"Crash - Come Into You"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: "Crash" belongs to Dave Matthews Band.

You've got your ball
You've got your chain
Tied to me tight, tie me up again.
Who's got their claws
In you my friend?
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock,
And sweet you roll
Lost for you, I'm so lost for you

Apparently, Buffy thought wryly, the instinct to feed was a stronger lure than she was. Poor baby. He =must= be hungry for something warm and tasty after all this time.

"Don't drink too much," Buffy cautioned, "he's probably got a funny after taste."

Angelus either didn't agree, or didn't care, about her warnings. He sunk his fangs into Parker's throat, growling and suckling hungrily. With a shrug, Buffy joined him, vamping out, taking the other side of Parker's neck. One of them pierced his larynx, because his muffled screams became deathly silent almost immediately.

They drained him in short order, then left him to hang limply in the chains Buffy had found half-off in a little shop on Melrose. No need to get fancy with binding spells and charms when the only thing she had to restrain was a weak, spineless weasel.

Blood was dripping down Angelus' chin. His hands were covered in it from where he was gripping Parker's bloodied arms. Buffy felt a thrill go through her at the sight. He was raw, uncaged, and purely, sinfully hers.

"Well, well, well," Angelus murmured, licking his lips crudely, "a slayer turned. You really don't see abominations of nature like that as much as you used to."

"Says the only vampire who spends more time with a soul than without one," she shot back.

"Touché," he conceded, giving her a long, measuring appraisal.

They were circling each other like big cats, each trying to decide which move would be the correct one.

"I've got a bone to pick with you," he remarked casually.

"Do tell," she murmured, watching as he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.

"You staked my sire."

"You staked her first."

"Ah, but I wasn't quite myself at the time," he reminded her, not without irony.

"I haven't been feeling like myself in the last few days, either," she countered.

"I think you've got that wrong," he disagreed.

That gave her pause. "What are you talking about?"

The shrug he sent her way made her long to rip his throat out, but she held back. Impulse control had never been her strong suit; it was even less so now that she had no conscience. Ripping her Angel's throat out, however, was unacceptable, no matter how much he might be irritating her at the moment.

"You've done quite a job fucking up my head these past few days," he complimented her as he turned and walked toward the table. He picked up a dagger, tested its weight in his hands.

"Thank you. I did learn at the feet of the master."

"Oh, don't, Buff -- you'll get me all choked up."

"I'd like to choke you," she muttered.

Like she'd been expecting, he finally struck, moving supernaturally fast to grip her upper arms tightly. He still held the dagger, and the side of its blade sliced into the flesh of her left arm. The pain made her wince, but otherwise, she ignored it. If she'd figured out anything about his head -- and she was positive she had -- this was all some elaborate test to see if she was worthy.

"What are you playing at, slayer?" he hissed around a mouthful of fangs. Funny, how she hadn't bothered to return to the human guise she normally wore, either. "What can you hope to win?"

"You," she said immediately. Then, she slashed her nails down his side. He, too, winced, but his grip held her firmly. "Don't call me slayer," she added.

"Right, because you're evil now," he said mockingly.

"I am evil," she spat at him.

"You still love," he countered.

"So do you," she insisted.

His eyes murderously angry, he shoved her away so strongly she actually lost her balance and hit the floor. Nothing hurt but her dignity, but Buffy refused to let it show. The game she was playing had everything she'd ever wanted riding on it. From the ground, she laughed at him, making no move to stand again. Instead, she stretched her body, arching her back, settling against her elbows.

"What's so fucking funny?" he snapped, starting to pace the floor.

"You. Still denying that you love me." The glare he gave her would have silenced anyone who was actually afraid of him. "You loved me so much you tried to suck the world into hell to make it stop," she added.

"Wrong," he snapped, reaching down to haul her to her feet. He gripped the back of her hair tightly in one fist, held one of her wrists prisoner with the other. "I hated myself for loving something that could never be pure enough for me. I had one of the most powerful vampires of all time by my side for over a century," he taunted.

Buffy smiled cruelly. "And it took me less than a minute to shove a stake through her heart," she informed him.

He tried to push her away, but this time, she held fast to him.

"You were never meant for her," she continued. "Darla was a means to an end. She got you to me. That's all there is to it."

Angelus had no retort to that, and Buffy felt her confidence rise a few more notches. He was shirtless -- her preferred state of dress for him -- and she used that to her benefit. She trailed one of her hands over his chest, teasing his flesh until she reached his face.

"It doesn't matter if we have souls," she continued, making a small incision in his cheek with her nail. This time, he didn't so much as flinch. Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth to the bleeding wound, licking at it until it closed.

With her other hand, Buffy pressed two fingers to the cut on her arm. Then, she brought those fingers to his mouth, but was prevented contact by the vise-like grip he imprisoned her wrist with.

"We were meant for each other, my love," she whispered, undaunted. "I'm right here. I'm yours. You just have to take me, and together, we'll rule this godforsaken world."

"I don't want to rule the world," he growled softly. Slowly, he brought her hand to his lips, then reached his tongue out and cleaned each of her fingers thoroughly.

Snarling, he kicked her legs out from under her, then followed her to the ground, his full weight pressing her onto the cold concrete floor. His hands moved to the flimsy dress covering her and he tore it from her body.

"I want to burn it to the ground," he added, bringing a hand up to cup one of her breasts, using his fingers to pinch the nipple roughly.

"And dance on the wreckage," she agreed, moving her legs to hold his hips to her body. The hand he didn't still hold moved to his belt, ripping it and his pants away.

His head moved to her bleeding arm and he lapped at it, stopped the bleeding. Then, he tore into her flesh anew, only sipping this time.

