“Enjoying yourself, Buffy?” He asked as Dru shut the door. He’d deal with her later. 

“Yes,” the slayer said with a cocky grin, tossing the stake onto the bed. 

Her body still hummed with the thrill of the hunt, such as it was – maybe she’d talk Angelus into setting something up for her later – and she was feeling high on that adrenaline. That, combined with the arousal Angelus left her with, and the fact that he was looking ever so delicious before her now, set her off, made her reckless, cocky…needy. 

“Actually I was.” Don’t think on it, don’t think on him. Just feel, give in…it’s easier that way. Isn’t it easier that way? 

Angelus quickly crossed the distance between them, gripping her upper arms and pulling her closer, demanding, “Where were you?” 

“Killing something,” Buffy said with a calm she didn’t understand. 

Gone was her need to simply give into Angelus, let him do whatever he pleased. Even if her conscience was assuaged that way, Buffy knew she’d never truly forgive herself. She wasn’t that girl, couldn’t simply give in. And now, faced with an Angelus who was not mad, but scared, she felt something else. 

Angelus was afraid for her, and it was something she could deal with. Angel was the same way, after all. “You think I can stay here, cooped up in this room, with nothing to do but sip tea with your crazy childe and her doll?” Breaking Angelus hold on her, she stepped back. “Really, baby,” she mocked, knowledge of the change in their relationship sparking in her eyes. “Think again.” 

With a roar, Angelus pulled her to him again, his face inches from hers, eyes swirling with rage and colors, a deeply buried fear for her life rising within him. He had her now; nothing was going to take her from him, not even her own stupidity. “You don’t do anything I don’t say, baby, now. Where. Were. You?” 

“Slaying something,” she hissed, trying to break his hold again, but this time she couldn’t. And that pissed her off even more. “That wasn’t one of your precious rules,” she told him, equally angry. “Killing annoying vamps who couldn’t fight, smelled like they hadn’t showered since they rose, and thought they could rule with you, wasn’t even close to being on the list, lover,” she told him, and watched the knowledge sink into his angry mind.  

“Where?” He demanded, angry over her slaying and over whatever it was those now dead vamps thought they could have if they actually managed to succeed and kill her. He was beyond rage at the thought that she could get hurt, and even angrier that someone thought they could do so. “Where were you slaying?”

“Downstairs someplace,” Buffy said, still struggling to loosen his grip as their eyes held. It never occurred to her to tattle on Drusilla. Though the vampiress seriously freaked her out, Buffy wouldn’t tell Angelus that it was his childe who set the whole thing up. 

“And hello!” She said as she glared back, “Slayer here, I kill vampires, it’s what I was born to do. If I don’t, I tend to get pissy. Besides,” she said as she stopped struggling and flipped her head back in a dismissive gesture, a hollow laugh escaping her. “Anyone who thinks you actually share power is delusional.” 

Angelus leaned back at her words, eyeing her with something Buffy couldn’t make out. He still had another day until the Acathlan emissaries entered this dimension, another day to play things quiet, to bide his time before going public with his knowledge and power and Goddess to his God. One more day to wait until he ruled this world with his lover and queen by his side; none to dispute them, none to contest them. None to take her from him. 

“Born to do, no, Buffy, that’s not what you were born for,” he told her silky, his sinful voice flowing over her, and he smirked slightly when her increased arousal hit his senses. His hands gentled, fingers softly rubbing over her shoulders. “You were born for me, my love, only for me. The slayer was created for an entirely different purpose.”
 
Jerking her against him, Angelus crushed her lips with his, smirking when she automatically opened her mouth to his demanding one. Coaxing more of a response from her, he picked her up, carrying her to their bed. So his little slayer enjoyed the hunt, the fight, the kill, more than she could admit to herself. He’d have to think of a way to work that to his advantage, but just knowing she enjoyed it enough to seek it out after only a couple of days of inactivity turned him on, hugely. 

Running high on the adrenaline pumping through her, and her aborted orgasm, Buffy returned his kiss with fervor, sinking her teeth into his soft lower lip with a growl of need. The bite drew a tiny amount of blood, which she quickly licked away. Some small part of her knew what she was doing went against everything she tried to be…the good girl, the one who listened to what her mother and friends wanted her to be, the one who hid behind her slaying as a way to hide from her deeper (darker) passions, but Buffy didn’t care. 

Not here, not now, not with Angelus over her, finally sating the need he aroused within her. (Yes, harder, baby. Don’t stop, my love.) 

