Something streaked past her, a blur of light and motion, quiet as can be. But Buffy knew it was there; its eyes on her, but every time she turned to look there was no one there. Nothing, but something wanted her to know…but know what? 

Oh, that. Her. Of course, how could she not know? 

Buffy knew she was there and that it was The First Slayer. Was this, then, a test? Or did she only want to know why Buffy needed her, needed all the power and strength of the slayers before? 

Buffy didn’t have an answer to that but watched her for a moment. The primal slayer was peaking around a tree, watching her with a stealth that complemented her even though they were both aware of watching and being watched. The forest was thick, dark, and unerringly quiet as they looked at each other. 

“What are you dong here?” Buffy asked, not knowing why she bothered to voice the words since she had only ever heard the First Slayer say one thing and that was ‘no.’ 

“Watching, learning, helping.” The First Slayer’s words echoed through Buffy. Though her counterpart said nothing, Buffy knew her answer. 

“Will you always be there?” 

“Only when I’m needed,” Again, she said nothing but Buffy somehow knew the answer. 

Buffy looked at the Slayer again and took a step towards her, not really knowing what she intended when, instead of the Slayer, Buffy stepped up to a cabin. The door was open but Buffy hesitated. She looked behind her, searching for the Slayer with all her senses but there was no one there, only row after row of trees. A bird soared overhead and Buffy tracked it with her eyes, wondering why there was no sun when she knew the orb was supposed to be there. 

Turning her attention away from the sunless sky and towards the cabin, Buffy stepped inside, looking around. The room was shrouded in mist and she couldn’t really make anything out, but when she looked again she saw him. 

Angel was there, it was the first thing she saw. As she raced into the cabin, Buffy noticed that he was lying on a bed in the center of a room; the bed hovered there, floating as if it weren’t really a part of anything but insistent like it was meant to be there. 

“Angel!” She called, frantic, touching her lover, trying to wake him; he looked tranquil in his sleep though his eye lids twitched as if he weren’t as calm as he looked. “Angel, please wake up!” 

The souled vampire continued to sleep, oblivious to both Buffy’s attempts to rouse him and her presence. 

“What are you up to, my love, what are you planning?” Angelus asked, pulling her attention away from her lover on the bed and towards her lover leaning against a door frame. 

With one last look at her unconscious love, Buffy turned around to face Angelus, her attention fully on him, knowing it was the demon who was doing the asking, something in his tone that she recognized. It held a sensuous quality that only he had while in her dreams that Angel never showed; it wasn’t, she knew, that Angel didn’t see her that way, only that his voice held more love than anything else. 

“What I have to do, what I always do.” Buffy said firmly and looked behind her, checking on Angel but he was nowhere to be found. Searching the room for him, Buffy wondered at the surroundings. The room, hazy as it was, looked familiar, she was sure of it. 

There it was again, a flash of the bed with her fallen lover but as soon as she focused on him the image was gone. She glanced at Angelus and again the bed appeared but the same thing happened; Buffy focused on it and it, along with Angel, disappeared. 

Buffy looked again at the vampire before her, focusing on him instead and trying not to think of her fallen love. Noting his attire, the leather pants – some things never change – unbuttoned silk shirt, and bare feet; though she didn’t want to admit it, he looked good enough to eat. Halting those thoughts as Angelus’ lusty leer registered, Buffy looked down at her own outfit. She wore a flimsy white sundress, so sheer it was almost transparent, thin straps just holding it up, with a flowing skirt. 

Interesting attire to say the least; her doing or his? His, she knew, he was trying to control all aspects of this. But she wasn’t going to let him; or so she told herself. 

“Our cabin in the woods outside Sunnydale?” She asked the question before Angelus had a chance to reply to her bold statement. 

The cabin was a large one-room area; living room and fireplace, long couch and throw rug, a small kitchen area off to the side that they rarely had use for – they could never stay here long enough – and a bedroom. Actually the bedroom was just an extension of the main room, but held a giant bed and a small dresser. 

