasure flooded every nerve in her body. She tightened her legs
around him, trying to get closer, trying to take him deeper, trying to get
through the barriers of flesh and bone and blood until they were joined as
completely as they were meant to be.
Her body gloved him as if her very flesh had been
designed with his in mind. Of the dozens of women Angel had seduced, the
thousands Angelus had taken, none, not one, not any had ever fit around him
as perfectly as Buffy Summers. And none, not one, not any, whether
high-born virgin, or skilled whore, or practiced vampire wanton had ever
given him the pleasure he found each time he took her. Each. And every.
No wonder Angel had lost his soul to her…
Angelus pushed away the thought, concentrating
instead on the silk-wet feel of her around his hungry cock. He drove deeper.
It wasn't deep enough. He began to move more quickly, and mewling, she met
him. It wasn't fast enough. They were skin to skin, his body beginning to
pound into hers and it wasn't enough, it could never be enough, it would
only be enough if he died inside her, died with her, if he were eternally
part of her as she was eternally part of him…
Pleasure coiled inside her, tight, delicious
pleasure. Guilt had long since fled, when she had accepted the rightness of
her destiny. Now, she accepted the burgeoning ecstasy only Angel's touch
had ever brought, could ever bring her. She was going to die in his arms
and she was deeply grateful that there was enough mercy in the world for
that small blessing, that she would die with him eternally a part of her…
His movements grew quicker, more powerful. A
normal human woman would have been bruised by the force with which he took
her; even a vampiress might have had trouble keeping pace with his demands.
But Buffy craved the force and the power, meeting him, her little heels
drumming against his back, demanding more. She was, indeed, his mate. Angel
or Angelus, it didn't matter. She was his. He drove harder inside her, her
breathless cries all the signal he needed to tell him what felt good to
her, how close she was to completion. He drove himself into her
relentlessly, determined to have her final surrender. The rippling of her
silken walls closing around his iron-hard cock told him he would get it.
With a roar Angelus spilled inside her, and the rush of his cold essence,
the feel of him losing control in her arms was enough to send her over the
edge. She came, hard, her muscles clamping around him, and suddenly, she
gave him the one thing, that, even though he had demanded it of her, he had
never really expected she would yield. And that yielding shook him to his
Buffy lifted her head from the pillow, flinging
aside her hair, baring her neck to him. He vamped instantly, unable to
resist the offer, his fangs breaking skin, puncturing vein until the hot liquor
of her life's blood flooded his mouth and he could drink her down.
He was in her body and her blood and had long
since been in her soul and she was in rapture, in ecstasy, in a climax so
deep and consuming that it would never end, she never wanted it to end,
this was the death she wanted, the death she craved. Buffy clung to her
lover, utterly his.
Angelus sensed her surrender, and triumph flooded
him. She was his! Still pumping inside her, still drawing out her release,
he stopped drinking, slashing his own wrist with his fangs. He held it to
her mouth…and she turned her head away.
Anger surfaced, but was washed away by lust. It
didn't matter that she wasn't ready to join him tonight. Soon, she would
be. He continued to thrust into her as the last of his climax ebbed away,
and the final contractions of her sugared walls gripped him.
For long moments afterward, they lay locked
together on the bed, the orgasm they had shared too intense, too draining,
for them to move. He recovered first, rising up to look down on her. Her
mouth was swollen by his kisses, her cheeks were flushed, her hazel eyes,
more green than brown, right now, were slumberous with satiation. He kissed
her, then withdrew. He freed himself from her embrace, stood, and began
pulling on his clothing. She sat up, watching him.
"Why aren't I dead?" she asked softly,
as if she were asking, What time is it?
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," he said sitting
at the foot of her bed to pull on his socks and shoes. "The answer to
that should be obvious. You aren't dead because I don't want you dead. I
want you to join me. Willingly."
She had known that, really. The idea of dying in
his arms was one more dream that would never be realized. She pushed the
pain of the thought away.
"I will never willingly become what you want
me to become," she told him. He chuckled.
"You can't keep me out of your bed, lover.
Sooner or later, you will see." He turned and pulled her into his arms
again, for another devouring kiss. "This is the only way it can end
for us. We were meant to be together, Buffy. My soul drew you toward me,
but you were born for me. You will come to me. Sooner or later, you
She returned his kisses, but said nothing in
reply. Another punishing kiss and he left her, vanishing out her window and
into the night. Buffy settled back against the bed, oddly calm.
