She started to get up, to go to him, but her body shrieked in defiance. Her muscles were stiff and her joints ached. She lay back. She’d go in a moment. She just needed a moment and then she’d be able to go.
She moaned softly. She was so hot. She felt as if her blood was boiling…her internal organs burning…Her skin was on fire.
But Angel was out there alone.
…alone.
Up. UP. She couldn’t leave him out there alone.
She sat up.
A plastic tube was taped to her arm and her wrist; there was a sharp pain in her hand just above her pinky. She blinked, surprised at the annoyance then grit her teeth in irritation. They’d stuck another needle in her hand.
The young Slayer cursed softly and ripped the offending metal sliver from her flesh. Blood spurted a little when the needle left her hand, and dribbled sluggishly out of the wound.
Buffy ignored it. She would heal…She always healed. She healed from broken bones. She healed from concussions…She even healed when her heart was ripped out of her chest. What was a little piece of sharp metal?
She yanked the cold plastic tube from her arm, the tape sticking stubbornly, pulling on the little hairs that covered her skin in a fine down.
The room spun but the Slayer clung to her consciousness stubbornly.
Angel was out there. She couldn’t leave him out there alone…And Death was wandering around in here. She probably shouldn’t leave him alone in here any more than she should leave Angel alone out there.
~
Angelus stalked calmly down the hospital corridor, the flowers in his hand bobbing their heads in milky pale camaraderie. He whistled a few bars of “Ode to Joy” from Beethoven’s 9th symphony as he walked.
He passed the police officers with a slight smirk, unconcerned with their presence. Constables, police officers, they had never had any impact in interfering with his fun.
Angelus’ dark gaze narrowed as he noticed the watchdog posted to protect his lady’s door. Although if he were to choose a dog to guard a treasure, he wouldn’t choose a rat-terrier: a mouthy, ineffectual mongrel.
Xander stood up to meet him, obviously confident with the nurse’s station and witnesses so close by.
Angelus halted and let the pup come to him.
“Visiting hours are over,”* the pup yapped.
Angelus smiled and rubbed his finger over the cladaugh wedding band on his finger. “Well I’m pretty much family.* I just came to see my girl,” he offered innocently, holding up his floral tribute.
“I don’t think so,” Xander growled. “Why don’t you come back during the day? Oh gee, no,” the boy said with an air of just realizing something. “I guess you can’t.”*
The scent of fear was heavy in the air and the boy’s heartbeat thundered like a rabbit’s, but he held firm.
“You don’t really think you can stop me, do you?” Angelus exuded menace in gentle waves. No need to make a public scene…yet. “If I decide to walk into Buffy’s room, do you think for one microsecond that you could stop me?”*
Xander’s pupils shrank to pinpoints; he was in mortal danger. The mental image of having his throat torn out and having his life’s blood spilling on the pale tiles was a brilliant crimson picture. The teen’s chest ached and for a moment he wondered if his heart would give out from the terror that stiffened his muscles.
Angelus smirked as the fear scent of the boy flooded the area, a delicate aroma of food…and behind it was the blood scent of his lady. Not much, just a trickle, but the ambrosial scent was more tantalizing than anything he had ever scented before. The vampire with the face of an angel loosened his jaw muscles and inhaled again, allowing the exquisite scent of Slayer’s blood roll across his taste buds.
“Maybe not,” Xander conceded. “Maybe that security guard standing there couldn’t either. Or those cops…or the orderlies…But I’m kinda curious to find out. You game?”*
The tall vampire refocused his attention back to the annoying boy. “Buffy’s White Knight. You still love her.” He leaned in close, allowing his aura of death to brush Xander. The boy had no idea how close he was to a death so agonizing that the Watcher’s journals would record it in gory illuminated calligraphy. One did not lightly come between a vampire and his chosen victim…or his chosen passion.
Angelus controlled his jealousy, knowing that his lady had never looked at the teen with even the slightest interest; his memories as soul-boy let him know in no uncertain terms that the Slayer was his. He sneered cruelly at Xander’s unrequited love. “It must just eat you up that I got there first.”*
Xander flushed and Angelus could smell the terror-tainted rage that suffused the boy. But there again was the whiff of his lady; it called to him like a spell he could not resist.
