Nemesis/Soulmate

DISCLAIMER:  I sincerely doubt that someone who would subject me to an entire episode of Buffy and *cringe* Riley BANGING would write this.  Therefore, you may safely assume that I don't own these wretchedly misued characters (B/A, that is... not Riley. *grin*)  The cream cheese frosting, butter knife, and chains, however, are mine.
SPOILERS:  Nada.  If you know who Angelus is, then you're safe.
SYNOPSIS:  A vampire.  A Slayer.  A game of cat and mouse.  You do the math.  From Angel's POV.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

And yay, the Anti-Joss did go forth and say unto the PTB's:

"Goddamnit, will you let me write some really juicy B/A smut, already?! The Shippers' faith is wavering -- they have forgotten how hot and tingly the Slayer and her vampire used to make them, as dulled as they have been my the chemistry-less Agent Finn, and now they turn on one another.  Oh, Great Muses, please send unto me a really smutty, sweaty, naked sign so that they may see the light once more -- so long as they are of legal age to do so, of course..."

And lo, did the sky split open, and the words of rubbing grunties did flow forth into her brain and her hand, and the Anti-Joss did scramble to find a pen in the mess of her office, and then did scrawl out this PWP/CWC in record time, with Aeone blasting in the background...

And when it was finished, she did re-read it, and found that it was good -- a satisfying missive if she did say so herself, as it left *her* a bit sweaty and tingly all over.

And lo, so she did do a quick spell check, and then she did post the missive to the various mailing lists as a token of her unending devotion to B/A, and did expect feedback aplenty, and all the stupid infighting to stop immediately on some of the lists in thanks for her effort.

Amen.

Dedicated to Shirley, Anja, Ria, and the members of the Frosting Brigade.  And to Zoe, who I know full well was lying through her Leatherboy lovin' teeth when she said she misses my Militant B/A-ness.  *grin*

Okay, enough talk. 

Nemesis/Soulmate

by Ducks

Inspired by "Body in Mind" by Aeone, from her CD "The Woman's Touch"

She moves like molten velvet… scorching, flowing… a volcano of fluid writhing as her hips shift tantalizingly from side to side, riding the pounding rhythm of the music that fills the air.

The atmosphere of the Bronze is dark, steaming… but she is hotter still… more stifling… a shining, undulating pinpoint of fire in a sea of artificial night. She stills my unnecessary habit of breath, freezing even my predator's instincts, making my starving mouth water, as she dances, dangling before my eyes like the sensual feast that she is, just out of reach of my aching hands… my teeth…

She's bad for me. In fact, there is no creature in all the dimensions worse for my well-being than she, whose powerful, willowy winding leaves me helpless… defenseless. I can't resist. She consumes my every waking thought… walks like Kali -- all desire and terror, a goddess of creation and destruction-- in my dreams. Always moving, lithe and svelte, just the way she does now.

Temptation is a mortal wound, and she cuts me… weakens me like no weapon of holy blessing, pointed wood, or sunlight ever could.

I can smell her, even above the throng of sweating, hormonal, sweet-blooded youth that writhes around her in the dark. The sweet aroma of her charmed essence overwhelms me… my will, my instinct for survival, are stilled utterly by the scent… the feeling of her Sacred power washing over me with the rhythm of her every perfect movement.

Time stops. I am frozen there, only barely hidden by the shadows, unable to tear my eyes away.

But she knows I am there. She feels me as acutely, as intimately, as I feel her… her face turns from the friends she's been dancing with… her bright, mossy green eyes scan the many faces and bodies that pack the room, searching for me. It doesn't take long before our gazes lock, and I feel my body tense, gone rigid with fear and desire, all for her. I'm captured there, under her piercing look. A smile that is both frigid with hate and deceptively searing slides across her fine lips as she recognizes me, and we acknowledge what it is between us… what is about to happen… what roles we must play by the dictates of our very natures.

Natural enemies. Hunter and hunted. Predator and prey. But which of us is which, I can never determine for certain. She moves toward me, quick, resolute, pushing her way through the throng.

This moment, this right now, it is I who must break the spell and flee. Tonight, I am the hunted. Her certain stride breaks the crowd, and I can almost feel her stake -- the one I know she hides somewhere in her barely-there dress -- piercing my heart, and leaving nothing but dust floating on the breeze to mark my passing.

I turn, slowly, carefully. The crowd parts like a sea before my cold wake, and I burst through the club's door and into the moonlit night.

I run… away from her, away from my undoing, my impending destruction. But I can already feel her gaining… smell the adrenaline pumping in her blood… hear her heart pounding as her breath quickens.

She closes the distance between us with a fierce burst of energy. I realize fully that I am going to lose -- I know I am dead. But just as the prey always must, I continue to make my best attempt to escape.

The cemetery… miles of rolling hills dotted with monuments to beings as dead as I. I vault each barrier in my path. If I can get to the other side, I know there is a sewer entrance there, and I can get away, disappearing into the shadows of the underground, where not even her light can find me.

I can hear her heartbeat clearly, now… feel her thudding footfalls on the ground behind me. Closer… only yards away… then feet… then inches…

As she tackles me, her weight and forward motion forcing my body to crash, face-first, into the grass, I wonder:

Was I ever really trying to get away?

She has me pinned beneath her. She weighs next to nothing, but her skill in the hunt… her supernatural strength… more than make up for her tiny stature. With her weight fully on my legs, her hands gripping the shoulders of my coat, she flips me over to face her with a victorious grunt.

