Accepting Fate

Willow sat in the open fields behind the Florence country house. Legs crossed, hands raised to the sky, she chanted to the powers she sought to Invoke. Crossing her arms over her chest, she whispered something too quietly to hear, and the silks that sheltered her supple body from the world fell away, disappearing into nothingness.

She was quiet now, and in her silence it seemed as if the entire world had stopped to see what was about to unfold under the blinking stars that night had brought. From the shadows, someone stepped forward, and though the face could not be seen, the curvaceous body betrayed the person’s sex. Slowly she glided over the ground, toward the middle of the field, where Willow laid, naked and bare.

When she reached the middle of the field, the stranger fell to her knees next to Willow, who was incongruously motionless but for the thundering of her heart pounding mercilessly against her chest. The other woman took both Willow’s hands, pressing a kiss to each. Then, she straddled the still redhead and placed a kiss between her breasts.

Finally, Willow spoke, and when she did her voice sounded faraway and too otherworldly even to her own ears. “Illuminatus,” she whispered as her eyes drifted closed. Light flashed beneath her eyelids, and she gasped in surprise when she realized that the body above hers was not the goddess she had sought to seek knowledge from, but another goddess altogether.

Her goddess, her lover.

When Glory’s soft lips pressed against her own, Willow moaned and couldn’t help the stream of moisture that was seeping from her core into the dewy grass below her. She was helpless to halt the feelings of lust that were steadily flowing through her veins at the touch of her glorious lover. And when the goddess began to explore her body, she cried out in desire, her eyes flying open to once again behold the stars in the heavens above. The sensations were building, and it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, even with Glorificus. In this moment, Willow could believe that no magic could possibly conjure up a similar tirade of vibrations.

In an instant she exploded, magic flaring up from her body, making the warm country air around them glow in colors not of this world. Willow was floating, levitating off the ground, her body no longer molded against the wet grass, and when she came back down, she was gasping for air as if she had been denied it during such exquisite torture.

As her labored breaths eased, she realized that it had been some time since the goddess’ delicate hands had been against her skin, pleasuring her so thoroughly. Sitting up, she looked around and saw Glory walking, unhurried in a circle around her. She tried to open her mouth, but she could not speak, and seeing this, Glory held a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence and then simply smiled secretively.

Was she being mocked by her lover, her teacher?

Standing up, she attempted to turn toward her teacher. But Glory was suddenly all the way across the field, talking to a group of people Willow couldn’t recognize from so far away. They seemed close, however, if their body language was any indication. Squinting, Willow tried to clear up the vision, but the group of three, maybe four, she couldn’t tell, stubbornly refused to become clear.

She felt a hard body pressed up against her back, jerking her back to this reality. A calloused hand firmly, but gently, grasped her hip while the other caressed her stomach and with those motions, the fire that Glory had brought to life once again grew in her. Willow dimly wondered which god this was, and what pleasure he would bring her, as he pressed his arousal confidently against her backside.

Carefully he lowered her to ground, all the while whispering in her ear, words she couldn’t understand. Tears silently ran down her face, as the fire in her belly spread, spread, spread, and her god was doing nothing to quench the unbearable need.

She reached for him.

And for the second time, she whispered, “Illuminatus.” And for the second time, her eyes drifted closed and light flashed beneath her eyelids. This time, the vision she saw was not of a god, but of a man, one whom she thought perhaps could be a god in his own right.

The one she called Ripper, held himself above her, stopping for a moment to stare at the beauty below him. Threading his fingers through her fiery red hair, he willed her to open her eyes.

“Will you let me in, little one? Will you let me show you?” he asked as he lowered his lips closer to hers. Stopping a breath away, he waited for her answer.

She looked deep into his eyes, those green eyes bore painfully into his soul, and he was surprised at how she shook him in that moment. Her fingers brushed across his cheek, and she whispered, “Show me.”

Suddenly another set of fingers brushed across his other cheek, and he was looking not at Willow, but Glory. Ripper was surprised at how the goddess shook him as well in that moment. She whispered softly into his ear, “Show her what I no longer can.”

Just as abruptly, Willow was again below him, and he spoke binding words against her lips.

“So mote it be.”

Jerking back to herself, Willow wondered what that rather bizarre vision was all about. Confident it was the sign she’d been searching for since she’d left Glory and Ripper several weeks ago in an effort to find herself she smiled. Or, that was what she’d told them, but Willow had a feeling no one believed that. She was jealous of Ripper, his magicks, his place in Glory’s life and in her bed. And she was jealous of the secrets Glory hid from her, even after so long together.