He thrust the flowers into Xander’s chest. “Tell her I stopped by.”*
He turned and walked away. There was another more private way into his baby’s room, a way that would allow them a little privacy. More privacy than he would gain by ripping through the boy, the police officers and the orderlies, much as that would please him.
Ah, the things that one sacrificed in the name of passion. ~
Buffy struggled to her feet. She flinched slightly at the touch of the icy floor beneath the heat of her soles, but after a moment, the coolness felt good.
She looked around the room, reeling slightly as it continued to spin after she stopped rotating. Where were her clothes?
The hospital gown slipped on her shoulders; one size definitely did not fit all.
She shivered, her feet starting to chill on the icy floor. How was it possible to be so hot and so cold at the same time? Well, only her feet were cold, the rest of her was still so hot.
“Hello, lover.”
She turned and staggered slightly as the room again continued to spin.
Angel sat on the windowsill, partially in and partially out. His dark gaze flickered over her, taking in the hospital gown that fit her no better than, quite literally, a burlap bag. Her fingers fluttered self-consciously to smooth her hair.
Angel. She blinked and all the panic she had felt earlier dissipated. He wasn’t out there.
He smiled at her and it wasn’t one of his normal smiles; this smile was laughing at her.
Buffy glanced down at herself, at the white and blue pok-a-dot hospital gown that tied at her hip like a robe. She snorted wryly; it was funny. Fashion-keen Slayer caught in completely awful outfit and despite all comments to the contrary, despite numerous ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead in that’s, she had been caught in the most unattractive outfit of her life, and by the man to whom she never wanted to appear unattractive.
Angelus continued to smirk at her and her helpless situation. She glanced down at herself and then surprised him.
“Pretty bad, huh?”
Angelus’ brows winged up; her tone sounded wry, not frightened. “You’ve definitely looked better, baby.”
Buffy lifted her hand to her forehead. She was so hot; she felt as if she’d been suspended over a volcano, held captive in merciless heat. Angel didn’t look hot, she thought. He looked very comfortable in his dark leather pants and his dark black silk shirt. He looked cool and unconcerned about the stifling heat that seemed ready to smother her.
…But then heat didn’t affect him. He was always cool.
Angelus eased further into the room, lured by the ambrosial scent of her…lured by the trickle of blood on her hand and the droplets she had smeared on her forehead when she had put her hand there. His golden haired girl looked ready to faint…She looked helpless…She looked deliciously delectable.
“You don’t look at the top of your game, baby. That’s not good.”
Buffy stared at the throat of his shirt, at the cool expanse of pale skin exposed there. With every move he made, she could see muscles ripple beneath cloth and leather. Her skin tingled and somehow the heat of her body seemed to shoot up several more degrees. He looked yummy. He looked delicious. He was the cool water of an oasis, come to rescue her from the burning heat of the desert.
Angelus sighed in disappointment. No sign of self-preservation; she wasn’t going to defend herself. She didn’t even look as though she’d scream for help. This wasn’t going to be nearly as fun as he had thought it would be.
Buffy moved to him, throwing herself against his hard body.
He caught her, silk and leather rustling, and he wondered whether he had just witnessed the most clumsy and pathetic attack that a Slayer had ever attempted.
“I’m so hot,” she breathed, pressing against him, pushing the heat of her face against his cool throat. “I’m burning up. Touch me,” she crooned, her lips brushing where the big pulse in his throat should have been.
Angelus froze in shock.
The Chosen One plastered herself against him, letting the coolness of his body radiate through the thin silk of his shirt and the thin cotton of her hospital gown. “You feel like a breath of cool air,” she moaned approvingly. She raised her hands to his shoulders and traced the breadth of them. She followed the musculature to his biceps and squeezed a little. “You’re so hard.”
She had no idea. Her cradle-robbing-creature-of-the-night lover closed his eyes and savored the unlooked for caresses. The hunt and the kill were often sexually stimulating for vampires, but Angelus used mortal women for foreplay and not sex, for too often they died before his passion was slaked and unmoving bodies were not…arousing.