I am eye to eye with my final destruction.

But no stake appears. No holy water or cross, but for the one on her neck, threatens me. It burns the skin of my throat, and I cry out with the unexpected pain. She dives to my mouth, her lips crushing… tongue probing roughly between my teeth, seeking and finding, caressing and plunging. Her hands pull and rip, and I am quickly naked, vulnerable beneath her. Her lips kiss and suck and bite at my skin… the cross drags down over my chest, burning a line of pain as hot as the one of want created by her lips. I gasp aloud at the sweet mix of agony and ecstasy, my fear and my desire equal under the sheer violence, the brute force of her attack.

She wears nothing under her dress. Nothing stands in her way as she rises to her knees, rubbing her wet, steaming sex along the length of mine, climbing its hardness until I can feel her throbbing core positioned at its end. She uses the bulging head to part her velvet lips, and the first blazing touch of me against her entrance drags a sucking gasp from both our throats.

She slowly lowers herself. We connect, and I feel her stretch sweetly to accommodate me; throb as she slides down, taking me far within her supple depths. This is the sweetest pain yet, as I feel myself plunge deep within, banging hard against her very center.

She bends over me, hair curtaining our heads, and I capture a painfully hard nipple between my teeth. I bit down, then suckle roughly, over and again, and she hisses with the sensation. She quivers and moans, and I can feel her inner muscles contract fiercely in response.

I try to reach for her… try to grab her hips and impale her on me… but she is stronger, faster. She is the aggressor, here. As if to prove it, she demonstrates by pinning my arms above my head. She holds me still as she rides me, rising up… sliding down… achingly slow, but painfully hard, our bodies meeting, grasping and clutching to break the stone barrier of skin that separates us.

I use my hips to meet her, driving deeper… pushing harder… wanting more than anything to bind our bodies into one. The rhythm builds between us… she lets my arms go and straightens up, arching her spine and tossing her head back with a cry. My hands finally free, I take the reins, gripping a hip to guide her with one hand, and dipping the other into the blazing wet place where our bodies connect, claiming the pulsing flashpoint of her desire between my fingertips.

Her shout is guttural… animal… as I caress her, ramming myself up and in at the same time that I stroke with my fingers. It seems only a moment until her moans turn to screaming cries, and her entire body goes rigid and shuddering, my name forced like a curse from her lips as the bliss of orgasm takes her.

It's not enough for me. Now, I am the predator, the one with the power. She is weak, helpless in this tidal wave of pleasure, and I take full advantage. My senses reel, my breath comes fast, and I am dizzy as I reverse our positions, slamming her to the ground beneath me, pinning her with my hips, and she gasps… overpowered. I rail her mercilessly, taking my bounty, my own body crying for completion… for release. She is mine, body heart and soul. I take her, as is my right as her mate and the victor.

I dive down to her tender throat… her skin smells hot and soft with sweat and hormones, her juices and the adrenaline from the hunt and our mating… I slide my fangs into her yielding flesh, and her hot life's blood shoots into my mouth, burning my tongue as it rushes down my throat, filling me with the essence of every sensation she is experiencing. Her desire… her fear…

This triumph is too much for me… this ultimate claiming… The night shatters around my vision. My body explodes into light, consumed by her power… our power. My screams quickly match hers as we clutch one another. I shoot my seed into her core… a barter, in exchange for her blood, and I am destroyed by the unbearable magic of it all. This coupling, like a death within life… a dance of fundamental irony.

I collapse against her. We pant together, drained… I feel her living heartbeat pounding against my chest. I love her. I despise and fear her. But most of all, I want her… need her. All the instincts of my demon matter little when I feel her warm body wrapped in my arms, so vulnerable, so trusting. But its hunger feeds my passion still… drives it, lurking always beneath the surface of my consciousness.

I roll off of her on to my back, allowing her to catch her badly needed breath, and look up at the stars that have witnessed our forbidden union. After a long, sighing moment, she rolls over in the wet grass and cuddles up against me like a kitten, nuzzling my neck and throwing a possessive arm across my chest.

"So, how'd I do, teach?" She asks with a smile, her voice still breathless.

"You lost," I inform her.

She rises up, glaring down at me, her eyes flashing. "How do you figure? I caught you in, like, a minute, and I knocked you flat!"

I hold her gaze, take a strand of her silken hair, wrapping it around my fingers as I tell her, "In the end, I won. You let me take you."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on… that was different."

I shake my head and kiss the end of her nose. "Never let down your guard during the hunt, Buffy… no matter how well you think you know your prey."

She gets my implication. Though my soul adores her completely… exists only to keep her safe, and make her smile… it still shares a shell with a creature she is sworn to destroy. His bonds are sometimes thin, whatever the Powers might tell us about the curse. The thing inside me is blood-thirsty, eternally vicious, a bottomless pit of genuine malice that hates her as deeply as I love her. He would drain her powerful blood in a moment, without hesitation for second thought. And after killing her, then watching her rise, now his possession -- his childe and lover -- he would take her forth and spend eternity with her, consuming the world.

Angelus can be deceptively charming… an actor to rival the greats of the silver screen. He knows the things I would say to her… he knows how to smile, how to touch her to make her weak… and he wouldn't stop to think before using all that intimate knowledge to defeat her.

She has to be ready. Always. It's my job to make sure she is.

"I can tell," she assures me, "I would know."

I close my eyes and pull her closer. My love… my partner…  my nemesis… my soulmate.

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