Disclaimer: BtVS belongs to FOX. The characters are Joss's. Not mine.
Note: I started this many moons ago, and just recently opened it back up. Thought I'd share. :)
Every part of her felt alive. She moaned and sighed and shivered, hands running along any available inch. Just when it couldn’t seem more intense, he was inside, and thought vanished, leaving only feeling. She cried out his name, welcoming womanhood. How young she’d been.
Was it always this good? Or just when you were in love?
He was gentle when he entered, soothing. He whispered his love as her breaths drew sharper, more ragged. They were both shaking. She found the tattoo on his back with her fingers, hyperaware of its texture, of the difference between it and his unmarked flesh. Pulling him deeper, skin met skin. Nothing separated them.
It was like...like they were one.
She must’ve felt so warm to him, so full of life. All heat. Her satisfaction sounded more frequently now, throughout the bedroom. Heart thudded incredibly fast, blood furiously pumping. She could make him lose control, already had.
He'd forgotten what bliss was like. Why had he gone this long without it? Why had he punished himself? At the moment, they both had no idea.
Lost in mutual surrender, they didn’t realize where his mouth had settled. They couldn’t. They were so close, right on the edge.
Her legs went stiff, her feet dug into the mattress, and they tumbled over that edge together. It was indescribable. Rational thought, coherency, had no place here.
She bit hard into his shoulder, unprepared for the strength of what was happening. Unfortunately, the same wave crashing over her also crashed over him, crippling his resistance. Instinct, and his teeth, took hold—punctured her throat.
A distant area of his brain screamed at him to stop, but her taste was overwhelming. Forbidden. And she was too far-gone to do what he couldn’t.
Mere seconds later, it was done. Full and sated, he passed out, unaware that the girl below him was taking her final, shallow breaths. Her heart slowed, her eyes drooped.
She died in his arms, never once thinking that the greatest night of her life would be her last. That true love would end like this. But of course theirs had.
The way her head fell on the pillow, the wounds didn’t show. Anyone would've assumed she was asleep—if it weren't for the red on her lips.
The first thing Buffy Summers did, the first thing the Slayer did, was scream.
Angel was yanked harshly from slumber, and as he looked down with concern, she threw him off without thinking. Shooting upright, her eyes darted around in fear, until she remembered where she was. Relief slowly set in, but she covered her chest with the blanket anyway. Last night’s evidence had already healed.
The nightmare fading, Buffy found a confused Angel getting up from the floor. "Oops. Sorry, I guess I...uh, it was a reflex?"
"Wouldn't have minded a warning," he smirked, rubbing the back of his head.
"I'll remember next time, promise. Last night was...amazing," she beamed, searching for something. "Um, d’you see my clothes anywhere? ‘Cause as much as I wanna stay here...with you and the naked...we’ve still gotta deal with our 'Pesky Smurf’ problem. But then..."
Angel gathered her clothes that were lying at the foot of the bed, and as he gave them to her, a look of horror settled onto his face—he couldn’t hear a beat. "Buffy..."
"Yeah?" Too busy slipping on the dry shirt he'd lent her, she initially didn't notice. "Hey, what is it? Do I have bed hair, or...it's not morning breath, is it?"
As she spoke, she palmed her cross that had been amongst her discarded clothes, wanting it around her neck again. Suddenly, her hand felt like it was burning. She dropped the cross in surprise.
"Ouch!" Her eyes zeroed in on the source of her pain, growing wide. Didn't take long to figure out. "A-Angel?"
He started to walk closer; she stared in terrified disbelief. Not caring that they weren't exactly the driest, she put on her lower garments and headed for the main room, trembling. The blur of memories began to focus.
They mocked the lovers—the happy as well as the bad—replaying the ultimately disastrous events in minute detail.
Hurriedly dressing, he went after her, keeping his distance—he didn't trust himself. He was barely maintaining composure, blinking the water from his eyes. "Buffy, I..."
"No, I hafta be dreaming. This can't be real," she denied, shaking her head roughly. "I can't...be a..." But then she saw her hands. "God, they're so pale...and cold. Why?" Her eyes had become glassy, though there was a fire directed at her boyfriend. "Why are they cold?
The silence was suffocating. Which was hilarious, in a twisted way—they didn’t need air. Eventually, Angel got the courage to voice the words, and each tore at him. "Because I turned you."
Her anger at its boiling point, Buffy charged him with a roar, shifting to her demonic form in the midst of tackling him to the ground. "How was it, huh? Best you ever had? Was I worth it?"
“Is this romantic to you?” Getting a vice grip on his neck, she continued, her fangs and now yellow eyes making her menacing as hell. "Us brooding together forever? But duh, only under moonlight. We don’t get any other choice; know I didn’t. It’s okay though, right, Angel? You live in the dark, and you can teach me how. Well I don’t wanna learn! You killed me
, you son of a—!"
"I never wanted...I never meant..." Angel spoke with sincerity, trying to ignore his crushed vocal chords. She was stronger than him before; now he didn't even come close. "I'm sorry." It was meaningless to her, but what else was there to say?