She would never go to him, never join him in
living death. But the duty of killing this particular vampire would not
fall to any other Slayer. If Buffy had been born to die in Angel's arms,
something had gone wrong with the plan. The only thing left her was to
somehow gather the strength to fulfill her sacred duty, plunging a stake
through his heart.
She wasn't sure she could survive doing that. And
as long as he had entrée to her house, she wasn't sure she could gather the
strength. A spell to reverse the invitation was now imperative. Another
bitter truth had been revealed to her tonight; it wasn't only Angel's love
for her that had survived the transition to Angelus, it was her love for
him, as well.
She would always love Angel, and Angelus was part
of that, the demon that had always been part of her lover. She could not
keep him out of her heart. Her home and her bed and her body were another
matter, must be another matter. She needed to be strong, needed to
kill him, needed to keep the innocents under her protection safe from his
whimsical, deadly predation.
If only she had known about the curse. If only she
hadn't forced him to make love to her when he had wanted to wait. Of course
she didn't deserve the grace of dying in his arms. In the end, all of this
was her fault…
Aching, beyond thought at last, and beyond tears
as well, she closed her eyes and slept…
Sort of the End
There's more in the
epilogue, but it is, I warn you PURE SAP!
Written for B/A
She stood beside Giles at Jenny's grave. She
hadn't been strong enough, and Angelus had killed Jenny Calendar. Only the
first, she knew. Part of his rage that she had revoked his invitation,
ending the dance he wished to lead her. But she would get stronger, now.
She had given up hope of Angel ever coming back to her. She would do her
duty as a Slayer…
She came back to herself in his arms, and for one shattering
moment there was tenderness in his eyes, tenderness in the way he held her.
He wasn't Angelus; not the creature enraged by her denial of him, and
determined to kill her and her friends. He had to be…"Angel?" she whispered, needing so badly
for it to be him, needing it with the whole force and weight of her bruised
and battered soul. The ghosts had departed, their own dance done, and he
recovered quickly…but not completely. Hatred was back in his eyes,
but he did not reach to kill her, to drain her blood, to force his own
blood into her mouth. He threw her away from him and fled down the hall of
the school, leaving her gasping, hurting, broken behind him…with only the tiny seed of comfort…her beloved, her own Angel had indeed died
And after that…
She had the strength, now, and even the anger,
because it was Angelus she fought, not Angel. He had said he would never go
to Hell without her, and she was finally ready to send him there. She could
drive the sword into him and keep the gate to Hell closed because her Angel
was gone, his soul resting in the aether, and maybe, by fulfilling her
sacred duty at such a terrible cost, she would earn just enough grace to
join him there --Please God! Soon. Please don't make me wait to join him.--
She didn't have time for weakness. Her last attack had driven him to his
knees, she raised the sword for the killing blow --
--and his eyes glowed golden, breath he did not
need flooding his lungs in a gasp.
"Buffy," he said, and her shattered
heart began to break all over again…
Months --a lifetime-- later…
She had done her duty, and kept the prom safe for
her friends, and all of the kids who had never been her friends but who had
shown her that they weren't as unaware or as uncaring as she had always thought.
A little of the pain around her heart let go, as she laughed with Giles,
who was as proud as any father of her accomplishment. Then his face changed
as he looked at something behind her, and he spoke gently, taking her
award. She turned, already guessing what she would see.
Her Angel came toward her, her dark and beautiful
Angel who loved her so much he would leave her rather than keep her from
the full life he felt she deserved and that he could never give her, leave
her rather than risk turning into the monster who had hurt her so
thoroughly, before. She could no longer argue with his choice, however much
it lacerated her too-often wounded heart. But as she moved toward him, she
was so grateful that he had come here for her tonight…
She remembered the dance he had forced from her as
Angelus, and the next tender dance, when Angel had come to the Prom, even
though they thought they could never, ever be together again. Buffy smiled,
radiant, her heart whole and healed and full, the memories no longer able
to hurt her, now that it was over, now that they were here. He smiled back,
completely, happily, in a way that had only become possible for him in the
past few months. He walked toward her as she, too buoyant with happiness to
merely walk, floated toward him, until she was where she belonged, where
she had always belonged, and would always belong: in his arms.
"Dance with me?" whispered her dark and
beautiful Angel, sealed to her forever as their claddagh proclaimed,
while the strains of an achingly sweet, achingly slow song drifted
"Always," Buffy whispered joyously back.
"Ladies and gentleman," the announcer
told the guests, "Sharing their first solo dance, I give you the bride
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