Buffy knew, if she were to look, there would be several articles of clothing in there; her favorite of Angel’s, his red Italian silk shirt that she made him wear whenever they were here, only to steal it to sleep in because it smelled like him, a pair of her softest lounging pants, and Angel’s favorite silk boxers and cotton sleeping pants. 

The more clothing they wore when they slept, the safer they were though it was frustrating to say the least. And it never did manage to stop them from wanting, from pushing, from testing the limits of Angel’s curse. They always managed to restrain themselves in the end, from actually making love, but each time they were together it was harder and harder to do so. 

Her demon shrugged good-naturally, accepting the change in topic for the moment with only a slight knowing smirk. He followed her with his eyes, perfectly still though that did nothing to diminish his presence; or her reaction to it. 

“Would you rather someplace else? I thought this held some interesting memories, actually. Remember when we first came here? Your little friends just found out I was back and kept milling about the mansion as if their presence could actually accomplish something.” 

Murmuring suddenly caught up in the memories that washed through her, Buffy nodded. “We came here as often as we could manage. It was never often enough, there was never enough time, not for us.” Buffy closed her eyes as images flashed before her; every weekend her mother was out of town, every night they needed to be together, away from the demands and rules others had placed on their lives. But one in particular stood out. 

It was the weekend after the debacle of her eighteenth birthday. She was still weak, sore, and angry – at the Council, at Giles, at her mother for not listening to Buffy’s rules for being out at night – and Angel had brought her here. He pampered her with long baths and chocolate, massaging her tired muscles and kissing away her tears of helplessness. They would lay in front of the fireplace as he read her poetry by the light of the fire. 

Buffy smiled, remembering Angel’s soft whispered words of love, his arms, so solid, so real, as they held her, his body, protecting her though she was stronger than he. 

Angelus watched the memories play through her; he didn’t tell her that Angel was at first loath to use this cabin since he, Angelus, had bought it. The purpose at the time was two-fold; get away from Spike and Drusilla, of course, and to have a place to take Buffy. Unfortunately she never did come around to his way of thinking. Damn shame that, they could have had so much fun together. 

It wasn’t too late, though, and he intended to use every method at his disposal to remedy past mistakes. Starting with this night. 

“I see you remember our time here, lover.” 

“I’ve never been here with you, Angelus.” Conviction, longing, her voice held both these things but Buffy didn’t know why. She wanted the soul, didn’t she? So why was she allowing the demon access to her thoughts and dreams? 

“Things can change, Buffy, you know that as well as I do. Still,” he shrugged again, and suddenly he was no longer leaning against the door but on the bed, sitting back on their bed (no, no, not their bed, her and Angel’s bed), relaxing against the large wrought iron frame hands clasped negligently over his smooth naked stomach. He watched her watching him, watched her tongue lick her lips as she followed his movements eyeing him as if he were a morsel to be devoured. Inch by delectable inch. 

“I remember everything you ever did with the soul, lover, every kiss, every sigh, ever orgasm he gave you even before that night he took your virginity and after, when touching you wasn’t an option but not doing so was even worse. Just like he remembers every tempting passionate thought I’ve ever had about you. Every position I – and consequently he – wanted to have you in, every scream we wanted to hear, every taste we wanted from your delicious body.” 

“Hmm, yes.” Buffy didn’t really know how to respond to that statement, so she let it go. 

Restless she wandered about the room, unwilling to sit on the bed with him, knowing he pulled her into him like no other being. She picked up various picture frames, some of just her, sunlight shining down like a blessing from above, Angel enjoyed those, seeing her in a sunlight they could never have together, in some she was simply smiling at someone off camera. 

Others, infinitely more precious, of the two of them. 

Buffy smiled as she remembered buying one of those disposal cameras shortly after that Christmas. She and Angel had taken the night off from patrolling and insisted that every person they ran across that night take their picture. Of the 24-exposure role every single one of them was now framed, decorating the mantle and dresser. 

Smiling, ignoring Angelus’ eyes on her back, Buffy wandered over to the ones on the mantle; in front on the Sun Cinema, just on random places in the street, a few at the old high school with Willow as the reluctant but misty eyed photographer. They had gone to the Bronze later, and Willow, still taking her role seriously, had snapped two shots of them in each other’s arms on the dance floor. 

