"Go take a shower, and brush your teeth," he ordered darkly, pushing her from the bed.

Buffy looked at him in bewilderment as she tumbled to the floor, landing in a pile of limbs.  Her bottom lip began to tremble, but Angel’s expression didn’t soften.

"You taste like Spike’s cum," he bit out before rolling on his side, away from her, and drifting back to sleep.

Biting down on her lip to keep from crying, Buffy rose to her feet and walked into the adjoining bathroom.  So be it.  She’d resigned herself to being a part of Angel’s life, and if this was how he was going to treat her, she would just deal with it.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t been in situations like this before.  During the year she was MIA, Buffy had taken strings of lovers.  Most of them were no more gentle than Angel, and it was definite that she wasn’t anywhere near as valuable to them as she was to her mate ... even if he was being a prick.  She knew without a doubt that he loved her beyond reason.

Turning on the shower, Buffy brushed her teeth as she waited for the water to warm.  She wasn’t terribly shocked to find her toiletries in the bathroom.  Apparently Angel’s employees had been sent to raid her rat hole of an apartment while she had slept.  Funny that the thought of Cordelia seeing just how pathetic her life had become did not even phase her.  Was it possible that no one’s opinions meant anything to her anymore? Well … no one except Angel.  His opinions seemed to have no end of effect on her current situation.

Stepping into the shower, Buffy rested her forehead against the tile as the hot water poured over her body.  It did little to ease the bone deep aches of her body.  Her lingering hangover and Angel’s rough treatment, combined with the almost continual abuse she’d subjected her body to over the last year did not make for a speedy recovery.  Maybe now that she had a home, a center, she could start putting pieces of her life back together.

Buffy stayed in the shower until the water began to cool.  Turning off the faucet, she wrung out her long tresses before stepping into the much colder air of the bathroom.  Quickly, she wrapped one of Angel’s large bathsheets around her body to fight off the chill that was her constant companion.

Bracing her hands on the vanity, Buffy studied her reflection in the mirror.  She was torn between the desire to laugh hysterically and fall to the floor in sobs.  She did neither, merely staring at the vacant eyes looking back at her.

She was a mess.

In the dim lights of a night club where the patrons had been drinking for hours, it was not difficult to appear the definition of sexuality.  But here, in the harsh, unforgiving light, all traces of makeup gone, it was impossible to maintain the illusion.  Had she and Angel not had such an intense past, it was doubtful that he would have found her appealing in the least two nights ago.  Her essence was no longer tinged with the warmth of life, but rather the pallor of a lingering death.

She was thin, she noted - not slim, but gaunt.  Her skin was no longer the healthy golden that it had been in Sunnydale.  She was a sallow yellow verging on bluish in places.  Her skin was pale enough to be almost translucent.  When was the last time she’d even seen the sun?  She couldn’t remember.  After fleeing Sunnydale, she’d become a creature of the night.  Her days were spent nursing hangovers or sleeping off the previous night’s debauchery with some stranger who, if she was lucky, she could guilt into buying her a sandwich.  That didn’t happen a lot.  She went hungry often, forced to wait until night fell and troll the clubs for men who would buy her drinks, or other things, in exchange for her attentions.  She wasn’t a whore, at least not outright.  There had never been any exchange of money in return for services rendered, but that knowledge didn’t make her feel any better about herself.

How long would she have lasted if he hadn’t found her?  Odd that her salvation came in the form of her semi-abusive ex, but she could not deny what he was her savior.  If he hadn’t found her, death would have, one way or another.  It still might, she thought bleakly

Angel rolled onto his back and looked at his youngest lover as she emerged from the bathroom, smelling of soap and toothpaste.  He held out a hand which she took eagerly and he pulled her into bed, discarding her towel in the process.  Pulling her against himself, he wrapped the covers around her in the same fluid motion.  Buffy sighed as his mouth descended over hers and his tongue swept past her teeth to tangle with her own.  He kissed her for long minutes, holding her firmly against his solid frame.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so certain of something, of how right a sensation felt.

