The music was a pulsing beat around them as Buffy moved against her lover.
The room was dark, lit only by scattered candles, and they were alone; only the two of them as they moved together. Angelus would have it no other way. His arms wrapped tightly about her, bending her backwards as he kissed her deeply, his leg slipping in between hers, rubbing against her heat. She wanted him, and he growled against her lips as he felt her breath hitch.
Winding her arms around his neck, one leg over his hips, Buffy closed her eyes, flung her head back, and let the rhythm move through her. It’d been a long while since she was able to dance like this, to let go and forget. Forget the everyday things that she lived, forget her past, her future. Forget that she needed to forget.
With Angelus’ arms around her, it was even better.
“This is perfect,” she whispered, letting him slowly pull her back up, flush against him. “This is exactly what I meant.”
“Is it now?” He purred against her neck, his accent heavy and alluring.
She gave him a low throaty chuckle and continued her teasing movements against him, using her body, her smile, her eyes to stir him until he thought he’d go mad from the want. From the need.
“Yes,” she sighed against him mouth, tongue tracing his lips as she watched him through silver and green eyes. “Almost exactly.”
“And what would make it exactly,” he wondered, hitching her higher against him, holding her as she wound her other leg around his waist, settling against his hard cock.
“Us,” she said, kissed him hard. “Naked and,” she nipped his lower lip. “Fucking hard on the floor.”
She felt him harden further against her, smiled the enthralling feminine smile countless women had given their men over the years, and rolled her hips. Touching her lips to his once more, even as she felt him lower them onto something soft she knew hadn’t been there before, Buffy murmured, “I need you, Angelus. Now.”
Before she had really finished the sentence, he was on her, lips demanding against hers, hands on her tank top, the one she’d had Serra make especially for this, tugging it over her head with a slight tearing sound. Buffy didn’t care. Her own hands were rough on his shirt, ripping at the buttons, pulling it down his arms. Arching her neck to his mouth, she finally pulled the shirt free, and went to work on his pants.
“You’re mine,” he said against her breasts, fangs scraping a thin line over the plump flesh. She shuddered at the feel, hands gripping his head closer. “You’re mine, Buffy. My Mate, my lover, my goddess.”
“Yes,” she hissed as he undid the snap to her pants.
“You ever wear these for another,” he growled, mouth back on hers. “I’ll kill him.”
The laugh was low and sultry, and she rolled them so she had him under her, at her mercy. “You even think of seeing another like this, baby,” she promised as she finished yanking his own leather pants off his hips, “And I’ll kill the both of you.”
“That’s my girl.” And his hand tangled in her hair, his
mouth on hers, and in one smooth move, he thrust inside her. Home.
~~~~~~~~~~
He watched her from across the room, possessive, greedy.
She was his, his beautiful blonde goddess, and Angelus did not share. Well, he didn’t share her. Never her. Not his Buffy. He couldn’t, wasn’t sure it was physically possible to even contemplate that.
And it was all coming together, now. So smoothly, so true; but then he’d never doubted it would. Never doubted his affections, or his ability to win her affections. (Angel, it was about Angel. She was thinking about him, he could see it in her smile. It was the one reserved for the souled idiot. Soft and gentle, hesitant, yet bright at the same time.)
Why her, he wondered, and not for the first time. Why was it her that caught his attention, that made him want to change so much just for her. What was it about Buffy Summers, vampire slayer, that had him rethinking things he hadn’t realized he’d ever thought of before? He’d had countless women, knew how to please, how to hurt, how to tease, and how to make them crave him more.
And yet Buffy changed all that.
He didn’t want another. He didn’t want anyone else in his bed, didn’t want to feel the flesh of another, taste another. And he was okay with that. The thought didn’t bother him, not in the least.
Yet she still held back from him. Still held herself away, secreted deep within her mind and soul. The thought enraged him, and Angelus hated that he knew what she kept from him.
Angel.