Her vision showed her exactly what Willow wanted to know: whether or not the sorcerer was trustworthy. Granted, that was all relative, but yes, the answer was yes. He was, as far as she and, more importantly, Glory were concerned. Standing from her position on the ground, Willow extinguished her fire, dispelled the circle she’d cast, and, grabbing her bag, set off for the nearest town.

Glory told her they’d be in Moscow until Willow either returned to them or contacted them that she was still on walkabout. She hadn’t said why, only that she had things to do in Russia that could no longer wait. Was that the secret that Glory harbored, or one of them? And was Willow finally about to discover what that secret was?

Swiftly calculating how long the train from Florence to Moscow took, Willow smiled when she realized that by noon the next day, she’d be with the only family she cared to remember.

And if the nagging feeling she had was any indication, her little family was going to be needed, soon.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy languidly traced Angelus’ features with her fingers as she lay on her side, head propped on one hand, one leg tossed over his.

The two of them were wrapped in the hotel’s white silk sheets, completely and utterly sated. Where her father had found a hotel that supplied silk sheets, Buffy hadn’t a clue, but she was grateful. She was accustomed to such luxuries and had no wish to go without.

Nothing like mentally procrastinating, was there. Here she was, thinking about silk sheets and her father when she had everything she’d wanted (until two years ago) literally under her fingertips. Angelus was awake, she knew that, patiently waiting for her to finish her exploration. That, too, was unlike him, patience and waiting.

Or unlike the him Buffy knew. What she thought she knew apparently wasn’t true. Or not completely, at least. No, what she thought she knew of Angelus had twice been blown to itty bitty indiscernible pieces. The first time was when he mocked her, blown her off almost immediately after kissing her with such passion and promising her so much more.

The second time was last night. No, Buffy didn’t know what to make of him, not any more. But she wanted to learn.

She was still ignoring the basic fact of the matter.

Her fingers slowly worked their way down his chest, up again. Memorizing the texture of his skin, the variations of muscle and bone. She so enjoyed touching Angelus, feeling his cool skin heat under her fingers, his hairless chest, strong muscles, soft lips. There wasn’t a part of him she hadn’t explored throughout the night, and now, in the soft light that filtered through the curtained windows, there wasn’t a part she didn’t wish to explore again.

She and Angelus had made love several times that night and well into the day. Making love. Her first experience had been a hot and fast introduction that had left her reeling and begging for more. Not quite the textbook definition of the word. It wasn’t that Angelus had been negligent in seeing to her pleasure, far from it. No, it was so much more than that. There couldn’t possibly be a more able lover than hers.

He tasted every inch of her, cool breath on hot flesh. Touched her with probing fingers and made her mad with need for him. He brought her to the brink of climax only to tease her with words and looks, and make her wait, then drive her back up until she thought she’d explode from the sheer intensity of the feelings he brought out in her.

She’d waited for this for ages. Had wanted this since she realized what it was she wanted. Now she had it. Had Angelus right where she’d wanted him, under her, over her, inside her, and in her bed. It was what she wanted, still wanted, yet there was a part of her that was terrified.

He’d left her once, would he again? She believed him when he said he was sorry, that he loved her. Her body wanted him, her heart yearned for him. But deep in her soul, Buffy was terrified that the words he’d taunted her with once before were the truth. It was something she couldn’t get rid of no matter how she rationalized it.

But Buffy couldn’t fight the fire that bonded them, the emotion that joined them, the future that called to them. Nor, it seemed, could Angelus. Not any longer.

He rolled then, startling her. Capturing her against his cool, hard body. Instantly, she relaxed against him, head automatically finding the hollow of his shoulder. This was right. This was where she belonged. Buffy smiled, letting go one more piece of the wall surrounding both heart and soul.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her though she made no move to do so.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” she said, equally quiet.

“I didn’t mean now,” he continued. His lips brushed her neck, a spot he’d all but forced himself to stay away from. Buffy wondered why, but hadn’t asked. Hadn’t asked why he didn’t mark her, taste her blood, allow her to do the same to him.

“I meant,” his hand slipped over her hip to lay against her stomach, “ever. Don’t ever leave me, baby. I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

Another piece of that wall crumpled.

“Angelus…” she trailed off, unsure what to say. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said again. “But I’m still not sure I completely trust you.”

