own. As if!
This is for the CYA ficathon, requirements were Angel, Buffy, season 3,
angst. Hope this fits.
This is very, very different for me.
Love to tkp.
It would have wound up in the round file, otherwise.
Comments very much appreciated.
As soon as Angel walked into the graveyard, he was instantly aware that
Buffy was already here. He was surprised. He was well aware of her
patrolling schedule and this wasn't a cemetery she visited until much later
in the night. But whatever the reason, she was here now and therefore, he should
He didn't. He hadn't seen her in six days and the ever-present ache was
blossoming into physical pain. He stood dumbstruck as she took on two
vamps. She was wearing a full, short skirt, which swirled around her legs
as she twisted her body and kicked. He couldn't remember the last time she
had patrolled in anything other than pants and he watched the strong line
of her calf muscles and the way her skirt lifted a bit, offering him a
tantalizing view of her thigh. It was obvious she was playing with the duo,
taking out her frustrations on them. Anger overtook him for a split second.
It was her fault that both of them were feeling miserable. He had done
exactly what she had asked, gone along with the charade and played Faith
for a fool. And now Buffy was punishing both of them for it.
He pushed his hand through his hair and forced air up through his nose,
allowing himself to clamp down on his emotions. He had no business being
angry. He knew that even pretending to lose his soul had to be traumatic for
He wished that he could just touch her. Let his fingers sift through her
hair or stroke her arm. Sometimes he wished he had never met her because
before he didn't know what he was missing. Now he did and the knowledge was
close to unbearable. She finally tired of the game and staked both of her
opponents with barely a glance in their direction. Angel shoved his hands
in his pockets and turned to go.
"Stalking me? I thought you were going to give me some space."
The coolness of her voice unnerved him and he found himself unable to
defend his actions at all. In the larger scheme she was right. As soon as
he had seen her, he should have left.
"Buffy…" He was unable to say more. His gut twisted as he noted
the eyeliner and red lipstick she was sporting, the skirt that sat an inch
above her knees, the hunter green silk shirt, unbuttoned to show off the
tops of her breasts. He now understood why she was here so early. She was
going dancing at the Bronze. His eyes shut, a picture of her grinding her body
against the young men who populated that place invading his mind. "I'm
sorry," he choked out and melted back into the shadows.
Fifteen minutes later he was back at the mansion, in the process of
lighting the fireplace, when he heard a slight noise. He jumped up, unsure
why she had followed him.
Her voice was pitched low, one of her hands twisting the ends of her hair.
"I have to know what happened with Faith. I know it's not your fault,
but I just…"
He wasn't sure how to feel about her request. Did she trust him that
little? He turned away from her, his hands curling and uncurling at his
sides. "Faith showed up here about a half hour before nightfall, just
like we had guessed. She wanted to apologize. She had made a play for me
the day before and I had made it clear that I had no interest."
He could hear Buffy's breath catch. Maybe telling her everything was a good
idea. She had no reason to feel insecure. Not when it came to his feelings.
"It turned out the apology was a fake. Giles' friend was with her. He
put on a light show and I fell to my knees. When I stood up, I pretended
that I lost my soul."
"And then what happened?"
He looked at her carefully. Her earlier anger and fear were gone. Something
else was there, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I went into
game face. I kissed her but it didn't mean-"
"And Faith kissed you back?" her quiet voice ending his rapid
tumble of words.
"Buffy." He was pleading with her.
"She kissed you back." It wasn't a question this time. "Did
she kiss you like I kiss you?"
"No." His response was almost too low to be heard.
She laughed a little at that. "Didn't think she would. Kiss me like
you kissed her." Angel stood impassive before her, seemingly made of
stone. "Angel, I need to move past this."
He finally gave her an almost imperceptible nod and then let the change
wash over him. Taking one step toward her, he grabbed her by her upper arms
and began to kiss her.
He had kissed her hundreds of times. Some of his kisses had been shy
affairs, as if he was a young schoolboy instead of a deadly predator. Some
had been sweet, some had been passionate, all had been fueled by love. He
had never kissed her the way a vampire kisses. This kiss was brutal and
forceful, completely selfish with no consideration for her. He mauled her
mouth, gripping her arms hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises.