Breaking off the kiss, he pulled back and looked at her with approval.  "Much better," he said before placing another soft kiss on her lips.

Buffy smiled in return, trying to snuggle closer, needing the protection he could offer – not necessarily from an outside threat, but from own self destruction.  Sensing that now was not the time for being a dominating ass, Angel held her gently until she had almost drifted off to sleep.

She was disturbed by the main door to Angel’s suite opening and closing.  Knowing that it wasn’t Cordelia, Buffy suspected the conspicuously absent Spike had been sent out on an errand.  As the scent of fresh pizza reached her, the Slayer knew she was right.  Her stomach growled loudly and Angel fixed her with a hard glare.  Ushering her out of bed, he quickly wrapped her on one of his shirts before shooing her towards the small kitchenette.

Buffy tore into the steaming pie without so much as a word, devouring half of it before stopping to take a drink of water.  She was sitting on top of the small table, Indian style as a now dressed Angel came to stand behind her.  She stilled, sensing he was about to do something when she felt his hand run slowly from the small of her back to the nape of her neck, tracing the outline of her spine and ribs.

"When was the last time you ate, Buffy?" he asked, quietly.

Buffy shrugged and tensed, fearing how he might punish her for this transgression, but he didn’t seem to want to punish her.  He wrapped a strong arm around her, pulling her back against his chest as he rested his chin on her head.  The Slayer relaxed in his embrace.

"No more of this," he said firmly.  "You’re going to take better care of yourself."

She nodded and reached for another piece of pizza.  Angel released her, pressing a hard kiss to the nape of her neck before leaving her to eat in peace while he went downstairs to check on the business.

"He’s right, Pet," Spike said coolly as he watched her from his chair.

Buffy looked at him over the slice of pizza she was consuming at a much more leisurely pace, but did not respond.

"Have you been trying to starve yourself?" he asked, oddly without a hint of admonishment in his voice.  He was well aware of what the current feminine physical ideal was, especially in southern California.   He merely hoped Buffy hadn’t bought in to the ridiculous beauty ideals.

"No," she replied evenly.

"The way you’re wolfing that down, I’m not sure I believe you."

Setting the slice down, she shrugged noncommittally.  "I haven’t been hungry," she answered truthfully.

"Guess you haven’t worked up a hunger like that in a while, huh?" he asked with a wicked grin as he remembered the previous evening’s multiple sexual interludes.

Buffy studied him, her face blank.  "I didn’t say that," she answered vaguely.

Brow furrowed, Spike looked at her for several long moments before she broke eye contact and went back to her pizza.  The blonde vampire went utterly still as understanding hit him.  Buffy had been anything but faithful to Angel during her absence.

Spike didn’t know what to think.  Angel was going to flip when he found out about her past.  But why had she done it?  Spike didn’t doubt that the tart enjoyed sex with his Sire, and even sex with him, though that was mostly because he reminded her of Angel.  But he didn’t peg Buffy as the type that was so into the act itself that she would be willing to do it with just anyone.  She’d always struck him as choosey, very choosey.

He watched as she levered herself off the table and meandered over to the makeshift living room, turning on the television before curling up on the sofa.  He continued to study her as she idly flipped through channels, never settling on any program for more than a few seconds.

"Want a soda, Pet?" he asked as he rose to retrieve a Guinness for himself.  Angel was being overly generous for some reason and Spike was going to take every advantage of the fact that he wasn’t currently chained to the bed, writhing in agony.

"’Kay," she answered without looking at him.

Rolling over onto her back, she took the proffered soda and quickly popped it open.  As she moved to a sitting position, Spike caught a glimpse of something on her inner thigh.  Buffy caught his gaze and quickly moved so she was kneeling on the couch, Angel’s long shirt tucked tightly around her body.

"Pet?" he ventured quietly.