Rolling her so she lay under him, Angelus silently gazed down at her, brown eyes dark in the faint light filtering through the curtains in the other rooms. His body settled over hers perfectly, one hand combed through her long, tangled hair.

Slowly, he nodded. “I know. But,” he corrected with a roughish grin. “You do trust me with your life. To stand beside you, to back you up. Your heart,” he leaned down, kissed her gently, “I can earn back.”

Buffy couldn’t help it. She smiled at him, a soft chuckle escaping her, much to her surprise. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tugged him by the shoulders. “I believe you in that, too,” she grinned.

Leaning up, Buffy unhurriedly nibbled on his earlobe, choosing her words carefully. There was much she wanted to say to him, so much more she wanted to hear. Kissing him, she let her mind wander, listened to her heart, not her mind. And came up with the same answer. She needed him. Loved him. Had to hear his answers, first.

She whispered against his lips, “Why did you fight it, Angelus? Centuries before my birth, you awaited my coming. You are my king as I am your queen; together we will rule a most magnificent kingdom. Why did you refuse to see it?”

Angelus’ eyes slowly opened and he stared at her intently. His expression gave little away, his eyes bottomless wells of brown that drew her in, threatened to drown her. She didn’t bother to hide her feelings from him, didn’t bother to disguise the love she felt or the passion she craved. All were laid bare for him to see, to take, to make his own and in turn make her his own.

Lifting both hands to his face, Buffy brushed kisses over his beautifully carved cheekbones. His entire body was a work of art that she would gladly worship over any other.

“Answer me,” she murmured, leisurely rolling her hips against his. Felt his erection, wanted him buried inside her.

Angelus groaned, took her mouth again. With one swift thrust, he entered her, felt her clench around him. This was beyond any passion he knew, beyond anything he had ever known. He’d gladly spend the rest of his life right here.

“It no longer matters,” he said, slowly withdrawing before slamming back into her. “I love you. I need you. And I’m not leaving you. And you,” he kissed her, pulled back, thrust back in. “Are mine, lover. I will never let you go.”

Breath hitching, Buffy watched him with steady green eyes. “Why didn’t you mark me?”

The question caught him off guard and he stilled.

Last night had been no mistake, and he’d fiercely enjoyed every second of it. It probably shouldn’t have happened, to continue was probably foolhardy. He should probably leave now, before it was too late and he was forever caught in her. He wasn’t scared of Nest, no nothing like that. He’d respected the old man’s wishes, but this was not up to Nest.

This was between him and Buffy.

But when she kissed him, when she touched him, when she looked at him with eyes full of love, he could think of nothing but her. Any feelings he had tried to repress raged to the surface. This ‘mere human girl’ was addicting, a drug more potent then the blood he needed to survive. He had to have known that once he took that first step, there was no way he could go back. Nothing could have prepared him for the intensity of everything she invoked in him.

A scholar in his own right and well versed in every form of beauty and all types of literature, Angelus admired the works of many poets. When they spoke of passion, he was all too aware of the truths in their words. But when they spoke of love, he could only accept the beauty in their words, because he could never have believed that he would one day feel anything close to that.

He was a demon after all. But if Angelus was honest with himself, as he often liked to be, all that had changed the first day Buffy had entered his life, a mere slip of a girl. She was right. There was no reason to fight what was between them, never had been.  He had been made for her, and she for him. Whatever existence he had had before her didn’t matter.

They were perfect mates, and together they would make the world fall to its knees.

Thrusting into her, he began to seal the newfound revelation in the most primal way he knew. “You and I…we are one. I didn’t mark you because I didn’t want to force that on you our first night. Don’t ever think I wasn’t going to, baby.”

Buffy laughed throatily in triumph, her body tightening around his in a way Angelus vowed only he would ever know. She raked her nails down his back and keened in pleasure.

“I will mark you, my love,” he said against her neck, lapping at the pounding pulse. “Everyone will bow before you as their Queen.”

Taking his head with one hand, Buffy held him against her neck. “Do it, Angelus. Taste me.”

Unable to resist the siren’s call of her any longer, Angelus sank his fangs into her neck, letting the spicy and powerful blood flow over his tongue. Ambrosia. One mouthful, two, three. “I take you as my mate,” he said, swallowing the delicious taste of love, acceptance, mate. “Time has no meaning, worlds have no meaning. Forever as one, we will be.”