It was always about Angel. The souled freak. The one being in this – or any – existence whom he had cause to fear. Buffy loved Angel with everything in her, unable and unwilling to hold herself back. At her core, she needed Angel in the same way Angel needed her, and Angelus knew that. Knew her in ways he didn’t another – was that her allure? That he knew her so well and still she surprised him?
Or was it something else?
Her love for Angel and his violent jealously of that? Yes, there was that. Angelus, the strong god who created a world to suit him, the vampire who ruled Europe for a hundred years, he was…afraid. Insecure, even, though he cringed at such a truth, when admitted only to himself.
He needed Buffy to feel for him, to love him as much as she felt for and loved Angel. (She still loved him. Wanted him. It was the soul she wanted, not the demon.) His difficulty was in believing that she could love him as much as she claimed, knowing what kind of person she was.
Angelus laughed, hard and bitter. He was jealous of himself. That irrational thought was the only thing rational in the matter.
Buffy wasn’t lying about loving him, he knew that. Tasted it in her blood for the confirmation he so desperately needed, knew by her reactions, her words, her gestures that she loved him – Angelus.
But was that it? Did she love Angelus for, well, himself? Or had she fooled herself into thinking she had because it was all that remained of Angel? Was he, then, her substitute?
Fury raced through him at that thought. Fury…and fear. He loved her, though Angelus wasn’t sure he could admit it to her in so many words; wasn’t sure he knew how. He needed her, desired her, wanted her, cared for her. And, in doing so, opened himself up to things humans and demons alike had battled for millennia.
Was his affection returned?
He knew that if he hadn’t brought hell to earth then she would still be fighting what she felt for him. If he hadn’t taken her friends and family, if he hadn’t threatened their safety, if he hadn’t…then would Buffy have admitted how she felt? Or would she have gone on, ignoring what had happened between her and the demon when she had her precious soul back.
She turned to him, smiling though her eyes were troubled. Was it that which she held back from him that so troubled her? Or was it more? Did she, perhaps, know what he thought, or the essence of it, and wondered what troubled him?
Winking at her, he allowed a half smile to grace his lips, seductive even as he planned his next move. A test, possibly; one to determine her true affections, where her heart truly lay. One that would force her to reveal that last part of herself to him, so that he might – finally – hold all of her; that he might know all of her.
Still, he wasn’t relaxing his guard for her safety, either. He knew too much, had seen – had done – too much over the centuries to relax it. Someone was trying to take his Buffy from him, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. He had much more to lose now, and he wasn’t willing to lose it. To let it – to let her – go.
She floated through the crowd, now, towards him, smiling at this and that, a demon who bowed to her, crouching all six feet of himself onto his knees in supplication. A woman who wept when she smiled, declaring that the goddess was as beautiful and graceful – more so – than the rumors had said and how it was, indeed, such a divine honor to finally be in her presence.
Buffy had adapted to all this, though Angelus knew she was still uncomfortable. Unused to the bowing, the worshipping, the adoration they willingly gave to her.
But it was when she reached him, when she stopped before him, smiling up at him, and taking his hand that drew the most looks. The most gasps, the most worship, the most dew-eyed blessings. Kissing her palm, Angelus watched her with dark eyes, well aware of the power the pair of them exuded when together.
“What troubles you?” she asked in a low voice, hand drifting up to touch his cheek.
“Nothing, my love,” he shook his head, unwilling to give voice to his worries.
She watched him for a long moment, knew he lied, but didn’t press. “I’m bored,” she admitted in a quiet voice as she glanced around the room, smile fixed on her face. “My face hurts from smiling, and that freaky human was back and babbling about his grand structure again.”
Snorting in amusement, Angelus leaned down and brushed her mark, causing her to shiver at the touch. Attention was drawn in that move, drawn to the mark, to the possession, and if they hadn’t believed before that Buffy, the vampire slayer, was Angelus’, then they all knew it now. Those few who continued to insist otherwise, would be dealt with immediately following the evening.
“Lord B’wanna was searching for you, my love,” he told her quietly. “I think he wants to introduce you to his family.”
The horror in her eyes lasted only for a moment, to his chuckled amusement, before Buffy nodded. “Then can we leave?”