Helplessly drawn to the final pictures, carefully placed on the nightstand, Buffy walked back to the bed. Unbeknownst to either of them, they had both had the same thought that night. The final two pictures sat side by side in a single frame to make them look as one photo; one of Buffy asleep, hair spread across her pillow arm reaching for her love and one of Angel asleep, head turned to her, hand resting on his stomach where her head had lay just moments before. 

“We wanted you then, you know,” he said, breaking into her thoughts with ease. “Wanted to take you despite Angel knowing the consequences. Wanted to feel your heat wrap around us as we pounded into you.” 

Shaky, aroused, Buffy quipped, “Do you always talk about yourself in the royal ‘we’, Angelus?” 

He didn’t rise to her taunt, simply continued to watch her, dark eyes, still body, his own arousal evident. “What does it matter? Angel wanted you, I wanted you; I still want you. In the end it’s all the same, isn’t it?” 

Buffy wanted to deny the truth in that but couldn’t so she again said nothing. 

“I wanted you; the side effects were just a bonus. You were so tight, Buffy, but you held my body perfectly. We moved together that night, do you remember? Our first night together, regardless of your innocence you moved in perfect time with my body, meeting me for every passionate thrust, begging me for more.” 

Helplessly drawn in by his words, Buffy took an almost involuntarily step closer to him, as memories, sensations assaulted her. 

She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his smooth skin against hers, the power of his sleek muscles contracting and undulating as he thrust inside of her body.  She remembered the feel of his soft hair brushing against her cheek, his cool lips everywhere and the soft pant of his unneeded breaths falling against her skin. 

Her heart sped up and she licked her lips again, remembering his taste. Her stomach clenched and a hot rush of moisture flooded her core. 

“You didn’t care that his face became mine, that the vampiric visage kissed your sweet lips, drawing just the slightest amount of blood. You didn’t care that my teeth scraped down your lovely neck, and my cool tongue lapped up that thin line of your passion laced blood. You held me closer, remember love? You held me closer and we moved faster, harder, until I was pounding your virginal body into the mattress but you still didn’t care. 

“Your nails dug into my sides, raked down my back drawing my own blood. Do you remember what happened next, Buffy?” 

His eyes were black now, black with lust, remembered and current. And Buffy could only nod, helpless to do anything else; her own eyes a stormy mix of greens and browns, loves and passions. She remembered what had happened next, remembered what she had done, what Angel had done. 

She couldn’t draw her eyes away from Angelus’ and even though this was a dream already, a shared dream at that, their world coalesced into something much more yet much smaller. 

It became only the two of them, even the room, cherished for its memories as it was, fell away and Buffy felt as if she were standing on nothing but air, thick with their feelings and emotions. Another step closer to Angelus and another until she was an arm’s reach away from him. 

“You arched back, arched into me, body an inferno, your muscles clasping around me as your orgasm thundered through you. Your legs held me closer, crushing my hips to yours. I was seated so deep in you I thought I was a permanent part of you. I wanted to be. 

“And you bared your throat to me. Your soft little hand moved my head to your neck and you begged me.” 

“Please, Angel,” Buffy said now, repeating the words she had said then. “Please do it. Drink from me.” 

“And I did, my love. My teeth sank into your silky skin, as I breathed in your unique scent; my scent now a permanent part of you. You screamed then, Buffy, screamed my name out as another orgasm held you in its grip. Your blood on my tongue, the fact that you wanted it as much as I wanted to do it; it was indescribable. 

“I could hold back no longer and my own climax ripped through me. I shouted your name then, love, and you held me even closer as I pounded into you. We lay together, then, still joined, and I lapped at your neck.” 

“You were purring, then,” Buffy remembered, “And I thought that was the most wonderful thing I had ever heard. I had caused you to do that, to lose control like you did. The scratches on your back were just beginning to close and I dipped a finger in your blood, brought it to my mouth.” 

Buffy’s eyes were closed now, head tilted to the side as if Angel...Angelus were again sipping from her neck. The pulse there beat for him, called to him. Her hand moved to her mouth and she swirled her tongue around her forefinger, tasting his blood again. 