Buffy turned her attention to the television, feigning interest in some insipid talk show in an attempt to ignore Spike.  He wasn’t buying it.

"Buffy," he said evenly.

Given the fact that he’d never before called her by her given name, it succeeded in gaining her attention.  Her eyes met his, but he could read nothing in their hazel depths.

"Can I see?" he asked calmly, dropping to his haunches in front of the couch.

Biting down on her bottom lip, Buffy considered his question for long moments.  She didn’t want to show him, but given the state of their relationship, it wasn’t like she could hide them for much longer.  She also suspected that Spike would be more understanding then Angel.

Spike watched as she moved her legs out from under her and then spread her knees, allowing him to see the creamy white flesh of her inner thighs as she slumped against the back of the couch.  To his credit, he ignored the fact that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

Slowly, he placed his hand on her knee and felt her shiver at the contact.  She broke his gaze, looking back at the television.  Confident that she wasn’t going to spook, Spike slowly slid his hand up her inner thigh to the spot he’d glimpsed earlier.  Given the way she was sitting and the dim lighting of the living room, Spike couldn’t really see it, but his hand hesitantly traced the raised flesh.  With a muffled curse, he leaned over Buffy and turned on a small lamp.  The Slayer didn’t move, but Spike sensed her attention was not on the idiot box.

"Oh, Pet," he whispered quietly, staring at her flesh.

Her gaze still averted, her eyes welled with unshed tears.  Her secret was out.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice even more gentle.

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip to keep from bursting into sobs.  Why was he being so nice?  She was prepared for his disgust, his anger.  No.  More than that.  She craved his censure ... not his quiet understanding.

Turning her head to look at him, she opened her mouth.  They both startled as the door to the suite opened and Angel strode into the room.  They were too shocked to move, besides, it wouldn’t do any good.  They’d already been caught.

Angel stopped abruptly as he became aware of his mate and Childe’s compromising position.  A low growl erupted from his throat as he came to stand behind Spike.  The growling stopped suddenly as Angel saw just exactly what the peroxide blonde was doing.  He’d thought they were playing without his permission, but it was something far different.

Roughly pushing Spike out of the way, Angel’s hand replaced the younger vampire’s on Buffy’s inner thigh.  In irritation, he knocked the shade off the lamp with a flick of his hand, providing more illumination.  He stilled as he realized what exactly he was looking at.  Too stunned for rage, he quickly undid the line of buttons on the shirt she wore and pushed the sides open, searching her flesh for more imperfections.

He didn’t have to search for long.

There were several on her hips, a long scrape on her rib cage.  There were multiple healing nicks surrounding the delicate flesh of her areolas.  Grabbing her by the jaw, Angel roughly moved her head to the side and studied her neck.  The flesh was unmarred, save the bite that he himself had placed there during their reunion.

His shock fading, replaced by anger, he hauled her roughly from the couch to stand before him.  The shirt was thrown to the floor as he turned her around and found three more bites, one on her right shoulder blade, another on the supple flesh of her right ass cheek, and the last behind her left knee.  All of the wounds were in various stages of healing.

Turning her around yet again, he roughly grabbed her wrist to study her inner arm.  Buffy’s chin dropped almost to her chest as he looked at the multiple bites.  Stepping back from her in disgust, Angel looked at his distraught mate.  He’d been so blind.  He should have done this before he ever brought her home, but he’d been so overwhelmed with finding her again that he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

"You let other males bite you."  It was a statement, not a question.

The Slayer nodded without looking at him.

"They aren’t vamp bites, Buffy."

The Slayer didn’t respond.  Angel was desperately trying to understand what would have driven his mate to this.  The bites marring her flesh were not caused by the razor sharp fangs of a vampire.  Vampire bites were neat, the teeth slicing through flesh like a hot knife through warm butter.  These healing wounds weren’t neat, the flesh had been rent by blunt teeth not meant for cutting through flesh.

