He moves gracefully around the room, jeans slung low on his hips, and I feel an unwanted tremor of desire course through my body.

I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't. I didn't even *want* to come here, really, but he held out his hand, and smiled at me in that way of his – that way that always makes me give in - and I couldn't help myself. I took the hand, and followed him. Like I'd follow him anywhere, even if he's not really my Angel anymore.

I think that what we do together probably makes me some kind of whore...or weak, at the very least. God, his soul has gone away - all gone, gone, gone away - and I still can't stay away from him.

I can't fake,
for God's sake -
why am I driving in the wrong lane?

I always hear girls talking about their boyfriends - guys that their parents insist are dangerous, guys who drive motorcycles and drink beer and have revolving girlfriends - and feel this little pang as I realise that my version of 'dangerous' is highly different to other girls my age. My 'dangerous' guy is their nightmare.

Mine, too.

Angelus is... I don't know. I don't know why I can't stay away from him, but there's just this... I don't know, this primal instinct inside me that feels the urge to crawl inside his skin...to hurt him and let him hurt me and make love in my own blood.

If my friends knew... If my *mom* knew... I don't know if they'd ever look at me the same again. There would be lots of 'This is *wrong*.' and 'This is *dangerous*.' and 'What if he *kills* you? Are you *insane*?' and I try to care, I really do, but I just seem to be this completely different person whenever he touches me.

I know I'm betraying Angel... I know I'm fucking the thing that killed him... I just can't *help* it. I love Angel, I always will... but I'm drawn to his demon, who has been so recently set free. I know Angel should probably hate me for this. I know he'd feel guilty about everything Angelus has done. I know it all, intellectually, but I can't make myself stop.

Trouble is my middle name,
but in the end I'm not too bad...
Can someone tell me if it's
wrong to be so mad about you.

I've accepted that I'm not like other girls. I'm even beginning to understand that maybe being the slayer isn't all about the light...that maybe there's just as much darkness in me as there is humanity, and...maybe that's okay. Maybe that's why Angelus gets to me, because he represents my own inner mysteries. I think that was part of what it was about with Angel; we were both highly conflicted beings, both walking a very fine line between heroism and...villainishness. Whatever. Don't make fun of my less-than-sterling grammatical skills. Just remember who my boyfriend is.

Even if, technically, he's not a boyfriend. Even if, technically, he won't even admit that he cares about me at all. Asshole.

Said asshole is moving towards me now, smirking. He hovers over me, balanced on his arms, gazing down at my body. For a moment, I catch a flicker of concern as he sees the purpling bruises rimming my stomach, and feel my own smirk settle across my face.

Sometimes, I could *swear* he loves me.

"What?" I tease, feeling suddenly much more light-hearted, "Pissed off that somebody else has been playing with your toy?"

He glares at me, and doesn't reply. He's such a *guy* sometimes, I swear. Angel was very 'guy' often, too, but nowhere near as bad as Angelus, who is Mr. Possessive, but won't admit that there's anything in his jealousy apart from the usual vampiric pride and dominance.

Hmph. Guy.

Mad about you, mad ....

He kisses me harshly, our lips pushing against one another, teeth scraping and bruising and drawing blood. I taste the familiar tang of blood, and wonder, briefly, if it's his, or mine. Not that it matters, really, because there's no way it's enough to turn me, but I just...my reaction to tasting blood both fascinates and disgusts me. It really shouldn't be as arousing as it is.

I'm a vampire junkie. I can't get enough of the whole...lifestyle, I suppose. Fucking Angelus like we're rabid dogs pretty much every night has taught me a lot about vampiric society, about sex and blood and dominance, and I understand it almost better than I understand human civilisation... I get vampires, but I just *don't* get humans. I don't know why. I don't even know what it is about humans that I don't get, but there it is. I don't get them.

That's not to say I *like* vampires, really. I don't. I still kill the bastards every chance I get. I'm still the Slayer. I still protect people from becoming snack food for the mortality challenged, I just understand who it is I'm dusting a little better. It's actually made me a better hunter.

Are you the fishy wine
that will give me a headache in the morning
or just a dark blue land mine
that will explode without a decent warning.

I know it won't be like this forever. I know that one day, in the near future, I'm going to die, and I know that it will probably be at his hand. He might even turn me, I really don't know. I hope it's not the latter. I don't like the idea of me walking around, but not being *me*. Although, I suppose, the thought of being with Angelus forever is only half bad. It'd be like, a quarter bad, if I hadn't already seen how he treats his offspring.

He growls, and I'm suddenly aware that I've been letting my mind drift away from what we've been doing, because he doesn't look pleased.

"Glad you're so captivated by me, lover," he growls, sitting back on his haunches and looking at me petulantly.

I giggle, and it sounds almost surreal to me. Such a normal girl thing to do while in bed with a lover. Normally, I'm more likely to scream, or cry, overtaken by pleasure-pain...but I feel strange beneath his gaze, because I know he wants me, and wants me to want him back.