Guilt surfaced and was firmly pushed away. These feelings were why she begged, but now, with Angelus once more building her up, her body understood. There was no shame in feeling this way. Not now, not like this. Not when he was with her. 

Grabbing her hair, Angelus tugged her head back to look in her eyes, ignoring the gasp of displeasure at breaking their contact. Her normally hazel eyes swirled blue and silver, and made the changed vampire pause. What happened to her, what was running through her that caused her eyes to eddy and churn with colors? Was it this changed land that affected her, or was it something else? 

Moving his lips to her neck, Angelus sucked on the pulse point there, his fangs gently scraping the skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Lapping it up, he chuckled. His little slayer was so conflicted, so torn. Desire lay heavily in her blood, along with the thrill from the kill. Underlying it was her love for Angel, Angelus knew, but that could and would be remedied and soon. He hated that it lay there, and that he knew it was for his weaker souled self, but Angelus vowed to not lose his temper over it. Not yet. 

Confusion, sorrow, depression, he tasted these as well, but knew that they could be overcome, too. For now, they were a delicious banquet in her blood, a feast that made the slayer power she carried, the (love/addiction/sweetness/need/ want/lust) she felt for him (Angel) (Angelus) all the better. Powerful, addicting, his. 

At times, he was a patient demon. He’d have Buffy, and willingly, and he’d have her forever. But her blood told him something else, as well. Whatever caused her eyes to change, it wasn’t harmful merely…(strong/primal/ancient) a part of him and yet not. Maybe Acathla changed her as well? Angelus didn’t know, but he vowed to find out. 

He wasn’t about to lose her because of what he’d done to keep her. 

“Forgetting so soon, my love, the consequences of defying me?” Angelus licked the droplets of blood off his lips as he asked, tasting her there as well as the faint trace of blood. He looked into her eyes once again, unaware that his own were full of mystical colors, the same as hers. “Forgetting the lives you hold in your hands? The price they’ll pay? Forgetting so soon?”

Still smarting from the crack about being born for him, the way she felt with Angel, the way he made her feel whole and complete, Buffy shot back, uncaring of the consequences, “I’m not defying you,” she admitted, still savoring the tiny taste she had of him, but unwilling to let him know that. She moved under him, curving into his body, his erection with a soft hiss of satisfaction. Smirked at him when he jerked against her. 

“However, whether I was born for Angel, or not, remains to be seen…” 

A growl escaped him at her words, her insistence that Angel was the one for her. That weakling soul wasn’t strong enough for her. She was a strong-willed woman, always the dominant in her relationships, even before her calling. Except with him…with him, it was different. With him, he was the dominant, he was the one controlling her. However, knowing that she couldn’t restrain her more basic side, knowing that the dominance that is the slayer couldn’t be submissive, only made Angelus harder, made him want her all the more. 

Mine. 

He so enjoyed the conquest, the taming, and Buffy was such a worthy opponent. Still, his patience wasn’t unlimited, and the longer she refused to admit what she felt for him, the sooner her little friends would start dropping like the annoying flies they were. 

“Don’t push me, lover,” Angelus warned, trailing his cool tongue down her neck to the top of her tank top. “You know the consequences.” 

He quickly undressed her, noting how she’d found her clothes and underwear. The bra was white, but framed her breasts perfectly; the skimpy panties, also white, hid her treasures from him. The silk slid easily down her body, and Angelus breathed deeply of the arousal that had magnified since her encounter with the vampires. 

She got off on it, and he loved that. Leaning up on one hand, gazing down at her beautiful body, so ready for him, so wanting, and so very his, Angelus allowed his free hand to roam all that hot skin. Blunt nails scraping over her hardened nipple, over and over to the point where it was painful, nearly unbearable, and Buffy let out a whimper of pained need, torn between begging him to stop and begging him to continue. 

He’d vowed earlier not to let her come until she learned to participate in their couplings; Angelus changed his mind when she arched into his hand, so ready for him he could taste her arousal in the air. His reasoning was twofold: one, he didn’t want her wandering around with only his chide to protect her, broadcasting her arousal for all to scent; and two, Buffy was obviously lost in her need for him, opening herself completely to his body, showing him that no matter what she said, or did or didn’t do, she wanted him as much as he knew she did. 

Besides, Angelus loved it when she orgasmed around him, her hot inner walls clenching his cool cock, milking him for all he was worth. Never had he experienced anything like that with any other, no matter their level of experience. Only with Buffy did he feel completely sated. Of course, it was something he’d never tell her, but he could indulge. 