After a moment, he opened his eyes and stared down at the top of her head. Her golden curls were tousled and when she turned her burning gaze up to him, she radiated sensuality. He recognized that look; it had been turned on him…soul-boy…many a night. It had culminated in much kissing and much petting…and finally into a night of passion that had blown his soul away.
Buffy smiled sweetly, her head tilted back trustingly, offering him her lips…or her throat, whichever he cared to take.
Heat roiled off of her in waves, but the offer was hotter than her skin. His unneeded breath caught at the thought of feeding off of her willing flesh.
Buffy’s hands smoothed back across his shoulders and caught at the lapels of his shirt as his lips came closer to her. Where would he kiss her? Her breath hitched in anticipation until she couldn’t bear it anymore. The Slayer fisted her hands and jerked at his shirt, ripping it open; buttons clattered to the floor, exiled from their privileged proximity to his body. She stroked her palms over the muscles of his chest and unable to wait to meet him…unable to wait to find out where he would choose to kiss her, she reached up and pulled him down to her, taking possession of his mouth with hers.
Angelus stiffened and then growled in throaty pleasure as her lips parted his and her tongue crept in to tangle with his. She pressed herself to his chest, his new second skin, and he moaned at the feel of her unconfined breasts pressed against him. Allowing himself to be pulled into the heated rapture, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against him.
Buffy parted her thighs and clasped him about his lean waist. She pulled away from his lips and rained tender kisses over his brow, his cheeks and jaw as she whispered raggedly. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Well that was as it should be; he couldn’t stop thinking about her either. While he’d been ensouled, she had scalded him with her humanity, capturing him in the sticky web of love and then scalding him again with the heat of her passion. When he was free it all should have gone away, but it hadn’t. She was in him now: in his blood, in his bones, and in his cold heart. She burned there in his heart, inflaming his passions hotter than they’d ever been and he desperately controlled it, trying to smother that flame before he became carried away and courted her in a manner that would terrify even a demon. He had held himself strictly back, trying to go slow.
His small tokens of affection had been accepted. She had accepted his messenger, Theresa, who had carried his words of love on her dead lips. She had accepted his flowers, clutching them so hard in her hands that even through the windows he had seen the thorns pierce her fingers. She had read his promise of “Soon” and she had stared out into the darkness looking for him. Of course she had cast the Un-invitation spell, but that had been a punishment for involving Willow in their courtship. Willow was lovely but she was no rival for his golden goddess and he understood that the punishment had put him back a step in his courting. That was as it should be; possible rivals could not be tolerated. Buffy had only balked at the death of Jenny -- it was just knee-jerk. He knew she had hated the woman as only one can hate another who has cost them their love. Besides, Jenny had been a danger to his freedom.
Buffy licked and nibbled at his mouth, moving steadily down his flesh until she clamped her blunt human teeth to his throat. He purred beneath her onslaught of affection and as the opportunity had presented itself, licked the blood from her forehead in a slow raspy caress.
She tasted of golden sunlight and innocence. She tasted of sweet peaches and passion. She tasted of struggle, capitulation, desire and sweet, sweet, surrender. She tasted like she belonged to him.
He rumbled in pleasure, aware of her little fingers kneading in his hair and on one shoulder. Her thighs trembled with the effort of sustaining her weight and he shifted one hand over her hip to cup her butt and support her.
Buffy released the flesh of his neck and blazed a trail back to his lips. “I keep remembering that night…our night,” she whispered.
“What do you remember, baby?”
“I remember trembling. I was wet from the storm, soaked, but I was even wetter from wanting you. I was shaking because I was afraid you wouldn’t touch me.” She rested her hot cheek against his cool one, soaking in the cool relief of his skin. “I was even more afraid that you wouldn’t let me touch you.”
Angelus held her pliant body against his own, luxuriating in the heat that radiated from her. He enjoyed the feel of her hands gliding down his chest and then sliding over his ribs and around his back. The heat of her palms blazed a trail up between his shoulder blades and then up to his shoulders.
The gentle exploration was nothing compared to the carnal acts he had indulged in during his bloody career but the hunger behind it was staggering and felt very good. “What else do you remember?” he murmured against her flushed cheek.