“Delicious, you tasted delicious, strong, powerful, mine. It was a part of you that I now held, not enough for a full joining, but it was a step, a start. Our blood was joined now as our bodies had been.” 

“It was then you accepted both halves of him of me; without the demon you never would have met the soul; without me there was no Angel. And you tasted the both of us that night, Buffy.” 

“Yes,” she said, and Angelus knew he had her. 

“And then you left me alone, said I was the worst lay you had ever had.” She whispered the words, not wanting to break the spell that wove around them but still feeling the anguish that had accompanied his scathing remarks. 

“A horrible mistake, love, something – one of the few things – that I regret.” He didn’t admit that all of his few regrets, centered around Buffy. “I wanted to hurt you, wanted to see you in as much pain for loving me as I was for still loving you.” 

Tears momentarily blinded Buffy at his words. She could hear the sincerity in them, feel it; granted Angelus was a master manipulator, but she had never heard, felt, anything like this from him. Blinking against these emotions, Buffy refocused her gaze on the demon before her. 

“Come sit with me,” Angelus invited softly, his voice sliding over her in a caress, holding out his hand to her. He watched her take one last look at the pictures; saw the longing in her eyes, the memories. And now this new knowledge. 

Without saying a word Buffy moved to the other side of the bed, her side, and sat down, shifting to face him, her legs crossed Indian style her ring glinting in the light. So close, she was so close to him. A move, a shift and she could touch him. But there was still a small part of her holding back. 

“Why are you here, Angelus?” She wondered aloud, her body leaning forward, curving towards her lover, even as her mind took a step backward. “Aren’t you busy taking over LA or something?” 

He laughed then, a sexy sound that did nothing to dispel the moment, reaching out a large hand to lightly caress her cheek. “Already accomplished, baby, now I’m onto bigger and infinitely more pleasurable things. Why do you fight me, love? Why do you insist on struggling against me?” 

“Come now,” she scoffed but made no move to jerk away from his cool comforting tough. “You like it better when I fight back, how boring would it be if I meekly gave into everything you wanted?” 

Roaring with laugher, Angelus’ hand left her face and moved to her knee, so close yet so far. Brushing over bare skin, stroking in small motions so that each caress pushed the flimsy dress higher on her thigh. “Too true, lover, too true. You could still give in, not necessarily to me, but to yourself.” 

“Myself?” Buffy cocked her head to the side and scooted closer seeking more of his touch. Though she was unaware of doing so he was not and continued his caress, his seduction. 

“That need inside of you, the darkness. It calls out, wanting freedom, wanting more. You want me, it doesn’t matter if there’s a soul in this body or not, you crave both. The light and the dark, the soul and the demon, it’s a craving that will not go away no matter what you try, what you think you want.” 

“It’s more than the body, Angelus, I love Angel’s soul.” Fully cognizant of this move, now, she shifted her legs, silently pleading with him to end his gentle teasing and touch her where she most wanted him. The move belied her words and they both knew that. 

“I wonder.” In a quick move he sat up, capturing her lips with his own, a heated possessive display that left her breathless and bereft when he pulled away. His hand wandered to the scar on her throat, softly caressing it, smiling at her shiver of need, tangling his fingers in her hair. 

“I never said I didn’t lust after you, it is the same body, after all, but I love Angel’s soul.” Again a lie, not fully one but close; she loved Angel…but she was confused as to what her feelings were for the demon. Her voice betrayed her and Angelus knew it.

He ignored her comment and just looked at her for long moments. Sitting up fully against the headboard he gathered her to him, her legs straddling his hips. Arousal permeated the air but the vampire made no move to push his advantage. 

That, the seduction of the flesh, was for later, now was for something different, the destruction of hope and the seduction of the mind.

“You know about the child? Angel’s child, his son, he wanted to write you, wanted you to know that he had this miracle boy.” The sarcasm was thick in his voice even as that dark gaze penetrated her eyes, seeking the answers in her soul as his hands rested on her hips, still caressing. “The letter is still sitting in his journal, one of the last volumes he dedicated solely to you.” 