Laughing again at the hope in her voice, he agreed. With one last kiss, Buffy went in search of Lord B’wanna and his family. It wasn’t that she minded B’wanna, not at all; the Second was a fine being, smart, strong, intelligent, and loyal to Angelus. But his family?
It resonated an intimacy she wasn’t prepared to deal with, and one she didn’t want to even contemplate.
The whispers in the room greeted her, however, and Buffy was alert, as always, to the possibility of attack. Though only dear, departed Flo had directly tried to kill her, Buffy was taking no chances; there was the late Richard Wilkins and the Wolfram & Hart team, not to mention others she knew nothing of, though she was sure there were plenty out there.
They may be terrified of Angelus, and more than a little wary of her, but something told Buffy – and she didn’t want to know what that something was – that there were more out there willing to do her harm. Was it that same instinct that alerted her to Flo’s treachery? Or was it the slayer/demon within that did?
She found B’wanna easily enough, and yes, Angelus was right. He was with his family. Or who she hoped was his family. “I hear,” she smiled at him, looking him directly in the eye as Angelus had told her ages ago. Respect, it was all about respect. “That you’ve been looking for me, my lord.”
“My goddess,” he bowed deeply at her. “May I present my family.”
Yup. It was his family, Buffy smiled as his wife, three daughters, and two sons all bowed before her in succession. The wife – B’amotswee – was all but prostrate at Buffy’s feet, and, embarrassed at such a display from so formidable an ally, encouraged her to rise.
And hoped this wasn’t some weird thing where by cutting short the groveling and adoration, she added some form of insult.
“You are as gracious as I have heard, my goddess,” B’amotswee said, smiling just as her husband did, sans rows of sharp, pointed teeth.
Buffy just laughed, ignoring the ingratiating, if heartfelt, comment as she had for ages now. And she really did need a calendar; not that she’d ever used one before, but it’d be nice to know how long she’d been goddess. Or maybe it was just as well not.
Surprisingly, B’amotswee was a fascinating companion, and when B’wanna and his children left, Buffy continued her discussion on raising children – not that she knew anything about it, or would (Was she pregnant? Was that possible?) but it was interesting to hear, anyway. Additionally, B’amotswee talked of their move, which Buffy did enjoy, and something she knew about.
“My husband,” B’amotswee said, “Tells me t’was you who suggested leniency for those refusing to come to our new home.”
Nodding, Buffy said, “When one does not wish to give up their home, forcing them to do so is pointless.”
“Hmm, yes,” the demoness agreed, “but why would my god have need of them if they are so weak as to cling to something which no longer exists?”
Looking at her speculatively, Buffy wondered if she was as awed as she pretended, or if there was more to the woman than met the eye. And if B’wanna knew about it. “Need?” Buffy shrugged slightly, “not really. But they are all his people, are they not? As heir to Acathla, it is his duty to see to his people. Our people. If he left them to die, no matter if they wanted to remain in your dimension or not, then he would’ve failed.”
B’amotswee nodded, and changed the subject. Some time later, Buffy excused herself and wandered back to find Angelus. Now she really wanted to leave. While intriguing, her conversation with the wife of Angelus’ Acathlan Second was draining. She had a feeling B’amotswee was testing her in ways Buffy didn’t really get.
She hoped she passed, but sucked at pop quizzes.
Pausing by the balcony to ease the tension in her shoulders, to fight off the headache spending too much time socializing gave her, she snagged a flute of champagne and looked at the landscape. Breathing deeply, she forced herself to relax, to straighten her back and ease the muscles there.
Maybe she’d have Angelus massage her later, she certainly needed it. And tomorrow, when he was off doing whatever it was he did to ‘govern’ this place, she’d have Dru and Serra draw a hot bath, really pamper her.
It was amazing, Buffy thought idly, how easily she’d slipped into her role. Goddess, yes, but the indulgence, too. It was nice to have someone wait on you, better than actually. To have them dress you, do your hair and makeup, to give you facials, and pedicures, and really, really great massages. Had Serra, Buffy wondered, been a masseuse in her previous life?