“Your mouth on me. So many kisses I felt breathless. The feel of your mouth as you seemed to get hungrier and hungrier, demanding more and more of me until my whole body screamed with the desire to feel your lips…and your tongue…and your teeth…to satiate your hunger.”
It was not crude sex talk but it was definitely getting to him. He shifted, grinding his aroused flesh against the heated core of her. No greater aphrodisiac to a man, he thought wryly, than knowing that he was desired.
“My skin prickled with goose bumps, not from the cold, but from anticipation.”
A new scent filled the air and his predatory instincts howled at the presence of it -- feminine desire. Her memories and his body were reawakening her hunger.
“When you took my shirt off, my breasts felt achy and swollen. My nipples,” she caught her breath and Angelus realized that he’d slid the hand not supporting her around her rib cage to cup her breast. She arched against him, her nipple already pebbled in his palm. “My nipples were so tight from wanting your attention that they almost hurt.”
Angelus traced his thumb over her hungry flesh enjoying the soft moan of encouragement she gave him.
Perhaps he had been acting too hastily. Perhaps he had forgotten that there was more to courtship than death, more to hunger than blood. He took a step back, carrying his clinging prize with him, and sank into the room’s guest chair, gently rearranging her so that she straddled his lap.
He tugged open the bow that secured the hospital gown and spread the material apart, baring her body to his burning gaze, all save for the apex at her thighs which was still shielded by white pristine cotton.
He trailed his palms over her pretty breasts, tugging on her hardened nipples.
“Where else did you want my attentions?” he rumbled. He could smell where but wondered where else his little virgin would guide him next.
She reared back and looked into his dark intent gaze; he looked carnal and knowledgeable and infinitely patient.
She caught his hands in hers and he ceased his caresses, watching her calmly.
“Where?” he repeated.
She guided his right hand from the tip of her breast to cover her heart.
Angelus smiled derisively. “You already told me you want me here,” he reminded her sternly, tugging sharply on her nipples.
Buffy smiled gently, a siren’s song rich with bewitchment but kept his right hand over her heart. “My heart thunders and my lungs constrict and I feel as if I’m caught in a web and I’m never going to break free. And I feel that I’ve caught you up too. But it pulls downward.” She guided his hand down over the curve of her breast, over the delicate wall of her ribs and to the tight muscles of her belly.
Angelus felt the muscles fluttering beneath his fingers.
“My stomach’s tight. I want your touch so bad but my muscles shrink back, the sensations are too much. But I’m still not satisfied. I’m needy and empty.”
“Not satisfied??” he asked softly, staring hard into the moss green eyes that were focused on him as if he were the only thing in the world.
She shook her head. “And what would satisfy you? What would make that emptiness go away?" he asked his voice thick with his own growing desire. She guided his hand down to the waistband of her panties and then beneath it to the moist curls that shielded her femininity…and then to the aching emptiness between her thighs.
“Only you,” she whispered. “Only you can satisfy me.”
Angelus’ jaw tightened as his lust threatened briefly to overwhelm him. He fought back his body’s eager demands for immediate fulfillment and parted her moist flesh, pressing a knowing caress.
Buffy arched as the pleasure arced sharply through her and a cry burst from her lips.
Angelus pulled her swiftly to his lips and smothered that cry before it could completely escape her lips. He silenced her passionate murmur before it could summon the pup from where he waited down the hall, standing guard over the precious Slayer, unknowing that she was not sleeping peacefully in her virginal sickbed. “Here,” he queried softly against her lips, even as he pressed another knowing caress into her weeping flesh. Her hips eagerly followed the dance that his talented fingers led.
“Yes,” she whimpered against him. “Oh God, yes. I want to feel you inside me. Just as I can feel you in here.” She guided his left hand, still toying with her breast to cover her heart. “I want to smell you on my skin, feel you at my womb, feel my muscles ache because you were inside me, carry your passion in me until I feel I’m going to burst…but it’s still exquisite because it’s you.”
Angelus felt himself lose it there, felt himself shift to game-face. His fangs lengthened and he felt his brow ridge up as his predatory nature became completely evident. He watched her, waiting for the desire that kept her writhing after his fingers to lessen, if not still.