“I, he, he, you, a son…?” But Buffy nodded, tears pricking her eyes – she knew that, remembered that, had just chosen to ignore it, the pain too much to bear. “I wanted so much…” She stopped, letting the memory wash over her even as the pain tore through her. 

But hadn’t she known all along? 

In a situation much like this, a shared dream, he had told her, told her that his ‘friends’ hadn’t wanted him to tell her, that Cordelia thought it best she not know. He had wanted her to see the precious boy, had wanted her to be there with him, with them. In their shared dream Buffy had held the child, had talked with Angel about the boy and agreed how beautiful he was…and had cried with her lover over what could never be between them. 

Why was she explaining herself to the demon? Why was she letting him see her inner most desires, the fact that she desperately wanted to be the one to carry Angel’s child? 

“Because I’m the only one here, lover,” Angelus said, answering her unspoken question. Silky, knowing, understanding, it was all conveyed in his voice in the way he held his body and Buffy knew this was real, knew that all the emotions she sensed from him were real. 

“And at least I’ll listen. So you remember that, I wondered…so did he, actually. He had hoped that if you had remembered you’d come to LA. But you never did. You wanted to meet the boy, wanted to see your lover’s son, the one he had with his sire. What happened, Buff?” His voice lowered, his eyes held hers, “Change your mind?” 

Lowering his voice even more to a mocking whisper, his tongue swirled her inner ear and he mocked, “Or did you lie to him, not really as in love with the soul as you claim, not that forgiving in this situation?” 

“It was…a difficult time.” Buffy said at length, wondering how much he knew, how much he wanted her to explain just to punish her. Punish? Where did that come from? 

“From you, lover, everything here is from you. I’m just a guest, an invited guest of course, but a guest nonetheless; this is your mind and everything here is yours.” 

“Then you already know.” Shame, self-loathing permeated her voice, hatred for what she had done and how she had used. Blaming Spike was pointless, this was all her. Oh, the attempted rape was one thing, and she’d not take the blame for that, but those months she had used him that was all on her. It wasn’t Spike’s fault he was convenient and she needed to feel something, wasn’t his fault that pain seemed to be the only thing she could feel and Spike was the only one able to give it to her. 

Angelus laughed, then, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. 

His hands gripped her hips harder for a moment but his control reasserted itself and he said, “We’ll discuss that, Buff, but I believe your little indiscretion with my childe isn’t for dreams but for face-to-face. But that’s for another time; this time is for something far different. He left you that night, the night of your little meeting after your miraculous return from the dead. He left you here, knowing that he was walking away for the last time and you were a wreck. Yes, we’re talking about your beloved Angel, that same Angel who pledged his love and devotion to you and only you forever. 

“The one who always promised to be there when you need him…but he wasn’t was he?” 

A sly smile crossed his face, eyes half closing as he if could better discern her reaction that way. His hands moved to her breasts, teasing the nipples through the thin fabric of her sundress as he asked, “Did you know the soul believes himself in love with Cordelia?” 

Buffy stilled, her body stopping all functions for a moment. Her breath caught yet at the same time her heart raced, a thousand words crashing in her mind all desperately trying to form sentences, questions, something other than this horrible canopy of noise within her. 

“What?” 

No, no, it wasn’t possible. Angel loved her, had told her that night they met that even though nothing had changed between them that he always loved her and always would. He had said that there were mistakes in their past and their future was murky at best, but the one constant, the one true thing between them was still their love for one another.

Had he lied? 

Had he LIED?  

“Yeah,” negligent now, as if it didn’t matter but his eyes were as sharp as ever. There was no point, he thought as he continued his tactile assault on her flesh and his mental assault on her mind, in revealing that Angel had buried everything when Buffy died. When Willow had told them of Buffy’s death Angel had effectively shut down. Every emotion, every thought and feeling, every hope and dream, everything that made him Angel became lost in a maelstrom of grief. 