Then she wrapped her hands around his head, tugging him lower so her mouth could find his, and Angelus smirked against her lips. Round two to Angelus. 

“Not defying me, Buffy?” He pulled back, as his fingers switched to her other breast. He desperately tried to control the overwhelming anger that came whenever she compared him to that pathetic soul. What had Angel ever given her? Nothing, and yet he, Angelus, had remade an entire world for her. 

“Mentioning Angel isn’t defiance? How long, my love, do you think your precious Angel would have lasted with Harris constantly snipping at him before he cut and run?  He was so very good at running, love; it’s all he’s ever done. The only time he ever stood his ground and fought for something was when I took control of his pathetic body.” 

“Angel knew he had nothing to worry about where Xander was concerned,” Buffy said in defense of her (one time) lover (I miss you, Angel), even as she arched into Angelus’ hand, begging for more attention to her aching breasts. It wasn’t Angel’s fault he left, and Angelus was with her now…it was hers.  

“He was above Xander’s pettiness. And that’s not true; he didn’t run. He came after me when I fought the Master, he always saved me.” 

“Did he?” Angelus asked as his mouth replaced his fingers, cool tongue soothing her swollen nipples. “You must mean when Harris threatened to stake the sniveling coward if Angel didn’t lead him to where the Master’s lair was. Probably one of the few reasons Harris is still breathing; because without the whelp’s actions that day, you would be dead.” 

Buffy was stunned, hurt, that couldn’t be true; Angel loved her, but then, when she fought the Master, things between them were iffy at best, they were still trying to reconcile their differences, the fact that one was born to destroy what the other was. (You saved me, she’d said, smiling up at him. I only found you- but she’d cut him off with a kiss. You saved me. You always save me.) 

“No,” she said, quickly rallying; she could identify with Angel going against what he was; the fear that going against the familiar brought, what others thought, because she went against all she knew to love him.  

“He found me, and he saved me,” she murmured, trying to dispel the web of desire Angelus wove around her. “It took a lot of courage to defy everything and do that.”

Angelus grit his teeth, but let his hand move further down her body, long fingers circling lower and lower. “Yes, soul boy actually did something right for a change.” Smoothly moving on, “But how long before his doubts and insecurities drove him into running, Buffy?  With your little witch constantly shoving ‘normal’ boys at you? Really, baby, could she have been any more obvious in questioning your ability or right to choose for yourself?” 

“No,” Buffy murmured, her breath hitching as Angelus’ fingers grazed her hot, swollen flesh. “No, Willow’s not like that. It’s not like…” she trailed off, trying to follow what he was saying, trying to defend Willow while he aroused her body to an unbearable pitch. (You came, you saw, you…rejected.) Words escaped her as feelings crashed into each other, so many, too many, and Buffy wasn’t sure where one ended and one began as her blood called out for him and her body screamed for release by his touch.  

Angelus continued, overriding what Buffy was trying to say, knowing what he did to her, and knowing that she wasn’t going to stop his ministrations. His fingers teased her swollen core, advancing and retreating just enough to have her mindless with need. Watching her intently, the emotions that played over her face, the gasps for breath, the way her hands fisted into the sheets, Angelus smirked in triumph. 

“Think on it, lover. Half the deaths these last few months could have been avoided if only your witchy little friend had butted out of our business and stopped shoving pathetic mortals your way.” He said, expressing his adamant dislike of the best friend. But then there was still the fact that Buffy went along with her friend, never saying no when that was all she had to do to the redhead. She said it to him often enough! 

“No, it wasn’t Willow’s fault-” Buffy said, ending on a gasping breath as Angelus brushed her clit again. It was hers. It was her fault they were dead. It was only her fault. In not killing Angelus, all the deaths he caused were her fault. 

“All you had to do, love, was tell her to stop. But you didn’t, did you?” He dipped his fingers into her heat, his cock impossibly hard when her walls clenched around those digits. “So worried about what they would say, what they’d think if you admitted that you didn’t want those boys they tossed at you, didn’t want what they wanted for you. How long,” Angelus asked as his fingers brushed her dripping core once more. Her heat drew him to her, her hitched breathing…she was so close. 

She was panting now, her eyes closed, her body arched into his, silently begging for what only he could give her. “How long before Angel realized he was second to their approval, hmmm?” 

