For that evillittledog
herself, SJ. Happy belated birthday present. Hope you like it.
Takes place very early season 2, BtVS
Summary: She comes in colors, ev'rywhere
Notes at the end
Betas do it with good grammar. Thanks to cornerofmadness
Brickbats and bouquets always welcome. I don't own. Do I look like a
balding, overweight middle aged man? (don't answer that).
She was exhausted when she went to bed, her limbs sore and her muscles
fatigued. Her mind was still racing and even though her body was demanding
it; she found it impossible to surrender to dreams. Patrol had been
uneventful, two easy dustings but it had also been uneventful because Angel
had once again avoided seeing her. She knew all his arguments; the age
difference, the fact that she was a slayer and he was a vampire, his
unshakeable belief that he wasn't good enough for her. She didn't care.
There was an emotional connection that she wasn't willing to deny. She got
up and paced, drank some water, got back into bed, stared at the ceiling.
She tried to empty her mind, but it proved impossible. Finally she rolled
out of bed and yanked on a shirt and sweatpants, grabbed some stakes and
snuck out the window.
She actually wasn't in the mood to kill anything, so instead she just
wandered the streets, paying no real attention to where she was going. One
foot in front of the other, a steady pace until she looked up and realized
where her traitorous legs had taken her. She was in front of his apartment.
Her first urge was to run away, her second to let anger overtake her. She
did neither; instead, she turned the handle and finding it open, walked in.
He was standing in the middle of the room, motionless as if he had been
waiting for her. They stood, just staring at each other. Buffy had no idea
what to say.Why are you avoiding me?. It was pointless to ask. She
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes”. She didn’t even think about the answer. She couldn’t imagine not
trusting him with her life, her heart, her soul.
He gave her a small, sad smile. “You shouldn’t.” He took a step toward her.
“Take off your clothes.” His voice was soft, even a bit apologetic, but it
wasn’t a request.
“What?” She yelped the word, her voice going up an octave.
“Thought you trusted me.” He smirked at her. “Don’t worry, nothing improper
will happen” he said, after noting her continued hesitation. "I need
to explain certain things to you; it will be easier this way." She
nodded, although she didn't understand how that could be possible. She saw
that his Japanese screen, separating his sleeping area from the rest of the
room seemed to have disappeared. She wondered about where it went to, as
she stood there embarrassed and confused. "If you're too shy, I
understand, Buffy. Maybe you should go home." He stood motionless,
arms crossed over his chest. Something about his words and posture
irritated her. She shucked off her socks and shoes, shirt and pants,
dumping each article of clothing unceremoniously on the floor and then lay
back on his red, red sheets.
She blushed as he drank her in, his gaze moving over her slowly, committing
every inch of exposed skin to memory. “Take off your underwear also.” His
voice was seductive, a whispered caress. This was madness, she thought. She
hasn’t been able to convince him to kiss her over the last few days, and in
fact she hadn't even been able to find him the last two nights no matter
how hard she looked and now he was asking her to strip. As he turned his
back to her and rummaged through his bottom desk drawer, she removed the
rest of her clothing. They both know that in the end, she would never deny
When he turned back to her, he had several small bottles in his hand. Paint
bottles, she suddenly realized. She was so surprised by this that she
didn’t say anything when he chose one, shook it vigorously for a few
seconds and unscrewed the lid. He carefully dipped a brush into the jar.
“Lie back”, he whispered. She sunk backwards into the pillows, twisting her
head to keep him in sight. He painted a large yellow circle on her belly
and then methodically started filling it in.
“Yellow. Like the sun, like life. That’s what you are to me, Buffy, life
itself. You come to me, laughing and telling me about your friends and your
day and the things you see and the things you do. You give me all the
things that I can’t have any more, you make me remember all of it.”
He picked up another small container and began painting green lines on her
leg. “Green, the color of spring. The first time I saw you I could smell
the new grass, hear the new born field mice skittering.” Buffy thought that
was peculiar. The first time he had seen her had been in a garbage-strewn
alley, but she decided not to interrupt his musings. “I think I loved you a
little almost from the first. You were so brave, so fierce. But when you
spared me, when you saw good in me that I couldn’t see myself, that’s when
I fell in love with you. Because of you I was reborn.” She was completely
speechless. She had no idea that he felt that his life had changed solely
because of her. She didn’t think she was special enough to inspire anyone
to change his or her life.
He had been standing at the side of the bed while he spoke; her nude body
laid out straight. He was near her right hip, but his eyes never left her
face. Suddenly, he was at the foot of the bed. Before she had time to
register what was happening, he had painted a wide stripe, encasing her
private flesh in blue.
“Blue. Innocence Purity.” he whispered. He was staring at the blue swath,
and raised his hand as if to touch her. After a moment, his hand dropped
back to his side and Buffy wasn’t sure whether she was glad about that or
not. "Even before I was turned, I seduced a lot of women. It was a
game for me. And then after, it was just one more way to hurt my victims,
one more thing to steal from them." She could see his face darken with
shame. "You. You're so young, so naive about so many things."