When he returned from that monastery he had a wall around his heart that nothing could ever hope to break. The things his friends saw? Shallow imitations of what he was that they blindly accepted, never realizing that the person they were looking at was a shell. They never looked deeper to see the still anguished soul, the raging demon, the torn and shattered being who had lost his mate. 

It was all carefully buried beneath an attitude that was meant to fool everyone.
And it had worked; it had worked so well that Angel had lost himself in the process. And then, later, with Darla and Connor, he had given up any and all hope of finding a way around that wall despite Buffy being alive. But that was part of the problem. She was alive, they had brought her back; but he couldn’t handle knowing that she had gone, died, and that one day would be gone again. 

So he ignored what he saw, still grieving over the loss of his love even with her standing before him. Angel had started believing the mask he wore, believing the role he played, the lie he lived. 

“And that’s not the best part.” Angelus continued, watching Buffy breakdown before his eyes though she had made no noise and held herself perfectly still. “He thought he was in love with her, planned on telling her but that same son, who was now a teen – long story,” he amended at her look, “I’ll tell you later. So this son decides that he hates his vampire father and the best way to express this hatred is to lock him in eternal death in the middle of the ocean. 

“And what did the dear sweet soul do while down there? Why dream about his precious Cordelia, of course! Oh, it was more than just her, lover, it was draining her, too; no food for weeks on end will make ya hungry, ya know. But he thought about her.” 

Angelus smirked at the shallow breaths that his mate was taking, the frozen and shattered look in her eyes. So there were some key parts he left out, the significant amount of fantasizing he had done about Buffy, but what good would telling her that do? None at all, not when he was trying to break her faith in Angel, at least. 

“Back to my story: So Angel’s rescued, Cordelia’s missing, the son’s gone someplace else in LA, still hating the father, she comes back – again, long story – and can’t remember the soul, then she does but can’t ‘be with him’ because of the demon – me – and our dearly departed soul is having serious second thoughts about just how ‘in love’ with her he is. And here’s the kicker, the best part of the whole soap opera saga.” 

He leaned forward, touching his lips to her stiff ones, which softened under his ministrations despite herself. Running his lips across her jaw to her cheek and then her ear, he whispered, “She slept with the son.” 

Buffy jerked back, eyes wide with shock, “What…?” She asked it again as if it was the only thing she can ask, the only word that could escape her lips. Desperate to not believe it, how can that be? Angelus smirked but quickly changed expressions before she registered his unfettered glee at her new knowledge of Angel’s betrayal. 

“Oh, but it’s true, lover, you know I wouldn’t lie to you…or at least in this dream-land I can’t. You know what I say is the truth.” 

Composure, that’s what she needed, composure. It was unfortunate that composure was nowhere to be found. “You aren’t telling me the whole story, Angelus, I know that, too.” 

Admiration briefly shone in his eyes, then, “Does it matter? You know what I say is true, the parts I’ve told are 100% true.” 

“Lies can be told through the truth.” Angel was in love with Cordelia, Cordelia slept with Connor. Angel was in love with Cordelia; Angel was in love with Cordelia. 

“And that’s what makes them so much fun, lover,” his lips were gently tracing her collarbone, lapping at her neck. “Truth is what you see of it, what you wish it to be.” 

Lips on hers, bold, hungry, possessive, on and on because neither wanted to stop. Buffy couldn’t help the passion that grasped her even as her heart splintered from his words, his revelations. His hands gripped her hips, pushing her down onto his bulging erection. A small sound of pleasure escaped Buffy’s lips as she moved her hands over his naked chest, feeling the cool skin heat from her touch. 

Angel’s betrayal in the front of her mind and Angelus’ body beneath her body and she did the only thing she could think of, Buffy kissed him back. She opened her mouth to the full assault of his tongue, pulling him closer as her own tongue swept through his mouth, tasting him fully, losing herself in the sensations he evoked. She was losing herself in him. 

“Stop!” She said, jerking back but not far enough to move out of his embrace. 

He betrayed you, he promised you eternity and lied, loved someone else. Lied, lied, lied. 

“What’s the matter, love, not enjoying yourself?” A lazy smile formed on those sexy lips and Angelus took a deep breath, scenting just how much she did want him. “Then again we know the truth, don’t we?” 