“No,” she whispered harshly, through ragged breathing, appalled at the words Angelus spouted. Her protest turned into a moan when Angelus dipped his tongue into her heated core, tasting the undeniable desire there. Quickly bringing her to orgasm, loving her shout of release, the way her hands clenched into the sheets, Angelus moved back up her body, kissing her stomach, her heaving chest, his tongue again tasting her breasts, before sucking on her pulse point once more. 

“Yes,” he contracted, moving in for the verbal kill, one more step in alienating her from her friends and family. “But if, by some miracle, Angel found his backbone and hung around long enough to get over Harris and that boy’s pathetic attempts at wit; then that pit viper you have for a mother wouldn’t have quit until she drove him off, putting a stake through Angel’s heart and yours. All just so she could put you back into that neat little category labeled ‘normal girl’, where she feels the most comfortable.” 

His soft lips moved to her ear, blunt teeth tugging on her lobe, as he whispered, “Controlling who you are, what you are, and whom you love. And let’s face it Buff; a souled vampire for a boyfriend isn’t conventional.” His mouth traced her jaw, fingers still stroking her heated and quivering flesh. She was splayed before him, open, needy, his. And still, it wasn’t enough.  

(What have I told you?! You are mine, Buffy. Only mine. It was shouted, roared, demanded, and promised.) (And you, her voice was quiet in contrast to his, don’t understand it, do you? I thought you did, but you haven’t changed.) 

“Even now that self-centered bitch is sitting in her nice, safe accommodations and blaming everyone else for her selfishness, her mistakes. Justifying her betrayal of you, and explaining away what she sees happening with her own eyes as Buffy’s crazy drugged out cultist friends.” 

Those talented fingers trailed down again, entering her in one smooth move, gliding in and out as he kissed her, tasting her need and passion, the release she craved, the knowledge that only he, Angelus, could bring her that. Her second orgasm shot through her as his thumb played with her clit, fingers curling inside her as she cried out once again with her climax. Her hands dug into the mattress; no matter what she wanted, still she refused to give in and touch (cool flesh, hard muscles) him. 

He wanted those hands around him, but that, too, could wait. For now, it was enough to know that she desired him, craved him, just as he did her. She couldn’t admit it, not aloud, not yet, but her body couldn’t deny it. Thrusting into her in one swift move, Angelus set a brutal pace, driving into her hard and fast, Buffy keeping up with each thrust. 

“You remember, love,” Angelus said, as he withdrew from her heat only to pound back inside her, “I didn’t allow Harris to come between us. And I never let that whelp walk over me or insult you like Angel did, because Harris knew what the consequences were. You think I couldn’t kill him when I left him that gift? You think that I didn’t want to? Wrong, baby, I left him alive because you wished it and I wanted you.” It was always about her. 

Another withdrawal and thrust, Buffy’s legs winding around his waist, drawing him deeper as she met him, equally. Another point in Angelus’ favor. 

“Willow now knows the folly of not minding her own business, as well as trying to fix you up with some puny human boy because, my darling slayer, you are mine!” He punctuated that declaration with a brutal kiss, growling when her tongue met his.  

Breaking away, Angelus added, “And should Willow forget that little lesson, then the death toll can rise again, starting with her wolf.” 

In and out, he moved smoothly with her, pounding her into the mattress, encasing her wrists in his larger hand and thrusting her breasts out for his pleasure. “As for mommy dearest; the day I let that bitch take you from me, or tell me what I can or can’t do with her daughter, is the day my ashes dance in the wind.” Lowering his head to within inches of hers, Angelus snarled, “You are mine, Buffy, mine, and mine alone. I do not share.”  

He was moving faster now, rushing them both toward completion, moving together faster than the naked eye could catch, their preternatural powers above those of even the demons that walked this earth. His passion was clouding his mind, but Angelus forced himself to concentrate on his words.  

“I will not share you with that weakling Angel. I will not tolerate interference of those so-called friends, or your hypocritical Watcher who never told you the truth about me, or that manipulative demon, Whistler.” 

He traced a path of hard kisses down her neck and chest, and finished with a growl, his control quickly approaching the breaking point. “You are mine, love, and one day very soon, it will be my name you call, my arms you long for, and my body you hunger for. I conquered Heaven and Hell for you, because you couldn’t live in my world and I couldn’t stomach yours. I’m not Angel, Buff; the name’s Angelus.”  

He was pounding into her even harder now, faster than before, and wasn’t entirely sure of the words coming out of his mouth, so immersed in Buffy was he. And Angelus wasn’t sure, either, if she understood all he said, so lost in passion was she.  