After a second, she was kissing him back with equal lust. A lot of their
kisses had been fueled by an overwhelming need for each other, especially
as time went by. This was completely different, an animal carnality that
his body instantly responded to, even as his mind rebelled. He was
desperate for some indication that her feelings toward him hadn't changed;
this display wasn't that. She began invading his mouth with her tongue as
he began to push her away. Instead, a fang cut the tip of her tongue.
Intellectually, he was aware that vampire saliva contained a mild
anesthetic, so that victims wouldn't thrash around from pain. But at the
moment, she could have been screaming in agony and he wouldn't have cared.
Her blood felt so hot in the cool interior of his mouth that he wouldn't
have been surprised if it had been burned. He tasted the rich metallic tang
of human blood, but this was so much more. It was like comparing bathtub
gin to 150-year-old Irish whiskey; there was a passing similarity but that
was all. This was sweet and thick on his tongue; he could taste power and
death and magic, spiced with her arousal. He managed to hang onto enough
self-control not to slice her tongue into ribbons but he did massage it
with his own, squeezing out each delicious drop and savoring it. It wasn't
until the small wound had closed that he fully pulled back.
She was breathing heavily, her hair disheveled and sexy, her eyes dark with
desire. Her lips were still dark red, reminding him of the small amount of
blood he had just indulged in. His senses were spinning and he was finding
it hard not to crush her mouth under his once more.
"What happened next?" Her voice was low and husky.
For a moment, he had no idea what she was talking about. And then he
remembered. Faith. He dreamed about Faith once in a while. Not because he
had any feelings toward her, he didn't. When it came to matters of the
heart, there was Buffy and that was the end of that. But when he slept and
his subconscious had free reign, Faith sometimes starred in his darker,
more perverted fantasies. Not that Buffy wasn't ever a part of that, but
when she was, he felt tremendous guilt. Faith, on the other hand, would
more than likely enjoy being handcuffed and flogged. He desperately tried
to turn off the images that his mind was unhelpfully unspooling.
He considered lying to her. Not because anything untoward had happened.
There was no way he would have let anything occur. But he had a sense that
something beyond his control was about to ensnare them, something that
would change everything. Nothing would ever be right again. He had promised
her over a year ago that he would never lie to her again, and so he closed
his eyes as if not seeing could protect him. Protect them.
"She managed to sweep my legs out from under me. I landed flat on my
back and she was sitting on top of me."
Before his brain had time to process what was going on, he found himself in
the same position he had been six days earlier, once again with a slayer on
top of him. There were a few differences, however. Faith had been wearing
pants. Buffy's skirt was spread around her as if it was the petals
surrounding an upturned flower. As a result, he could easily feel every
intimate moist fold as it pressed against his erect cock. The underwear and
pants that were barriers between their flesh didn't seem to be helping in
terms of leaving anything to the imagination. She was bent over him, hands
on his chest in the same position Faith had been, her long hair swirling
around his shirt.
"Faith bent over to kiss me again but I pushed her back up."
"She let you?" He could hear the disbelief in her voice, but her
warm breath on his face was distracting him. He smelled peppermint and
blood, sunshine and sex. He closed his eyes in order to focus. He wanted
nothing more than for her to keep sliding her wet panties over his groin,
which was exactly why he needed to end this now.
"Told her we'd have plenty of time for play later, but now we had an
important date to keep with the power behind this town." Angel spoke
in a rush, planning to shift himself back off the floor. Instead, Buffy
pinned him down with her hands and thighs.
"If you had actually lost your soul, is that what you would have
Her eyes looked so dark that they were almost black with want, the heady
scent of her body filling his senses.
"No," he whispered.
She smiled at him, an expression both feral and dangerous. "Show me.
She leaned in and kissed him in the same punishing manner he had kissed her
only moments earlier, while pushing her lower body hard into his crotch. He
was finding it hard to think rationally and when she finally pulled back,
he stared mesmerized at the single drop of blood that was now present on
her lower lip. He had no idea how it had gotten there and he didn't much
care. He picked his head up off the floor and slowly licked it off. He
swore he could feel it rushing through his veins, filling him up, making
him dizzy. He felt like he was floating. He stared at the now swollen,
slightly bruised, blood red lips. Faith's lips, he thought. She was the one
who had lips that color, lips that screamed sex and invaded his dreams,
threatening him. Threatening Buffy. It was Faith's fault that Buffy was
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but all it did was make
everything in his field of vision red, red, delicious red. He was just so
tired of never having anything. She had asked him to show her and he could
feel the hot wet slick of her sliding over his dick. It felt like hours had
passed but it was only seconds when she bit him hard on his neck.