Her eyes had darkened to a brilliant green sheen, her lips parted with her passion and Angelus caught his breath as both of her delicate hands trailed tantalizingly up his body until her fingers caressed his face. She traced his brow, his nose, the curve of his jaw and finally his lips.
“I love you when you’re like this,” she moaned, arching achingly against his attentive fingers. Her breath caught on a soft groan then she caught her breath and continued to whisper her soft words of passion. “When you’ve shifted like this, I know I’ve reached you. When your eyes are gold and your fangs have lengthened I know you want me as much as I want you.”
Her injured hand trailed close to his lips and he flicked his tongue to taste the ambrosia she so unknowingly offered.
Her breath caught again and his eyes flashed dangerously, daring her to withdraw her caress and her blood. But rather than pulling away, she shifted her hand and pressed the wound to his lips.
He suckled the ragged puncture just above the vein in her hand, relishing the taste and the fingers she fluttered against his cheek as he sipped.
“I like knowing that you hunger for me here,” she moaned, leaning forward to lick his lips as he kept his mouth firmly over her wound. “And I like knowing that you hunger for me here,” she whispered as her other hand cupped his leather covered cock firmly.
The blood from her hand spilled into his mouth sluggishly, flooding his senses with her desire and the hot encompassing devotion for him that she felt at the core of her being.
More, Angelus thought, releasing her hand. He caught hold of her lips, still hovering so close and pressed his thumb firmly against the swollen bud of her clit, shattering her. She trembled against him, mewling into his mouth even as her inner walls grasped greedily at his fingers.
He released her mouth, sucking at her lower lip as he did so. He put his free hand to the back of her head and pulled her close so he could whisper into her ear. “Take my cock out,” he ordered her softly. “And I’ll do it again.” He stroked her softly, knowing that the sensitized flesh would eagerly respond to his ardent caresses even more swiftly than she had the first time.
Buffy’s muscles trembled violently but she eagerly obeyed. She fumbled with the fastenings but finally managed to open his pants and ease his hardened flesh from within. She stroked him with untutored arousing motions.
Angelus shifted his hands to her hips and ripped away the offending pristine cotton that had shielded her feminine core. He stroked her again, parting her weeping flesh and sank eagerly into her warmth.
Buffy clutched his shoulders and keened into his mouth as the unbearable pleasure of being filled by him shot through her body.
“Keep it quiet, baby,” he warned her. “You don’t want your friend to come and catch you writhing on my cock, do you?”
“No,” she moaned. “Don’t want anyone here but you.”
He surged powerfully into her, gently nuzzling her parted lips. “You don’t want to be rescued?”
“Only want you,” she panted, her nails digging into his shoulders.
Angelus thrust up into the moist hot glove of her body, guiding her hips on him. She followed his every move, surging back against him.
He caught her hair and forced her to look at him, waiting until her eyes opened and he could see that her irises had been all but obscured by her pupils. She was lost in her pleasure, completely bespelled by his possession. “Are you going to remember this?” he asked softly, amazed at the heat that roiled off of her and warmed even his cool skin. “Are you going to remember that for all intents and purposes you seduced me? Are you going to remember and think that I took advantage of your delirium?”
She moaned and shook her head as she rode his body.
“Cause you know what baby?” He trailed his fingertips up her rib cage then back down to her hips and pulled her more forcefully into him.
Her breath escaped her in a sharp whoosh.
“I think this is as honest as you’ve ever been. You don’t care if I have a conscience or a soul or not. You don’t care about the world outside. You love me.”
“Yes,” she panted leaning forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss. “Love you. Love only you…only you.”
He gave her several of the deep passionate kisses that she so obviously wanted. “And you belong to me?” he demanded.
She nibbled at his lips, tracing her tongue delicately over his sharp fangs. “Belong together.”
The slick feel of her body clasping him was beginning to take its toll on his control. Her humanity scalded him even as her flesh clenched on him insistently. She whimpered softly, making lovely crooning noises as she neared her crisis.
Angelus clasped her hips and halted her, holding her at the precipice.