She had been bitten by humans.

"Tell me what happened," he said, his fury held tightly in check.

"You already know what happened," she answered in a tiny voice.

"You let them do this to you?" he asked in horrified confusion.

Buffy laughed hysterically.  "I’m a Slayer, Angel.  No human male could force me into doing anything I didn’t want."

He let go of her like he’d been burned.  The emptiness in her voice, the bluntness with which she’d answered his questions.  This wasn’t the Buffy that he knew.  What had happened to the sweet young girl he’d known a lifetime ago?  Nothing of her was reflected in the creature standing before him.

"Why?" he asked coldly.

Looking up, Buffy met his gaze recklessly.  "Because you weren’t around to do it," she replied.

Angel flinched at the resentment in her voice, but soon recovered himself.  He was the Master here, he would not apologize, explain himself, or back down.

"I was here, Buffy," he hissed.  "I was waiting, looking for you.  You were the one that disappeared."

She laughed, sinking down onto the sofa again, mindless of her nudity.  "If I’d come here – come to you – when this all happened, what would you have done?" she asked, her gaze fixed firmly on his.

"Taken you in," he answered plainly.

Buffy nodded.  "Yes, you would have.  But what would you have done with me after that?"

Angel met her hard stare but said nothing.

"You would have offered me your bed while you took the couch.  You would have reminded me of my sacred duty, my responsibilities, my life in Sunnydale.  You would have sent me home, all the while telling yourself it was for my own good, that you were doing the *right* thing."

Angel’s gaze did not waver as he absorbed her outburst, but something inside of him knew she was right.  They were completely different creatures from the ones they’d been only a year earlier.  Had she come to him then in search of shelter, he would have reacted just as she predicted.  He would have kept her at arm’s length with polite conversation and respect.  He would have treated her like the goddess some part of him still knew she was, not wishing to sully her purity with his sins.  He would have reminded her in no uncertain terms that she had a job to do and sent her packing back to Giles.

"That’s why I didn’t come to you, that’s why I didn’t go home," she said quietly.

The simple truth shocked him to the core.  By running, she had forced him to admit what he knew all along – that she was *his*.  She’d known that he would find her, but she hadn’t anticipated it taking so long.  She’d begun to give up hope.  She’d lost faith.  She’d turned to other males, demanding that they try to fill the gaping hole Angel left in her soul.  None of them had, but it had never slowed her quest.  She’d asked them to beat her, to bite her, to possess her … but none of them had ever filled the bill.

"Leave," Angel barked at Spike without looking at him.  The younger vampire obeyed without word.

Crouching in front of her, Angel ran his hands over the visible wounds.  "Did they hurt?" he asked quietly.

She let out a snort of laughter, not looking at him. "Yes," she said baldly, "they hurt."

"Then why did you keep doing it?" he asked.

"Because if I stopped, there was always the danger of realizing what I had done."

Angel watched her for several minutes, but she didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.  He noticed that goose bumps were beginning to form on her skin.  Leaning in more closely, Angel looked at the long wound on her rib cage.

"These will all heal," he said quietly.

"I know," she answered in dead tones.  "Yours is the only one that never goes away."

Impulsively, Angel’s tongue snaked out to trace the healing wound across her ribs.  Buffy gasped and arched against him.  Grabbing her around the waist, Angel pulled her off the couch and into his lap on the floor.  She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist.  Gently, he urged her back until her head and shoulders were resting on the floor and then leaned forward to lave the wound again with his tongue.  Buffy whimpered, her short fingernails biting into his denim covered thighs.  He took his time, placing wet, open mouthed kisses to her flesh before biting down gently.  His teeth were still blunt, and the pressure was not enough to bruise the skin, let alone re-open the wound, but she hissed and whimpered, writhing against him.

He gave all of the wounds on her inner arms the same treatment, but paid even more reverent attention to the one on her inner thigh.  As he suckled at the delicate flesh, he was overwhelmed by the scent of her arousal.  The downy hair that covered her sex glistened with her moisture.