She rolled her eyes and huffed. "I'm the slayer. I kill things for a
living. I'm not exactly Miss Head-In-The-Sand."
He laughed, a short, mirthless sound. "You can't to begin to imagine
the things I've done. Your worst nightmares couldn't come close."
"Angel, you didn't have a soul then. Things are different now. You act
like being near you is going to corrupt me or something."
He ignored her response and chose another paint bottle.
He covered the bottoms of her feet. "That tickles," she said
laughing. He gave her a small smile and then proceeded to paint her palms
with purple paint also.
“Violet. The color of royalty. The color of power. Vampires come to you because
we can smell the slayer power rolling off of you. Even if we don’t
understand what it is, it calls us. We want that power for ourselves. Don't
ever doubt yourself. You're stronger than any vampire. You'll persevere in
She frowned, but quickly forced her face into neutral. Not soon enough, it
appeared, since he tenderly brushed a lock of hair back. “I know you didn't
ask to be the slayer, but the power is inside of you now. Don't be afraid
to use it, even against me."
He grabbed a medium brush and didn't move for a long time. Finally, he
painted an orange circle around one breast, then the other. Each pass he
painted a slightly smaller circle. He worked slowly, methodically. It took
only a minute for Buffy to start writhing, trying to force more from him.
Each time, he pulled back, waiting until her movements ceased before
carefully continuing. She was moaning now, begging him. When her breasts
were completely covered except for the small center area, he painted her
nipples, moving back and forth between each breast, going quicker and
quicker until finally she arched beneath him, crying out his name as her
body spun out of control. He took a step back from her, the brush gripped
tightly in his hand. "Orange. The color of fire. The color of passion.
I've been with hundreds of others, but it was always empty desire or a
prelude to ugliness. When I kiss you, I’m not thinking about games or how
to hurt you. I’m thinking about what I could make you feel, the pleasure I
could give you.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?” She doesn’t mean to, but she couldn’t quite
keep the little girl whine out of her voice.
“I’m a dead thing, Buffy. I’m an abomination, an affront to the living.
Nothing good can come from me trying to be a man because in the end, I’m a
“I don’t believe that.”
"Just because we don't like the truth, doesn't mean it isn't a
He bent over her and told her to close her eyes. She could feel him
painting her forehead, her nose, around her eyes. "You can open your
eyes again." He showed her the brush filled with dark blue paint.
"Indigo. The color of the sky before it fades to black. The dividing
line between your world and mine. I'm a vampire. I'll never be able to live
in your world. Sometime I think about making you part of mine. Your skin
would glow like the finest porcelain in the moonlight." Buffy shivered
at his quiet confession. She didn't want to have to acknowledge these
feelings. "I wouldn't no matter how much I'm tempted. In those final
moments, you'd hate me and I could never bear that, even if it was only for
an instant. You're already too much a part of my world. It isn't fair to
you. Just don't forget that you belong in the sunlight."
"There's only one color left." He picked up a small brush that
appeared to only contain two or three hairs. He began to delicately paint a
spider web of thin red lines on her right arm. "Red. The color of
blood. If I needed it, would you give me your blood?" Before she could
say anything, he answered for her. "I know you would. You shouldn't
though. I don't deserve it. It will forever bind us in ways we can't
imagine. Your blood will run in my veins. You'll forever carry a scar, a
permanent reminder of me. We'll never be able to move on, not really."
"Why would I want to move on?" There was fear in her voice.
"Angel, what are you trying to tell me? Why have you turned me into
some kind of funky paint-by-numbers deal?"
He didn't smile, just examined her with a grave expression. "These
colors represent you", he said pointing to her multi-colored body.
"Yellow, green, blue, violet, orange, indigo, red. Every color of the
rainbow, all a part of you. When you put all the colors together, you get
pure light. That's deadly to vampires. You're deadly to vampires. This
thing…these feelings between us. It can't possibly end well. I should leave
and spare you. If I don't, I only see pain for both of us."
"No!", she shouted….
And sat bolt upright in her bed. The whole thing had seemed so real. It was
only when she woke that she knew they were dreams. The specifics were
already slipping away, her memory as ephemeral as soap bubbles. She vaguely
remembered colors. And Angel talking about their relationship but the words
were already gone.
She frowned, positive that the dream was trying to tell her something
important. They were alike in so many ways. Both different from every other
creature in the world. He was the only one who could fight at her side as
an equal. The only person who understood exactly what it meant to be a
She opened up her curtains and let the white light of day wash over her.
Tonight she would track him down and make him see that running away from
each other was not an option.
Author's notes: I asked Ms. Smith to give one the first line of one of her
stories as a starting point. She chose It was only when she woke that
she knew they were dreams.. This is what came to me, an odd fever
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