Which gives me power, more than I've ever really had in this 'relationship'.

Now that I have it, I'm not even going to abuse it. Not ever going to use it.

Give me all your true hate and
I'll translate it in our bed,
into never seen passion,
never seen passion that is why
I am so mad about you.
Mad about you, mad ...

Kneeling, I crawl over to him, wrapping my arms wordlessly around his neck and pulling him down onto the mattress with me. Rolling us over so that I lie atop him, I attack his mouth...his chest...his shoulders and arms and torso and fingers and neck with my lips, licking and sucking and biting at his velvet skin.

Our mating is fast, furious. We claw at each other, cause pain, draw blood. My muscles work harder than they ever have before, even in some of my most energetic battles, and still, I want more of him.

Trouble is your middle name,
but in the end you're not too bad.
Can someone tell me
if it's wrong to be so mad about you.

Later, exhausted, I turn on my side and watch him stand and pull on his jeans. He turns, and looks at me, and for a moment, he is smiling tenderly at me. I think he expects me to be asleep, but I just stare back at him, into the eyes that are cold and hot at the same time, apathetic and passionate and powerful. I think my eyes are probably much like his, in this moment. I think that should probably scare me, but it doesn't.

He is my enemy, and my lover. Doesn't that just sound incredibly like the plot of a bad spy movie?

He glowers at me when I try to get out of bed and get dressed. "Stay."

I arch one eyebrow at the command, "What am I, your pet?"

"Yes," he responds easily, moving to the exit of the room - his bedroom – and opening the door. He looks back at me for a moment, his lips twisted into a seductive grin. "If you're good, when I get back, I'll make you purr."

"And if I'm not good?" I reply, a little more suggestively than I had intended.

I'm surprised, and a little pleased, when he laughs and winks at me before he leaves the room. He leaves like this, sometimes. I suppose he goes to feed, or something. I've never asked. I don't think I'd like the answer.

Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you.

I stretch out languidly on his bed, his silk sheets bathing my body, the scent of our sex wafting in the air around me, and glare at the woman who walks through the door a few moments later.

I have no problems admitting that I'm a highly jealous, highly possessive type of gal. I've been known to get quite hot-tempered when it comes to any sort of rivalry for Angel's affections or Angelus' body. I've kicked all sort of ass over him.

Out of all the lovers I *know* Angelus has - he has never bothered hiding his promiscuity from me - this chick bothers me the most.

Her name is Aurora - which I find a little perverse, considering she's a vampire, and sun will kill her - and she's beautiful. Stunning. She's Cordelia, if Cordy had fangs and was 150 years old.

Angelus is her sire. She is his most favoured childe. Not even his precious, crazy Dru compares to Aurora, for him, and I know that he's got more than a little affection for Dru. So, if she can't compete, what chance do I have? What am I? I'm just...just a fuck-toy. A whore for him to mess around with for a while, until he gets bored. I'm nothing to him.

I wish that didn't hurt so much. I wish...

I wish I didn't love him just as much as I hate him.

Give me all your true hate and
I'll translate it in your bed,
into never seen passion,
that is why I am so mad about you

Aurora grins at me, her eyes sliding over my body, and I shiver. That's the other thing I hate about Aurora; she makes me feel slimy, like I've been touching things I shouldn't.

I wrap the sheet tighter around my body, holding it to my chest. "Something you wanted, overbite?" I ask casually, years of lying to everybody

I know giving me a pretty good poker-face. "Cause I'm sorta enjoying the afterglow here."

Aurora shrugs, "Just looking for my sire... I was feeling...amorous. I'm sure Angelus will be all too eager to take care of my problem for me." She must see the look on my face, because she smirks. "He'll never love you, little girl."

I feel defeated, in a thousand ways, and lean over the side of the bed to start gathering my clothes. Finding my tank top, I pull it on over my head, letting the sheet drop to my waist. I stand, wrapping the black silk around my waist like a sarong.

Angelus walks back into the room, and, seeing me standing there in my tank top and his sheet, frowns. "I thought I told you to stay put, lover," he growls.

"Yeah, well, I've got places to be," I say, a little bitterly.

"Tough," he responds, pushing on my shoulders. My legs tangle in the sheet, and I lose my footing, falling backwards onto the bed.

"Angel," I whine. I've never gotten out of the habit of calling him that, and he doesn't really seem to care, as long as we still do the fucking thing. "Come on, Angel. You've got *her*. What do you need me for?"

He waves a hand in Aurora's direction, issuing a rumbling command, "Leave us."

Then he's on the bed, next to me, over me, under me, in me, consuming me, burning me...killing me, little by little.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispers in my ear, and I shiver, pressing myself against him more fully. For a moment, I feel like he needs me.

Then I realise it doesn't really matter, because I need him anyway.

Because I can't get enough of him either.

Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you
Mad about you...

The End