But this wasn’t about sex – not yet anyway.  This was about reminding her to whom she belonged.  This was about taking all of the marred flesh on her body and making it his, cleansing it of another male’s presence.

She whined in disappointment when he moved up her body from her thigh to her nipples, but only for a moment.  As he suckled at her breasts, she twined her fingers through his hair, pressing her chest more fully to his mouth while wrapping her legs around his thighs.  He arched against her, feeling her intimate secretions soaking into the front of his jeans, as their pelvises meshed, separated by the thin, but effective barrier of denim.

Buffy keened, obviously needing more, but he wasn’t finished.  Untangling her legs, he flipped her over underneath himself.  Her shoulder blade was first, which irritated Buffy to no end.  The nipples and inner thigh she had enjoyed, but this was just torture.  Her posture relaxed slightly as he continued his descent down her body.  She giggled as his tongue caressed the bite on her ass.

Angel was in no mood for her to think this was a game, so he vamped out, biting into the tender flesh on top of the older wound.  Buffy’s muscles corded and she yelped in pain.  She moved to push her self off the floor, but Angel’s large hand, situated firmly between her shoulder blades kept her pinned.

"I’m not playing," he said quietly, between licks to her abused flesh.

Buffy whimpered and nodded in understanding.  She laid still, making no motion to try and rise again.  Satisfied she was staying put, Angel moved down her leg to the soft flesh on the back of her left knee.  He lounged there, staying far longer than he had at any of the other wounds.  He wasn’t doing it because it deserved that much attention but rather because Buffy knew it was the last one.  The longer he waited the more nervous she became about what he was going to do next.  She was shivering by the time he stopped his ministrations on her flesh.

Crouching over her body, he lowered his head to whisper in her ear, "Raise your ass in the air, but keep your head where it is."

Buffy complied immediately, drawing her knees under herself and raising her ass invitingly.  Understanding what he meant to do, she automatically widened her kneeling stance for him.  Involuntarily, Buffy drew in a sharp breath as she heard the zipper on his jeans being lowered.  Releasing his straining erection, he pumped the taut flesh several times for good measure.  Buffy could hear what he was doing and whimpered.

Grasping her hips tightly, he plunged into her without any preamble.  That wasn’t a problem.  She’d been ready for him for a long time.  She released a breathy cry, arching her back to accommodate his size, allowing him to plunge as deeply into her as possible.  Angel rewarded her behavior by reaching around to fondle her clit as he pumped into her.  Buffy was well primed and needed little attention before coming hard around his flesh.  She thrust back against him jerkily as her orgasm overtook her.

Reaching forward, Angel grasped her roughly on the neck and pulled back, urging her onto all fours.  She complied, using the leverage the new position provided to thrust back against him in a fluid motion.  Angel moved forward to crouch over her, blanketing her back as he slid into game face and clamped his mouth around the nape of her neck.  He bit down only hard enough to break the skin and drew deeply from the wound.  A second orgasm overtook the Slayer as he mate took sustenance from her body.  Feeling her inner muscles clenching around him and tasting her blood in his mouth, Angel quickly joined her in climax.

They both collapsed to the floor and Angel did nothing to spare Buffy his weight.  She didn’t complain.  She could take the rough treatment and she was too desperate for the feel of her mate’s body held securely with her own to voice any displeasure.  They laid their for long minutes as Angel lapped languorously at the open wound on the back of her neck.  Eventually, Slayer healing powers kicked in and the flow of blood from the wound was stemmed.

Reluctantly, Angel withdrew from his mate’s body.  He rose, quickly shedding his clothes before reaching for Buffy and carrying her back to the bedroom.  The Slayer was half asleep by the time he had their bodies cocooned in the covers.

"You’re mine," he said with absolute sincerity as he cuddled her sleepy body against his own.

"I know," she answered with a satisfied smile.

The End