He growled deep in his chest as he finally broke. He pushed her roughly so
that she slid off of him onto her hands and knees. She kept imploring him,
wanted him to be what he tried so hard not to be, all this time it was
Faith standing in front of him looking for a hard fuck. She barely had time
to register anything while he ripped his own pants open, pushing them along
with his boxers down his thighs. Buffy was just starting to push herself up
when Angel forced her to her knees and in one fluid move stood up and
shoved himself into her mouth.
Neither of them moved. If someone had walked in on them at that moment, the
tableaux would have looked a bit ridiculous. But no one did interrupt and
finally Angel felt her tongue wrap itself around him. Even better was when
she accidentally nipped him.
He hissed as her wet slippery tongue bathed him. Out of the corner of his
eye he spotted a flash of silver. Chains. Chains he used on Buffy, his
Buffy. Faith's eyes were dark with hatred, her pussy wet with want. Angel
knew her secrets.
He dreamed of Faith's scarlet mouth, her traitor's mouth sliding over
Buffy's rosebud pink lips, her tongue exploring each slick surface (her
tongue was curled heavy around his dick, sliding, teasing, tasting),
sucking and licking and devouring all that sweet-salty cream. Buffy's head
was thrown back, screaming, screaming, screaming as she pushed her pussy
hard into Faith's greedy, grasping mouth.
He stared at the crimson slash that his cock had partly disappeared down
(Faith's mouth, his brain unhelpfully whispered) and felt himself harden
more. It had been an eternity since a hot mouth had sucked him down. He
kept one hand at the back of her head; the other moved to the front of her
blouse and in one fierce pull, yanked her shirt open. Pulling the cups of
her bra down, her exposed breasts were pushed together in a tantalizing
Buffy. Faith. Buffy. Bruise-swollen lips wrapped firmly around him, no
talking like this, no way for her to remind Buffy of all the things she
could give her. All the things that Angel couldn't do, not any more.
Her heart was pounding out a rapid rhythm as he slowly teased the tops of
her tits. She moaned a little and it gave him the opportunity to push his
cock in just a little deeper. He was carefully circling her nipples and
when she shivered, pushing her thighs together trying to get some release,
he pushed all the way into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. He
looked at her face, her eyes opened wide suddenly, the pupils huge. He
could smell her panic but his hand was firmly holding her head in place.
"I'm going to show you," he murmured, fucking her mouth in
earnest now. His other hand had dropped under her skirt, his long fingers
lightly skimming her swollen lips. The smell of her fear combined with the
smell of her cunt was one of the best aphrodisiacs in the world. As he
flooded her mouth and throat with his release, he pressed hard on her sweet
spot, her body spasming and jerking around his hand.
A minute later he was still standing in front of her, grateful that his
shirt hid his softening dick. He stared at Buffy, taking in the ripped
shirt, the hiked up skirt, her disheveled hair. She looked like a rape
victim. The only sound was her heavy breathing. He had just brutalized the
woman he professed to love. He didn't know what to say. He could smell her
cum-scented breath, and her musk still hung heavy in the air. He stared at
his hands and suppressed a disgusted laugh.
He picked his head back up and saw that she had crossed her arms over her
"I'm going to get you a shirt." Without waiting for a response, he
ran off to his bedroom. When he returned, she had fixed her bra and
smoothed down her skirt. She slipped his sweater over her ruined blouse.
"Buffy." He had no idea what to say to her. Sorry was woefully
Her top teeth were worrying her bottom lip and she wouldn't look at him.
Finally, she picked up her head, two bright spots of color present on her
face. "You're not going to lose your soul, are you?" She was
curling her hair around her fingers.
"No, God no." Did she think that equaled some kind of happiness
She gave a small nod. "That's good. Very good." She licked her
bottom lip and Angel couldn't help the thread of desire that snaked through
him once more. "I'm going to come here first. Before patrol
tomorrow." She walked to the door of the mansion and then paused.
"I'm not a little girl, Angel."
He sat before the fireplace, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the
flames. He was going to have to leave her and the knowledge was like a
physical blow. She deserved better than to be a demon's fuck toy. He had
been fooling himself by thinking that somehow they could work things out.
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