Buffy cried out and held his head to her arm, her thighs tightening around his hips. Her hand encircled his erection and she began to stroke him firmly, occasionally scratching at his engorged flesh with her nails, just enough to make him moan.

He broke away from her arm, moved his head to her breasts. His lips closed around each of her nipples in turn, pulled and gnawed at them until Buffy thought she would die all over again from the razor sharp pleasure. There was no question as to which one of them was in control this time around, and she reveled in his dominance over her.

Angelus slid his mouth along her stomach, taking mouthfuls of her flesh in as he went. Buffy felt as though she was being eaten alive, and she wanted him to take more of her, to take more of her skin into his mouth, her blood into his body. She wanted more of her flesh against his big, rough hands.

Sliding his palms beneath her ass, he lifted her toward his mouth, his fingers pressed into her hips hard enough to bruise. Then, his mouth was on her clit, his lips and tongue sipping and sucking on every inch of her wet, swollen flesh, and she didn't care about bruises. Rather, she wanted bruises, wanted her body torn and marked by his fangs, his flesh, his seed. Buffy wanted every being -- man or demon -- within a ten-block radius to know that she was his, that he'd claimed her.

A wail left her throat when his mouth left her unsatisfied. With all her pent up arousal, she leaned up on her elbows and tried to glare at him.

"You bastard," she began, sure he was playing with her. Angelus loved games, and it would be just like him to torture her this way, then leave her alone and unsatisfied.

The look in his eyes stopped her. It was half predator, half little boy -- evil, deadly little boy -- both wanting to play. His hands slid away from her hips, to her leg, lifting it higher against his cheek. He nuzzled her inner thigh, then turned his head, scraping at her flesh with the tip of a single, razor sharp incisor.

"Come on, Buff," he encouraged lightly, "beg me."

He thought she had pride? Thought she had a will he had to break? Maybe he just didn't understand how this went, the give and take of it all. How he made her beg, then she made him beg. How they were equal. She'd make him understand before the day was out.

Until then, Buffy had no qualms whatsoever about begging him for what they both wanted.

"Please, Angel," she called hoarsely, "Angelus, please, Angel, please . . ."

He ripped through the tender flesh of her inner thigh with his fangs, while he thrust three fingers deep inside her. He began to pump his hand in time with the long, deep draws of his mouth against her leg.

Buffy howled, every dead nerve in her body suddenly wide awake and humming. Intense pleasure washed through her body, and still, his mouth pulled at her, demanded more of her. His insistent fingers stroked more firmly, knowingly, and a second set of contractions wracked her body. Her back arched off the ground at the feeling.

As the pleasure began to fade, his mouth left her leg, and he slid up her body until his face hovered less than an inch from hers. His hand still covered her, fingers wet and sticky, lightly playing with her clit.

"Is that what you wanted?" he asked coldly, and she could still feel his anger; anger at her, for loving him, anger at himself, for loving her back.

"No," she answered, delighting in the shock that was written all over his face. Her legs cradled his hips again, her nails dug into his back.

"Finish me," she ordered, rubbing her wetness against his throbbing cock.

Growling like a wild thing, he sat up on his knees and spun her around by her shoulders. She landed on her hands and knees, but before she could become acclimated to her new position, he slammed himself to the hilt inside of her, his hips resting heavily against her ass. They both groaned at the sensation, and he draped his chest over her back, his mouth finding her ear.

"Like that?" he whispered sinfully, the devil enticing Eve to take just one bite...

"More," she insisted, pushing her hips back at him roughly. "Give it to me."

"What do you want from me?" he muttered, madly pecking kisses and nipping at her neck as he began to thrust inside her, slow, hard movements of his hips.

"All of you," she answered without hesitation, arching her breasts into his hands as they climbed up her ribcage.

He snarled in response, his hips speeding as he began to scrape blunt fingernails over her nipples. The responses he coaxed from her body would have embarrassed her as the young, virginal girl she'd been the first time they'd given in to temptation. Now, the demon she'd become only wanted more; she wanted her pleasure, but more, she wanted his.

Squeezing down on him with her still-slayer-strong internal muscles, she massaged his cock until his thrusting grew erratic, his mouth buried against her neck, incoherent groans and mumbles of pleasure saturating her skin.

Violently, they came together again and again. He gripped her neck with his teeth, not drinking; he did it to keep her still while he fucked her into oblivion. Buffy felt another orgasm quickly approaching, and she pulled his forearm to her mouth, cutting through the vein there easily. He began lapping at the wound he'd made on the back of her neck, sucking at it as he came with a final, brutal thrust into her body.

They collapsed to the floor, and he made no move to roll off of her, which was fine with Buffy. As far as she was concerned, he could keep her pressed to whatever flat surface was available twenty-four hours a day.

"You're strong," she heard him rumble against her ear.

"Duh."

"Stronger," he clarified, finally moving. He ran his hand up and down her back. "Stronger than a slayer, stronger than a demon."

"You noticed that too," she quipped, rolling to her side so she faced him.

Roughly, he hauled her leg over his hip, pressed them together tightly. Already, he was starting to harden against her thigh, and she smiled, a slow, satisfied shifting of her facial muscles.

"How's your stamina?"

"I'd say we've got about nine hours of daylight to test it," she murmured as she rolled him to his back and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth.

You wear nothing, but you
Wear it so well
Tied up and twisted,
The way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash into me, oh yeah
Come crash into me, baby
Ooh, touch your lips just so I know
Oh, in your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy... for you
Oh, and you come crash into me, yeah
Baby, I come into you

The End

<< back