“Well,” a voice behind her said, “look who’s here. The goddess herself. The little slayer.”
Buffy turned, an eyebrow raised in sardonic question. “Well, look who’s here,” she drawled. “A demon who doesn’t know his place.”
Shouting a bark of laughter, the demon – a blocky stone looking fellow who looked more brawn than brains – leered at her. “Angelus thinks he can control everything, and,” he admitted, “he has. But you, my little slayer, you’re his one weakness. And when it comes to weaknesses, there’s only one thing you can do to them.”
“I hate to ask,” Buffy sighed, standing still and ready. “It’s so clichéd. But what is,” she parroted, “the one thing you can do to them?”
“Get rid of them.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“But first,” he said, moving forward again, “I think we’ll have to see what our god, the great Angelus, sees in you, human.” With that, he grabbed her, groped her, and Buffy stiffened. She hadn’t actually expected him to do anything. Wasn’t everyone terrified of Angelus?
But her frozen state lasted only for a moment, and she immediately fought back. But (she was chained to the earth) he was strong. Not stronger than her, but rock solid, literally. (She was chained to the earth. No more.)
Snapping, Buffy reared back, glared at the much taller, rock demon, and attacked. (She was the Slayer. THE Slayer. She was mother demon, she was more. She was she/it/them, and she knew it. But…) (She was Acathla. She held within her the power that transformed this planet, and now, when she was threatened, she used it.)
“You know nothing about me,” she snarled to the demon, ignoring his friends who circled around her as if they could actually stop her. Her mind screamed for Angelus, but she said nothing aloud.
(She was Buffy. She was all of these things and more. She was Slayer. She was Demon. She was Acathla.)
“You think you can take me?” she laughed. “You know nothing of me. I am Angelus’ Mate. I am more than the slayer, I always have been. I am your Goddess, I am your Queen.”
The demon looked at her as they fought, blocking blows that should have been easy, that should have deflected off his rock armor with little effort on his apart. These did not. These made contact, repeatedly, as they penetrated his outer layer, driving deep into his body.
The goddess’ eyes were no longer green, but a strange mixture of silver, blue, and red that swirled, eddying with power and control. She was more than the slayer, the human was absolutely correct about that.
Again and again and again she attacked, tearing apart the three others who came to test the goddess’ worthiness as Angelus’ Mate. Again and again and again she attacked him, taking chunks of rock off his body in painful moves. In moments, his friends were dead, torn apart viciously.
A moment after that, he was dead as well.
The entire encounter took less than three minutes.
Angelus stormed up to her, not deigning to look at the pieces of demon that littered the ground around his beloved. She wasn’t even winded. She had annihilated the four demons, one of the most notorious and difficult to kill, without breaking a sweat, without any exertion at all.
“Buffy,” he said quietly, catching her attention immediately as she looked wildly around. For more? He couldn’t tell.
She snapped out of whatever rage gripped her, blinking up at him. Looking around, she calmly walked to Angelus. Relieved, he took her into his arms for only a brief second to reassure himself she was safe. Anything else would wait until later.
“The point is made,” he boomed, threading her arm though his as he turned to look at the audience that had gathered to watch. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, had happened, and would speak to her the about it shortly, but he wasn’t letting this opportunity pass without reinforcing her place by his side.
“My goddess,” he continued. “My Mate is a force on her own, one to be reckoned with.”
They bowed before them as the couple made their way out of the ballroom, calm and regal. Buffy’s head held high, her eyes scanning the masses as they knelt before her.
Lilah studiously kept her eyes on the couple, avoiding Lindsey until Angelus and Buffy had walked out of the room. Things were not going at all as they’d envisioned. When they’d first arrived here, Lilah believed it a simple matter of seducing Angelus to her side, to see things her way. Lindsey seemed to have a thing for the slayer, and that was fine, too.
Between the two of them, they could divide and conquer, so to speak. Lilah could have Angelus, Lindsey the girl, the Senior Partners whatever it was they wanted, and the two lawyers their lives.