“I created a world for you, love, and then made you my entire world. One day I’ll be your entire world, as well,” he promised, as she fell over the edge of bliss, her inner walls contracting around him and drawing his orgasm to the fore.

Swirling his tongue around a pebbled nipple, Angelus sank his fangs into her areola, drawing a small mouthful of blood, savoring it as she exploded one last time around him. She tasted of love and loss, passion and hate, and most of all, of needy desire. It was wonderful, and the fact that she came by his bite, sent Angelus over the edge with her, his tongue lapping at the closing puncture marks.

Collapsing on top of her, Angelus waited long minutes for his system to level before rolling off Buffy and curling around her prone body. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered as he closed his eyes. “Sleep now, for tomorrow our new life begins.”
~~~~~~~~~
As one slayer slept, curled in the possessive arms of her lover, unaware that she clung to him even in her sleep, another wandered the streets of Kansas City. Faith looked up at the sky, something she’d done almost constantly, for a couple of days now, since leaving Boston and making their way westward. 

She knew what happened, knew that hell had somehow came to Earth, and knew that she was so royally screwed now. Her watcher, Julie, informed her only days ago that she was the new slayer, and Faith loved that. She loved the strength that came with it, and the fact that now she wasn’t the one being beat up, but the one doing the pounding. Sure, it was on a bunch of vamps, but hey, world savage and all.  

Except that not quite two days later, this happened. Julie was in a panic, and called that thing she worked for, the Watcher’s Council. They hadn’t been helpful. Words like ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Hell on Earth’ and ‘Former Slayer’ were thrown around, but Faith had no idea if they even knew what they meant.  

Nonetheless, the Council ordered them to head to California, where the “Center of this mystical disturbance originated,” so that’s where they were headed.

Plants and animals couldn’t live without sunlight, and intense heat wilted everything within days. Then the humans started dying out. Many committing suicide, convinced that the end of the world was nigh. Some joined cults, many re-found religion. Some fought, convinced that someone else was responsible for all of this. 

With their food stores suddenly endangered, the population of the planet was rioting. It was the same everywhere, Faith heard, from China to New York; everyone was afraid that this “Unknown metrological disturbance” was the end of the world as they knew it. 

Yeah, it pretty much was. 

“Faith,” Julie called from ahead of her, urging the slayer to walk faster and not linger looking at a sky that would never be the same again. 

Faith smiled, nodding as she jogged to her watcher. Julie was the one to rescue Faith from the dreges of Bostonian society, and from her drunken mother and her mother’s drugged up boytoy. Julie was the first – the only one – to believe in Faith, and the slayer didn’t want to disappoint her. 

“Jules,” Faith called with a grin, “You won’t believe what I found!” 

Cocking her head to the side, the watcher waited while her charge, a girl so full of life and energy, approached. Julie hated that the girl was thrust into this, that she was called so young and called into this. Then again, Julie Wainwright had serious disagreements with how the Watcher’s Council did things, but not many were willing to listen to her views. She knew Rupert Giles shared her thinking, but he had his hands full with his own slayer and the Hellmouth. 

What, Julie wondered, had happened to Mr. Giles when hell spread to Earth? It was a shame, but she didn’t think he survived it. The rumor was that no one in Sunnydale survived, but this big honking mansion thing. Apparently, the mysterious new ruler of hell lived there. Julie wasn’t so sure about that; with everything she knew about demons and their ways, why would one wish to live in a house like the humans? Then again, if one actually succeeded in bringing hell to Earth, chances were that demon was different than most. 

“Faith, child,” the woman smiled, “You need to be careful! I was worried when you weren’t here this morning.” 

They started keeping track of the days by when they awoke. Since the sun didn’t rise or set any longer, it seemed best, though Julie had a feeling even that limited way of keeping track of time would soon disappear.  

“Sorry, Jules,” the slayer smiled, unrepentant. “But I found a nice stash of clothes and food.” Opening the backpack she carried, Faith showed her watcher her spoils. “Figured we needed it more than anyone else,” she justified when Julie said nothing, desperate for her watcher’s approval. 

“Good job, Faith,” Julie eventually said with a sigh. Her Watcher Training never really went into detail on what to do when hell swept the land, the populace was in an uproar, and supplies were low. There was nothing in the handbook, Julie was sure she’d remember if there was. She hated that she was taking from others, others who needed those supplies as much as she and Faith did. 