Scowling, she hurled him into the far wall, knocking down some paintings. The force made a crack. She returned to the bed, curled into a corner, and outlined the unnatural ridges on her face.
Pricking her finger on fangs shattered any last hope, and she started to sob. Blame rested with her, too; she knew the risks. But she never thought that he’d do this, no matter what the circumstances.
And to think, she'd taken off the cross for his safety.
"Tell me how to change back...from there," ordered Buffy, choking on her tears. "You don't get to touch me."
"Smart. Little late, but smart." A short, badly dressed man with a hat and a slight New York accent supported her, appearing miraculously in the room. "Been enough’a that already. Oh, all you gotta do is try not to think about it. Relax."
"Who the hell’re you?" she questioned, but heeded his advice, and her features smoothed out.
"His name's Whistler," Angel supplied, carefully rising to his feet. "He works for the Powers That Be."
"Thanks for the intro." The balance demon sat on the bed. "You two don't make my job easy. We thought gettin’ hot and heavy was pushing it, but we let it slide. Then you got kinky on us. Why’d you have to break the rules? Especially now?"
"So the universe sent you here to punish us?" Buffy snapped, irritated. "I'm dead! That’s like, permanent time-out."
She was tired, about to lose her mind, and hungry. He wasn't helping.
Her demon within showed images of what it wanted to do to everyone she loved: Willow's neck snapped, Xander's stomach ripped open, Giles' lifeless, decapitated body lying on the library floor atop a pool of blood, her mom drained...and Angel crucified, literally.
She grabbed her head and shut her eyes. "No! Stop! I don't want to!"
"Easy, kid, easy. You can fight it; it's just ticked right now," Whistler explained gently, then sighed. "All right, cards on the table: we planned for Angel losing his soul by crossin' the line with you. ‘Cause his curse has a catch, he turns into a creep again, there's blood, death...woulda made a mess.
“This? Wasn't in the cards. Kinda have our hands full with Big Blue, so we had to throw something together. Last minute type thing."
"What're you doing here?" Angel wondered, remaining just outside of the bedroom, hiding his shock at the mention of this information.
"Telling you, she stays on the team. Wasn’t easy to pull off," answered Whistler, removing his hat. "If anyone asks, officially, she has her soul because you’re the vamp that did the deed. New territory, no one knew how this was gonna go...it's hokey, but, I’m just middle management."
He smirked, turning to Buffy. "Truth is, I had to do some bargaining with the bad guys; there's a few more hell dimensions than there used to be. Point is, we worked it out, came to a deal—we got what we wanted, they got what they wanted."
"I have my soul?" At this news, Buffy found the strength to hush the rumblings inside of her. Certainly explained her reluctance to partake in a murder spree. "Why'd the Powers do that? Kendra would've..."
"Yep, and she'll get promoted. Not soon enough to take down the Judge, though. She ain't prepared for it, anyway. You're our shot—you and your friends. You drop the ball, we lose," he revealed. "’Sides, a Slayer Vampire who's still on the job? Potential. Long as you can handle things. We knew you'd be different, but geez."
"Handle things?" she asked, both frightened and perplexed.
Whistler didn't have an opportunity to reply, because Angel doubled over, clutching at his midsection. "Say hello to the catch. Tried goin' to bat for him too, but when you break the rules, somebody’s gotta pay. Guy had a hundred years of chances."
Buffy rushed to her boyfriend. "Angel!"
Whistler removed a stake from his jacket.
"No! I can't do this without him!" she argued desperately.
"Gonna have to either way," Whistler told her, placing his hat back where it belonged. "Trust me, you're better off. Because him without a soul? Real pain in the ass. Not someone you wanna meet."
"Buffy, he's right. Hurry!" Angel yelled, feeling his legs about to give out and his demon struggling to emerge. "Do it. There's...not much time."
Accepting the weapon, tears again began to flow. They'd experienced something together most people couldn’t imagine, couldn’t conceive of—perfect happiness. As he met her eyes, and she his, they knew without a doubt they had. How could she love and hate him at the same time?
Even now, she trusted Angel as he asked her to end his life. It wasn't like she could weigh options that didn’t exist. Moving behind him, there was no goodbye.
She plunged the stake through his back, and fell to her knees while he crumbled. The saddest part? All she was thinking was, 'Wonder when that'll happen to me?'
So much for love.
"How am I gonna face my friends? My mom?" she quietly said, head bowed.
"Up to you." Whistler wasn’t very comforting. "Should eat somethin' first, though. I'd check the fridge," he suggested. "I'll be around."
"I can smell the sun; it's...like roses," Buffy smiled. However, the flipside soon erased it from her face. "And I can't ever go out in it."
She hadn't understood before. That was the universe's punishment. Light was the grand prize, a luxury taken for granted, and she couldn't have it.
Out of nowhere, laughter, the uncontrollable variety, burst out—she’d died, and was reborn, on her birthday. When it was no longer funny, she found herself alone. Didn't bother her.
There were other things to worry about. Such as the foreign thirst deep within, demanding to be quenched.