The large doors closed behind god and goddess, and for a moment complete silence continued to reign in the room. The moment the normal buzz began, Lilah turned to her partner.
Yes, this was going to be harder than they’d thought – require a bit more planning, too.
Once they were out of the room, once they were in the privacy of their wing of the palace, Angelus pulled her into his arms. Holding her tight against him, he allowed himself a moment to simply hold her. No, this is no woman who needed him to protect her; she allowed him to do so because he needed to do it. For his own peace of mind.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she nodded, but didn’t move from the safety and comfort of his arms.
And the demons, those who had witnessed her anger, and those who had heard about it, loved her and feared her even more for it; they respected strength and ruthlessness above all else.
Yes, Angelus had chosen his Mate well.
~~~~~~~~~~
(She was chained to the earth)
But she wasn’t, she was a part of the earth
(She was fighting it, accepting it, demanding, agreeing, belligerent.)
Buffy slipped from their bed, quietly so as not to wake Angelus (Sleep, my love), her mind full with things she didn’t understand, not consciously, but that she had to obey. Looking at him as she pulled on her blood-spattered gown from earlier, resisted the urge to touch him. He’d held her throughout the night, unwilling to let her go.
When he’d asked what had happened at the ball, Buffy hadn’t been able to tell him. It wasn’t that she wanted to hide it from him, but she…didn’t know.
“Your hands are bleeding,” Angelus had whispered, leading her into the bathroom. Carefully washing the blood from her hands, the stray drops that splattered her face and bare shoulders; the gown was tossed on the floor, something Serra would take care of later. He’d taken her to bed then, holding her close to his naked, cool skin, whispering words of affection as she’d fallen asleep.
Turning a corner, aware that Donato silently and obediently followed her, but not of her surroundings, not really, she waited while a second guard opened the doors to the dungeon.
Judge, jury, and executioner.
Exactly what the three shamans created so long ago. The perfect blending of heart and soul within a single Primal Warrior strong enough, mentally and physically, to do what needed to be done.
Her eyes, silver, red, blue, and green, scanned the room. Giles. She zeroed in on him, watched him carefully. He was the Watcher, representative of the Watcher’s Council. The Council who did this to her, who raped and defiled her. Who kept Her down, who made Her into a submissive and docile thing to be ordered, killed, and reborn at their whim.
Stalking up to his cage, the blood and carnage of her kill still on her dress, Buffy looked at the bars from floor to ceiling, the ones keeping Giles from her, and smiled. It was a feral smile, and, with her eyes swirling with the colors of her power, for the first time ever, Giles was afraid.
“You thought,” Buffy began in the language of the slayer, “that you could contain me. You thought that you could keep me down, could make me something to be controlled.” She laughed, hard and mocking. “You were wrong. You know nothing about Us, nothing about the power you tried – and failed – to control. The girls you raped,” she continued, and something within her knew that everyone within the dungeon watched her.
And, though they didn’t understand the language, they knew what she said. It wasn’t the Slayer Demon that allowed this, no. That was Acathla. To prove the point, to make them understand.
“You believed yourselves to be higher than Us. Superior in your humanity though you used a demon to rape a girl you had to chain to a cave wall, and gain that which you, yourselves, could not accomplish. Power. How many?” she demanded, hands gripping the metal bars hard enough to leave indentations.
“How many died before you found the First? How many did you dishonor, desecrate, destroy in your attempt to find the One who could hold the demon, who could hold Us? The Watcher,” she sneered, “from a Council who allows the lies to continue. Worse, allows the ongoing abuse – physical and mental – of these girls all in the guise of a God approved ‘Chosen’. When it’s really nothing more than the arrogance of man that started this so long ago. Free Will.”
“Buffy,” Giles said, but abruptly stopped and took a step back when the door to his cell was ripped out of the ground.
“Impressive,” Spike muttered, truly impressed as he glanced to the doorway Angelus and Drusilla stormed through.