But Faith was right. If they were truly to get to California and figure out what happened and report it to the Council – how Julie wasn’t sure, electronics weren’t exactly working any longer – then they needed all the help they could get. 

“Faith-” Julie said then stopped. “You’re right, we do have to survive. We have to get to the Hellmouth, or whatever remains of it,” the Watcher qualified. “Assess the situation and report back to the Council. I know it’s hard on you, traveling with me across the country as we are; but you must understand, it’s imperative to our cause.”  

“I got that, Jules,” Faith said, trying to tell the older woman just how much she did understand without really saying it. “I get that we have to make it there, and don’t sweat it, traveling across country by stealing cars and hopping those trains, hey,” she smiled, “It was a blast.” 

Grimacing, Julie shook her head. “Come along, Faith,” she instructed and briskly turned back into their makeshift home, an old semi-abandoned warehouse. Even the homeless that roamed every street in America realized what happened and tried to deny and fight it. Julie wanted to tell them it was hopeless, for she believed it was, but couldn’t bring herself to say it in front of Faith. So long as one slayer still believed, she would fight on.  

“So, Jules,” Faith asked as they carefully made their way through crowded streets, lined with those looting anyone and anything they could, and those who believed that by praying now, now that the end was upon them, it would somehow save them. “How’re we getting from Kansas City, Mo, to the no longer sunshine state?” 

“Faith, I haven’t a clue,” Julie admitted with a smile. “Maybe there’s a train still running, or we can…” she couldn’t say it; it went against everything she believed in, every moral value her parents ever taught her. The Council was of the firm opinion that whatever was necessary to do for the job, but the Wainwrights didn’t believe in that. 

“Perhaps we can…liberate an auto.” She looked to Faith as they slipped down alleys and back roads; their sensible shoes already hurting aching feet from the days of constant travel. “You do know how to do that?” 

“Of course,” Faith laughed, as she hoisted Julie over a metal fence into the next alleyway. “Maybe I’ll even teach you, Jules.” 

‘This was the slayer after Kendra then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she wanted to trek across the continent to see what the center of Hell was like?’
‘She hadn’t learned yet,’ he assured his audience.

~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy awoke with a start, looking into the dark eyes of Angelus.  

She had a feeling the new slayer was heading their way, but didn’t really know how she knew that. Buffy desperately wanted to warn the new slayer, warn her that hell was already here and that it was useless to try and stop it, or revert it to what Earth once was. She wanted to warn the new slayer to stay away from the Hellmouth, that it was dangerous here, more so than even the rest of the planet, Buffy was sure. 

“Stay away!” Buffy wanted to shout. “Don’t come here, go away! Save yourself, save the rest of the world. Do the duty that I wasn’t able to do.” 

And maybe kill us both.  

Having no idea how to warn the slayer, especially without Angelus finding out she had, Buffy said nothing to the waiting demon, evening her breathing out and calming her already shattered nerves. She wasn’t going to give him anything more than she already had. 

He was dressed in black leather pants only, sprawled out in a chair next to the bed, watching her as she slept. One arm over the back, one leg over the arm of the chair, a bare foot lazily swinging back and forth. He looked deliciously rumpled; and Buffy was ashamed to realize that she wanted him, again. 

The slow smirk he sent her told the slayer that he knew that as well.  

Saying nothing, not sure what to say, hating that she was in this position, that she wanted the demon responsible for all this, that she wanted him even after he kidnapped her friends and family, destroyed the world, Buffy lowered the sheet that covered her. (Everything you do you do so willingly.) Her breasts were slowly exposed to Angelus’ waiting gaze, and when the silken material pooled at her waist, Buffy met his eyes once more, hoping that she didn’t actually have to say anything.  

Agreeing to all his demands, agreeing to give herself to him whenever he wanted was one thing; initiating it was something else entirely. But she clearly remembered his (leaving her in a state of high arousal) threats, and Buffy wasn’t about to let something like her tattered pride get her friends killed. 

Angelus rose from the chair, as smoothly and gracefully as an attacking lion, stalking the few steps to the bed and sliding onto the sheets. His leather pants rode low on his hips, and Buffy hated that she wanted to taste those hips, all that smooth pale skin, so cool to her touch, even in this heat. 

“Look at me, baby,” he instructed, and waited while she did just that. “Never refuse me, my love. Never look away from me, and never deny your feelings for me.” 

Leaning over her, Angelus slipped his tongue into her waiting mouth, growling as she kissed him back.

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