“Angel,” she whispered pleadingly, raining delicate kisses over his face. Her fingers slid through his hair pulling him to her hungry mouth again and again.
“Angelus,” he corrected her, holding back the demands of her body and his own.
“My angelus Angel.”
“Angelus,” he whispered sternly.
“My Angelus,” she moaned.
“You want me?”
“Yes,” she entreated, nibbling persuasively at his lips. “Always.”
His eyes flared. Always. “Say my name again.”
“An..Angelus.”
He wrapped his arms around her and covered his mouth with his, surging into her, sending her careening over the edge so powerfully she screamed into his mouth.
He rose from the chair and pressed her against the wall. Buffy crooned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his hips, bracing herself eagerly for his invasion. “Always, Buff,” he growled. “You promised and I’m going to hold you to it.” He thrust in her stirring her desire again until she was writhing wildly against him. “I slew my sire for you…my consort. Angel slew my consort for you.” His hips pistoned powerfully in her and she sobbed against his mouth, whimpering as the pleasure vibrated through her. “I accept you in trade,” he rumbled. “You’re mine.”
“Yours,” she affirmed breathlessly.
“For how long, Buff?”
“Forever,” she moaned.
“That’s right, baby, forever.” He drank her whimpers and swallowed her cries, slamming into her with a force that drove the breath from her body as he shoved her to orgasm again, finally submitting to the driving needs of his body. Angelus bent his head to her neck as he surged within her and sank his fangs into the cord of muscle at her shoulder. She keened coming again and he pressed her face to his shoulder, trying to muffle her cries of satisfaction. Incredibly, she sank her blunt human teeth into his flesh above the jugular and he came, the feel of her body, the grip of her teeth and the taste of her blood sending him into his own orgasm.
Buffy eased her arms over his shoulders and cradled his head against her.
Her vampire lover sipped, satisfied with the ambrosia of her blood even though it wasn’t gushing into his mouth. He hadn’t been sure if he could have stopped himself from draining her if he had fed from her throat.
“Love you,” she whispered. “Love you so much.” She dropped her head to his shoulder, nuzzling his jaw.
Angelus released her and licked the wound on her shoulder closed. He shuddered in the aftermath of his pleasure, his face morphing back to his beautiful human countenance. Minutes ticked by and he sighed, letting the moment pass and pressed his lips to her moist forehead. “I think I broke your fever, baby.”
He turned and walked carefully to her bad, then eased out of her body and reluctantly set her on her feet, holding her steady when she started to topple. Her head fell back bonelessly and she watched him with such a soft slumberous look that he had the brief and insane urge to carry her back to his lair: to just steal her from the light that very night. He set her gently on the bed and shrugged out of his ruined shirt, pressing the soft silk between her thighs to clean away the sticky residue of their passion. She weaved in his arms, looking up at him docilely and letting him do as he pleased.
Angelus tossed his shirt to the side and drew the thin and very ineffectual protection of the hospital gown around her nakedness. He secured the flimsy robe at her hip then pressed her firmly back down to her bed.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “You won’t cross to me yet. You’re a Slayer and you think it’s your sacred duty to protect a world of cowering sheep that can’t be bothered to save themselves. Don’t worry my love; I’m going to take care of that pesky little detail for you. If you don’t have a world to save, then you won’t mind crossing over to my embrace. You’ll be my golden goddess of the night. Sleep,” he instructed. “I’ll take care of everything.”
Buffy caught hold of him with a plaintive cry and pressed herself up against his chest. “I can’t sleep,” she denied, laying her head to his bare chest. “Stay. You’ll be different tomorrow if you don’t stay.”
The tall vampire smiled coldly, aware of just how badly he’d wounded her. He tucked her hair back. “I assure you baby, I’m not gonna change from the man I am tonight.”
He pressed her back to a supine position and brushed his fingers over her eyelids, encouraging her to close them. “Sleep. Try to remember tonight, baby. I know I will.” He pulled her left hand to his lips and kissed her naked ring finger. “And the next time I stick my ring on you baby, it’s going to stay there even if I have to melt it onto your flesh.”
He left her then, leaving nothing of their encounter to be found by the morning light save for a single unnoticed button.