Tossing the twisted metal out of her way, Buffy left Giles to his open cell, too terrified to move, and stalked to Whistler’s domain. “And you, the Destiny Demon,” she said. “You give speeches about Free Will and the Powers. About winning for the side of good. But what do you know, I wonder,” her hands wrapped around the bars, the metal groaning.
“About Angel’s soul? How he got it, why. And how,” again, the cell door was physically ripped from its hinges. “He lost it.”
Her hand shot out, gripping Whistler’s neck tightly, hefting the short, round demon upwards. “Hypocrisy at its best, eh? You, a supposed representative of the Powers That Be, are nothing but a self-serving hypocrite.”
“I work for God,” he sputtered, but stopped when Buffy’s grip tightened.
“You don’t get to talk unless I say so,” she warned. “And you don’t work for God. You don’t work for a God that is right and true. You work for the Powers who desecrate that God with their own needs. Who use Free Will to lure and abuse, to pretend they’re helping the Light, when in reality they are no better than that which they fight. They aren’t the leaders of the cause. They’re the instigators.
“God created good and evil. He gave His people free will so as not to force them into loving Him. Balance, demon. It’s all about balance. And We’re here to see to that balance. With Our Mate, we’re here to see that the balance returns. Remains. Continues on.”
She drooped Whistler to the floor, watched him sputter as he caught his breath, tried to explain. “I know what you did. I know about your complicity in Angel’s curse. Free Will.” She turned to look over her shoulder at Angelus. Smiled at him. “Jenny Calendar knew of the curse, and did nothing. Free Will. You,” she returned her multi-colored gaze to Giles, “knew of the origins of the Slayer and said nothing. Free Will. Xander chose not say anything about Willow restoring Angel’s soul. Free Will.”
She exited the cage, headed for Angelus, not seeing anyone else, only him. “And within all these choices,” she said softly, some of the power lessening as she walked away from them, but not diminishing, never that, the color leeching out of her eyes. Graceful even in a blood and goo-splattered gown, graceful and elegant.
“Is the taint of self-serving agendas rather than the good for all. That is the dominating theme. While you sit within those cages, safe from what would kill you, or worse, you dare judge me when your souls are darkest of all.”
She walked out of the dungeon, leaving Drusilla to see to the cage doors repairs. The moment the heavy door clanged closed, she collapsed into Angelus’ arms.
When she came to, moments later, she was in their rooms. Not looking at him, not even really seeing him, she pushed out of his arms in a panic and raced to the shower. Stepping in, fully clothed, she began to scrub. Hands, arms, the blood-spotted bodice of her gown. And she sobbed, all the while.
“Buffy?”
Looking up through the stream of the multiple showerheads, she watched as Angelus entered the shower with her, still fully clothed himself.
“What happened?” she whispered. “What happened to me? What did I do?”
“You don’t remember?” He gathered her in his arms, ripping the bloody and sodden dress off her, gently soothing her. She cried, nails scratching at her skin, body shaking as she tried to clean herself from something she couldn’t even remember. “Shh, baby. Tell me what you do remember.”
“I remember waking to watch you. I remember…here. I remember being in here, with you.”
“You don’t remember dressing and going to the dungeons?”
Shocked, Buffy looked at him. Shaking her head, she whispered, “What’s happening to me?”
“Do you,” Angelus asked instead, grabbing a soft cloth and her shower gel. Washing her tenderly, he was careful to keep his voice even. “Remember what happened at the ball?”
“Ball?” she shook her head no. “I remember speaking with Lord B’Wanna’s wife.”
Angelus said nothing, and Buffy panicked. “What’s happening to me?” she demanded again. “What did I do? What did I say?”
“I don’t know, baby,” Angelus admitted, “I don’t know what’s happening to you.” He ignored the other questions for the moment. He’d tell her, but not until he knew what was happening to her. “But I swear I’ll find out.”
“Don’t leave me?” she whimpered as he stood, carried her out of the shower. “Please, Angelus, don’t leave me.”
“Never, my love.””World Enough and Time index Christine's Page Home
