She
Title: She Fandom(s): Buffy, the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series Author: Persephone Email: persephone_elysian@hotmail.com Rating: R. Violence, Angst, abstract citrus. Yuri (femslash). First person POV. Spoilers: For Buffy, everything up to the the episode "Lies My Parents Told Me." For Angel, major, major spoilers for the episode "Shiny Happy People." Then I make the whole universes for both show go AU. Disclaimer: I don't own either Buffy or Angel. They're the property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and Mutant Enemy. No infringment is intended. Author's Notes: I got this while sitting in class. A lot of it has to do with being creeped out by the episode "Shiny Happy People" the night before as well as the amazing chemistry between a certain pair of characters in the Angel episode "Orpheus." This is an AU and in no way reflects the end of either Buffy or Angel. It's just my own little version of what could happen. Feedback: Please? Puh-leaze? *** She A Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU ficlet Sephy She's soft, small-boned and supple in all the right places, like living water in my arms. Sweet too, peach and salt on my tongue in an explosion of taste, my tongue stroking across hers, delving for more, needing more. Curling brown locks trapped between us, my knee wedged between her legs, listening to her breath, a stuttering pant that moves me but-- But she isn't her. I don't let myself think long on that, not now, so close to the edge. We're both nearly there and I want to give her this, want to give her something to hold onto. Almost a trust but not quite. Her trust is gone, shattered by those who loved her best. She doesn't say anything but I know. I feel it in the things she doesn't say, see it in the sheet of tears filming brown eyes, like water trapped in a burn. I have to stop, to focus on this because to let my mind wander so, that might prove the final blow. I don't think I could bear that, to see that fragile, feral light fade completely. So I move again, a subtle twist to let her know that I'm still with her, still deep inside, thinking of her only. A lie but it’s a fiction we both indulge in. I don't ask her where her mind is, I don't really want to know. She came to us because she was being hunted, fear in her eyes and death lingering over her, a possessive lover as yet unfulfilled. None of us wanted to believe her, to believe the wild, terrifying tale she spun. How could we know, having ignored so much of the outside world, focused on our own battle? How could we truly understand the import of what she was saying? That Los Angeles was lost, that Angel and the others had … I shudder and pray that she mistakes it for something else, for some declaration of passion and doesn't see my eyes clench with tears fighting to be shed. It wasn't until later, until Angel actually showed up, beatific and starry-eyed, offering eternal salvation on bended knee, his goddess smiling gently over him. Oh God… My breath catches and pulses races and I think I'm a bit savage as I kiss her again. Why didn't they see it? That sweet malevolence in coffee-skin, a walking horror that had no face save the worms and flesh rotting from it, flickering in and out of my vision, a much sweeter visage trying to assert itself. Camouflage, I've since learned. Her spell lasted only a second, perhaps because Fred's fingernails were digging so sharply into my arm, voice shrill as she repeated my name over and over, her terror breaking through and overcoming all else. We greeted her with swords and axes, thinking we were prepared but not. It wasn't until Giles sank his broadsword in Buffy's back that we understood just how powerful she was, that love meant nothing in the face of overwhelming adoration, the memory as powerfully lodged as the weapon sheathed forever in the Slayer's body. It took hours to bring her into this world and all told, she left it again in a matter of minutes, bleeding to death in my arms, calling for Spike -- not Angel, the entire time. Spike. I don't know what happened to him, things became confused, a crush of people in motion as those who remained unaffected fought back. Somehow, some way we lost him in our retreat and I wonder if he's dead or with them. Is it wrong to wish him dead? Dead rather than lost, than subverted to the most sublime slavery? There are a handful of us left all told, a few Scoobies, a couple of Potentials, and Faith. Dawnie… Dawnie went with Angel, smiled and took her sister's killer by the hand and bowed her obescience. I can still feel my stomach drop each time I remember that, a mere glimpse as we broke and ran, just over my shoulder, her face beaming as she received some sort of obscene benediction. I'd weep but I have no tears left. They went with her and now I don't feel anything, not rage or hatred, only Fred, slick and hoarse as she writhes against me. I think perhaps that's as well, too. I live in fear of the black thing, of the rage so pure and uncontrolled. With it I could destroy them all, I could save us but in doing so I would sell my soul to a different devil. If I let go, even once, I'm never coming back, setting in place of Jasmine someone worse. I don't know what's going to happen to us. Faith keeps talking about regrouping, about gathering those immune to Jasmine's influence, those precious few who even now are being hunted as we are hunted, set to the slaughter by the innocent. Maybe we will. Or maybe we'll all die tonight. I hope not. I'd like to live, to be able to walk above ground again. To feel the sun on my face and not live like a damn vampire. I'd like to find Spike, save Dawnie and the others. Light sparks behind my eyes, the legs entangled with mine tightening, almost clenching. I've loved one woman my entire life, had almost started to fall for another. Third time might be the charm but I don't know if I can risk it. So I take pleasure in the small things, in her fleeting smile, the way her sentences zig-zag for no apparent reason before getting back to the point, and how's she knows when I need her. I want to stay with her, to my name fall from her lips as if in abandoned revelation -- "Willow!" Her breath catches, and I feel her against me. She's so warm and alive, struggling as always against the inevitable. That's why I need her, because she never gives up and because I've forgotten how to hope for anything beyond snatches of time. Because she reminds me of someday, of a future, and maybe that's enough. ***End.
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