She heard the voice calling to her and buried her head deeper into the sheets. God, she hadn’t slept in so long, and
now to finally be able to rest…
sweetness, wake up.” Buffy rubbed her cheek against the satin beneath it, groaning. She rolled over, throwing an arm
over her eyes. Mmm, she felt like she had slept for hours. She flexed her arms over her head, arching her back. She threw
her arms back, opening her eyes.
Angel sat on the
side of the bed, gently stroking her cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, smiling down at her.
Buffy smiled sleepily
back. “Angel,” she sighed happily. She glanced around, her eyes trying to focus in the dimness. Heavy drapes.
Fireplace. Chains and shackles on the walls. The mansion. They were in Angel’s old Sunnydale mansion and she was in
his bed, wearing a slinky bit of nothing. Hmm. Angel leaned over her, bare-chested, loose silky black pajama bottoms riding
low on his hips.
He bent down and
kissed her quickly on the forehead. “C’mon, get up,” he said rising. He held a hand out to her, winking.
“I brought dinner.”
Buffy let him pull
her up and swayed toward him, fighting a wave of dizziness. Her eyes seemed to be seeing everything at once. Light and dark,
sharp and blurry. Angel yanked her to him, burying his face in her neck as he ground his erection against her side. Hmm, Buffy
thought, hiding a smile against his chest, another reality without that pesky curse. Angel nipped her bare shoulder lightly
with his teeth, and then smacked her ass, shoving her gently toward the door.
Buffy turned to grin
at him in surprise when the dizziness hit again, sending her stumbling back into him.
Angel laughed as he caught her, steering her out of the bedroom.
Buffy leaned her
head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes. “I’m a little out of it, I think,” she said.
He tightened his
hold on her, sweeping her up to cradle her in his arms. “You just need to feed,” he said, smiling down at her.
Buffy pouted up at him. “Can we avoid the vamp speak that has livestock connotations?”
Angel chuckled and
leaned down to nuzzle her neck, making her giggle. Buffy reached up for a kiss and then stilled as she heard chains rattling
and a low moaning.
She raised her head,
looking into Angel’s smiling face and then turned to look across the vast main room to see a dark-haired young woman
shackled to the wall. The girl began to struggle in earnest when she saw Buffy staring at her. “Please,” she sobbed,
“let me go!” She fell forward and then jerked back with the weight of the chains.
Buffy struggled out
of Angel’s arms, almost falling as she tried to find her feet. She stumbled toward the girl, reaching out to grab a
table for balance as she turned back to Angel.
“What is this?”
Buffy whispered, her eyes whipping from Angel to the sobbing girl on the wall. Please, she thought to herself, don’t
let this be Angel and Buffy’s kinky sex reality.
He shrugged, walking
past her to the girl who cowered away from him. He reached up and tugged one of the girls’ dark curls, turning back
to Buffy. “Dinner,” he answered.
Buffy gripped the
edge of the table firmly, regaining her balance. “Get her down,” Buffy said fiercely.
Angel grinned. “Oh,
you feel like playing with her first?” He turned back to the girl, his hand lunging out to grab her by the throat. “Good
call. She looks like a screamer.”
Buffy shook her head,
trying to clear the blurring from her eyes and quiet the thudding of her heart. Her head jerked up as Spike walked into the
room, his hand fumbling loudly in a small box. He caught her staring at him and paused, his mouth half-full as he offered,
Spike followed Buffy’s
gaze from him over to Angel and the whimpering young woman trembling against the chains. “Ooo, take-out,” he said,
dropping the box of crackers.
Angel growled as
Spike started to cross the room to him. “I didn’t bring her for you,” he said, yanking the girl to him by
the chains. “There’s just enough for Buffy and me. You can piss off and get your own meal.”
Spike threw his hands
up. “Oh, fine,” he said, sneering. “The next time you lot want to have a romantic dinner for two, light
some candles or something. Give a bloke a bloody clue.” He jerked his duster off a chair and shrugged into it, muttering.
Angel asked, jerking his head toward the now shrieking girl. Buffy clenched her fists, trying to gather her strength. She
started toward Angel and was overwhelmed by the dizziness again, spinning back into Spike who caught her quickly.
Spike asked, looking down at her with concern.
Buffy said weakly, sagging against Spike. “He’s going to hurt her.”
Spike said slowly. “But it only hurts for a minute.” He frowned, looking at Angel. “What, did she have first
dibs on the chit and you’re trying to bogart the torture?”
Angel shook his head,
glaring at Spike. “She just needs to feed. She’s a little woozy.” He held a hand out to Buffy. “C’mon,
sweetness, you’ll feel better after you have a little. Then we have all
night to play.” He jerked the girl’s head aside harshly, baring her neck.
Buffy tensed against
Spike, her mind finally clearing of the giddy excitement of seeing Angel again. So, okay. Angelus, not Angel. The silky pants
should have been a tip-off. Great, she was alone in a secluded mansion with two vampires and the obligatory trembling victim.
No stake and, glancing down to check, no cross, plus she was wearing what had to be the whitest, tightest Victoria’s-Secret-wet-dream
of nightgown in creation. Not exactly standard Buffy fighting-gear.
She sighed. Might
as well see if the equipment worked this time. She bent at the waist, launching Spike over her shoulder. His startled, “Bloody
hell!” faded behind her as she threw herself at Angel, ripping the chains from his hands as the frightened girl attempted
to assist her by shrieking louder.