The moment he finished, Buffy clamped her teeth on his neck, breaking the skin. She swallowed three mouthfuls of his blood, and gasped for air. Convulsing around him, pleasure, pain, ecstasy and death threatened to overwhelm her. She shuddered, arched against Angelus.

“Ahh!” she screamed, muscles tightening, stiff and unyielding.

“Buffy!” Angelus screamed. Her nails dug into his back, thighs crushing around his hips. But that wasn’t why he screamed. He was terrified for her, what was happening to her. He’d never seen anything like it.

But then, he’d never taken a mate before.

“Buffy, talk to me,” he ordered, pulling back and sitting up. Taking her in his arms, he held her gently as she continued to shake.

“Angelus,” she sighed, stilling as abruptly as she’d started.

Breathing heavily, she rested her head against his shoulder. Her arms wrapped back around him, and she straddled him once more. Settling herself over him, Buffy sank onto his erection with a moan of pleasure.

“Need you. Fuck me,” she demanded. Rising to her knees, she slammed against him. “Yes, more.”

This was completely unexpected. Angelus had no idea what was happening, but certainly wasn’t about to let Buffy’s exquisite pleas go unanswered. Taking her mouth in a brutal kiss, he laid her on the bed, pushed her legs up, nearly to her chin. Pounding into her, one hard thrust after another, he watched her.

She was lovely in her passion, open and needy. Her body arched to meet his every move, demanding more with words and actions.

“Harder!” she screamed, hands on her breasts, pinching her nipples until they were diamond hard. Her nails scratched over her breasts, down her belly. “More, Angelus,” she demanded, eyes open and locked on his.

“That’s it, baby,” he panted, moving swiftly in and out of her. “Touch yourself for me.” Angelus moved one hand from her leg, fingers brushing her clit. She trembled, gasped his name.

The sound of her begging was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

Rolling that small bundle of nerves, he watched her emotions play over her face, listened to her sighs turn to screams. Wanted to capture them with his mouth so no one else could hear her. Wanted to listen to every single sound she made.

When her climax overtook her, it was almost as if he could see it. The ripple of beginning, the waves of bliss. The red of pleasure, the gold of power, the pink of desire, and the blinding white of him.

He could definitely feel her orgasm.

“Angelus!” she screamed, body rocking hard against him. His own orgasm came hard and fast, and Angelus emptied everything he was into her clenching body.

Long, long minutes later, Buffy rolled to face him. Her breathing had evened out, and she looked lazy with feminine satisfaction. Tightening his arms around her, Angelus drew her closer.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Hmm,” she sighed. “I don’t know. But it was wonderful.”

Chuckling, he dropped a kiss on her shoulder. But he was serious when he said, “You scared me to death, Buffy.”

“I know,” her hand caressed his cheek. “I’m sorry about that. I didn't know that would happen.”

“So it was me.” Angelus swallowed, pulled back.

“No,” she insisted. “Well, yes,” she grumbled at his look. “But not how you think. And don’t think for one second,” she smirked, “that we’re not mated, buddy. Because trust me when I say,” she tilted her head to show off the scar she felt pulsing there. “We are, we’re mated for life.”

“Good.” He kissed her mark, felt the answering pulse in his neck where she marked him. “It was because you’re human.”

“I guess,” she frowned. “I don’t know. In all my research, I never came across a human/vampire mating.”

“Research?” Angelus chuckled, watched her flush with embarrassment.

“Up until you decided to go stupid on me,” she glared, letting him know she hadn’t forgotten the fact he’d yet to tell her the real reason for the last two years. “I’d always planned on you.”

“On me? Always, eh?” He chuckled again, but didn’t relax. “Now that we know, I don’t want this happening again. Though the end result was…unbelievable,” he decided, “I don’t want this affecting you badly.”

“Unbelievable?” Buffy echoed. She slid over him, breasts brushing against his cool chest, limbs tangling with his. “That’s the only adjective you could think of?”

“Baby,” he murmured, kissing her hard and fast. “There isn’t a word for what we have. I can’t think of anything to describe how you make me feel. It’s…addicting is another inadequate word.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But we’ll figure this out, right? I mean whatever happened to me, we’ll figure it out. I…” she paused, swallowed. Felt the last barrier that kept her from fully opening to him fade into nothingness.

“I can’t live without you, Angelus. You’re mine, my mate, my lover.”

Next Part: Everyone Has a Destiny, Some Force Their Own