What was she doing, what was she doing? Buffy could admit to a certain attraction to the demon, he was, after all, in the same body as the soul – and wasn’t it just sad that there was such a distinction? But was there one? Buffy didn’t know anymore and was so tired of trying to figure it out. 

“It’s what you want, I know it is, why don’t you just accept it?” Lips so close to her, a brush over her skin, “We are darkness, my love, we crave it, revel in it. It’s what you want, just give in, my love, just give in to me.” He kissed her again, growling as he felt her acquiescence, hands moving over her curves to tease her through the thin barrier of her panties. 

Buffy didn’t say anything, allowing herself to be caught up in the flow of feelings, of emotions. She wanted him it didn’t matter who was currently in control of the body; she wanted the both of them. And at least Angelus hadn’t betrayed her with another; he may have had other women, but he had never felt anything for them, that was reserved solely for Buffy. 

Angel’s betrayal wasn’t in the flesh, but in the feeling. 

Angelus flipped her onto her back, hiking the dress up and over her head, tossing it to the side, mouth tasting skin as he trailed down her body. Panties were ripped off, tossed aside, his greedy body eager for its mates. 

Everywhere, he was everywhere, long fingers plunging into her hot core, tongue flicking over her clit. And Buffy moved her hands to his head, holding him more closely to her, chanting his name, HIS name, “Angelus,” over and over. 

The first climax crashed through her in a swirl of colors and need as he bit down on her sensitive clitoris with blunt teeth. Not giving her a chance to recover, Angelus yanked his unfastened shirt off, shedding his pants and entered her in one swift move. 

“Yes, Angelus!” She cried out, the sound echoing around the room. Wrapping her slim legs around his hips, drawing him deeper into her body, they moved together, seeking that peak that wonderful feeling of completion, of home, which was elusive with anyone else. 

He pumped in and out of her, hands holding her wrists above her head, mouth feasting on her breasts and she arched further into him, trying to take all of him inside of her. Breaking one hand out of his grasp, Buffy guided his head to her neck, baring her throat for her lover. 

“Now, Angelus, please,” she panted, so close to her climax, “Now! Drink from me.” 

Face shifting, teeth elongating, Angelus looked at her face, beautiful in her pleasure, her eyes snapping open as he hesitated for just a moment ensuring she looked at him as he drank from her. Her eyes were full of love and passion and Angelus knew that those emotions and all the other ones crashing through her were for him as much as the soul. 

They – Angel and Angelus, soul and demon – were intricately entwined now and there was no going back. 

He slid his fangs into her neck, slowly, carefully, gently, and she screamed again, a loud keening sound that was his name. He didn’t take much, her blood was strong, so powerful, delicious; her blunt teeth clamped on his own neck, tiny droplets of blood seeping into her waiting mouth and then he was following her over that edge, spilling his seed into her welcoming body. 

They lay like that, entwined, for an indeterminable amount of time, breathing in each other’ s essence, feeling the other’s body so close to their own. 

“What are you doing, my love?” He asked again softly, his lips brushing her skin, desperate for the contact. His voice was curious yet somehow hesitant to learn the answer as if it no longer mattered now that he had her. 

“I’m coming to find you, love, it’s what I do, it’s what I have to do. You know that,” She answered reluctantly, leaning into his touch. It was as if to do so, as if in admitting it, then she was somehow taking away from this moment. 

“I’ll be waiting, lover, I’ve always been waiting.” 

“I know…” 

“Buffy.” A different voice, the same voice. 

Buffy turned her head toward the sound… “Angel?” 

Where had he come from? He, along with the bed upon which he had been laying, had vanished the moment Angelus had entered the room. Her eyes found him, leaning against the same doorjamb Angelus had occupied when Buffy had first spotted the demon but she could tell the difference between the two. 

“There is more than one side to the truth, more than one explanation.” His expression was closed, his eyes hooded from her probing gaze though they bore into her. 

“I know.” She said and it was no more than a whisper, “But it doesn’t matter, does it? You had a choice and chose. It wasn’t me.” 