Angel shoved Buffy
off, glancing a kick off of her ribs as he sent her sprawling. “Fine!” he snapped. “You know, I do the hunting,
the shackling and even offer you the first taste and you still act like a right
bitch.” He shook his head. “Women.” He turned quickly, his face vamping as he sank his teeth into the girl’s
Buffy caught herself
on her hands, turning to stare up in horror at Angel as he grabbed the girl to him, draining her. Buffy could hear the heart
slamming and then begin to slow and realized it wasn’t her heart she was
hearing. She could sense the blood rising in the girl’s veins as Angel called it out of the her body. Buffy closed her
eyes, gasping, and then opened them, suddenly realizing that the dizziness was gone, her vision wasn’t blurred and she
could see…everything. She could see the light fading from the girl’s open eyes. The slow rise of color rising
from deep beneath Angel’s skin. And the blood, she could hear it, smell it, almost taste it. And she wanted it.
Growling, she leapt
to her feet and threw herself at Angel again, ripping the girl out of his hands.
Buffy held the girl
by the shoulders, looking down at the torn neck, the gaping wound still oozing blood that stained even darker against the
too pale skin that surrounded it. She was horrified by both her inability
to prevent the girl’s death and the desperate need to drink from the body in her arms. Buffy looked back up at Angel
who stood licking his fingers as he watched her. He shrugged, smiling smugly. “Too late.”
Before Buffy could
answer, Angel’s hand lashed out, cracking harshly across her face, his ring cutting deeply into her cheekbone. She dropped
the girl and fell into a sprawled heap at Angel’s feet. He leaned over her, yanking her up by the hair to face him.
“The next time I tell you to feed, do it!”
Buffy stared up at
Angel, the lust a red mist rising in her. Her body shook and then she was hurling herself at him, feeling her mouth open,
her teeth baring as she plunged her fangs into his neck. She broke the skin easily and then began to draw the blood out of
him, tasting the girl and the deep, silky darkness that was Angel.
Angel rasped, his hands reaching up to pull her off of him. Buffy gripped her fingers in his hair and held on until the blood
pouring over her tongue choked her and she jerked back with a shocked cry, shoving him away from her.
Angel reached up
to staunch the flow of blood, cursing her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He looked over at Spike, who stood
watching them as if he were mentally placing bets. “What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“She eyes me
like a Pisces.” Spike shrugged, sighing. “Well, I am weak.” He tilted his head, gave Buffy a pointed look
and then swaggered off into the gardens, his duster sweeping behind him.
Angel shook his head,
looking after him. “God, I wish I had beaten all of that free verse out of him decades ago.” He stepped toward
Buffy and then winced, raising a hand to cover the torn place on his neck. She glared at him and he lifted his hands in supplication
before her. “Whatever,” he said, backing away. “I’m going off to hunt. You and Spike can stay here
and dine on nursery rhymes for all I care.” He turned and stalked through the front door, letting it bang open and swing
on its hinges behind him.
Buffy stepped out
into the garden, amazed at the near illumination, even in the heart of midnight. “Spike!” she hissed. She heard
a slight noise and turned at the sound, her chin lifting. Her nostrils flared, catching the quick scent. She turned and he
walked slowly from behind the trellis, his cigarette glowing brightly before him.
Oh, gross, Buffy
thought as he neared her. I can do the smelling thing.
“So what was
that?” she asked, trying not to focus on the almost overwhelming scents of blood and tobacco and eau de Spike that hit
her like an olfactory orgasm.
that, love?” he asked, squinting at her above the smoke billowing softly from his lips.
Nirvana you were spouting back there.”
a game, innit?” His eyes met hers with a question she couldn’t begin to answer. “Our way of keeping the
Sire out of the loop.” He pitched the cigarette and crossed his arms, grinning. “I once drove him almost mad with
Whiter Shade of Pale.” He shrugged. “Well, until I got to the part
about the sixteen vestal virgins. You know purity’s his thing. He bent me over a straight back chair and drove me….”
Buffy snarled, her eyes flashing gold without her knowing.
Spike paused. “It’s
our code,” he said quietly. He eyed her thoughtfully. “Me and Buffy’s anyway.” He started toward her,
his shoulders swaggering, and Buffy began to back away, suddenly glad for the heightened senses that allowed her to avoid
falling into the fishpond.
Spike said as he backed her up against the garden wall, an arm slamming out to brace next to her head and pinning her there,
“Angel hasn't listened to popular tunes since FM went mainstream. So when Buffy and me need an Angel break or,”
he grinned down at her evilly, “wanna sneak off for a private shag,” he leaned forward, inhaling deeply as she
jerked her head away. “We just start in with the musical non sequiturs. Throws him right off his game. Thinks it’s
poetry, he does. Angel doesn’t understand poetry.” He cocked his head. “Unless he’s trying to chat
up a bird. Then it’s always sonnets from the bloody Portuguese.”
His other arm jerked
up, bracketing her head. “And Buffy knows that.” He stared fiercely into her eyes. “So we’ve got a
mystery here. A slayer-vamp who won’t drink blood, doesn’t know how the game is played, and,” he dipped
his head again, his hair brushing her neck as he breathed deeply up the side of her face, his lips grazing her cheek, “reeks
of too much soul.”