“That’s not true, beloved, there’s more to it than that.” His eyes raised to hers and suddenly emotion was clear in them; he looked and sounded desperate, wanting her to believe him, wanting the knowledge of his actions to sway her to his side. 

“There may be but it doesn’t matter. You chose the lying whore over your true love and mate; first Faith, now Cordelia. Just how many lies have you told me, Angel? How many? How many lies, Angel?” 

Suddenly tired and not caring, knowing his next words were going to be more along the same lines and not having the time or inclination for that now she asked, “What are you doing here? How are you here?” 

“Buffy.” Angelus: yes, she could tell the difference between her loves. 

When she turned back Angelus was fading, the smirk on his face visible for all to see like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. But it was his eyes that drew her in and captured her attention. They weren’t smug and arrogant, no they were…hopeful, and – if such a thing were possible – caring, and it was all aimed at her. 

“Remember, lover,” the demon reminded her, “He left you. You’ll never be able to wake him from where he’s hidden himself. He left you and this world…to me.” 

She reached for him, for Angelus, wanting one more, just one more moment with him but her hand passed through him. Triumph was there now, and even though there was still caring and all aimed at her, Buffy knew that Angelus had won. 

Her demon disappeared, leaving her alone on their bed and Buffy took a moment to compose herself before turning back to the soul. “Angel?” 

“We are the same, beloved,” Angel said, repeating the words his demon had told her, “I told you that. But we are so very different, too. Remember that as well. I love you, what my demon told you, it was true, but there was more to it than that and you know it. Just remember, I love you…” His voice was desperate, pleading, as were his eyes; there was a spark of resignation there but Buffy couldn’t tell if that was for his situation – subordinate to his demon – or for her anger at his emotional betrayal of her. 

And then he, too, was fading away, his eyes holding the same emotions as his counterpart. 

“NO!” Buffy screamed that single word sitting on their bed, alone in the room, in their room, their cabin. 

“Buffy! B, are you okay?” 

Faith, it was Faith there, now, and the sun was streaming through her bedroom windows onto her naked body, her sister slayer looking at her as if she were afraid Buffy was about to do something stupid. Ha, what could be stupider than what she had already done and was about to do? 

“Faith? Yeah, I’m fine.” She’d think on her dream later, yes later. Much later. Looking at the other woman, who, in turn, looked worried and wasn’t that strange, what kind of relationship did they have, anyway? Was she still dreaming? No time to think on that now, “Did the ritual work?” 

Faith gave a strained laughed but was relieved all the same. “Yeah, B, it worked. Willow’s still out; it was intense, let me tell you. How do you feel?” 

“Strong, alive, powerful,” she answered automatically. But it was there, flowing through her, augmenting her, in her. Not like the voices of other slayers were there, no, but she could feel their combined strength, mental, physical, their determination. 

Energy burned through her and Buffy felt as if she could run to LA faster than she could drive. It would be safer at least. If she concentrated, yes, there it was. Holding out her hand, extending her mind she felt it, the mystical power that was the slayer. It was more than physical; it was metaphysical. 

And while there was no way she’d ever be able to explain it if asked, Buffy knew what it was and embraced it. This was it, then, the ultimate slayer, what every girl before her had strived for. She was it. The One, The Only. 

“Good, because you’re leaving in a few hours; Giles has that second spell for you and doesn’t think you should wait.” She paused, then asked, “He doesn’t know this spell, this slayer spell, is permanent, does he?” Faith stood up from where she was sitting on the bed in her attempt to wake Buffy but never took her eyes from the other slayer. 

The power streaming off her was almost tangible now and Faith was both jealous and terrified. She doubted her ability to handle that much power, that much energy, but at the same time knew that Buffy was so much stronger than she, Faith, was. Buffy could handle the power, of that Faith had no doubt; Buffy was now the ultimate slayer, the final goal. 

“No, and I don’t want you to tell him. He’s worried enough as it is, I don’t want to add something he has no control over to that list. 

Stopping with her hand on the doorknob Faith nodded and turned back to the naked slayer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I need you to stay here, Faith, to protect my family.”

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