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F E A T U R E D F I C O F T H E M O M E N T
INDEX
BRE'S ARCHIVE
AUTHOR'S ARCHIVE
INTERACTIVE
AUTHOR
SITE
 O N L Y T I M E S E R I E S B Y B R E P A R T E L E V E N Buffy turned her head, smiling at the man sitting next to her as he lifted her hand to his mouth and laid a gentle kiss to her knuckles. It felt sweet and easy, like something you would feel after seeing a movie full of hopeless romantics and star-crossed lovers. He returned the gesture, his eyes resting heavily against hers before turning back to the screen to watch the action. Buffy allowed her eyes to rest on him for a moment longer, tracing the loose hair and the strong features that her boyfriend owned, before turning back to the movie herself. They were at a “chick flick” as Riley had lovingly called it. It was one of the common movies, containing the same themes, circumstances and even the same damn music, that came out a couple of times every year. The girl-y side of her wanted to see them all and daydream about the love that the main characters shared, while another part wanted to tell the movie makers to screw off because they were working over time. They never seemed to capture anything right. As the movie progressed, Buffy could feel Riley’s fingers covering hers, caressing her hand and sometimes creating a tingling trail up her wrist before moving back down. It gave her a low humming set deep in her stomach and chills would sometimes dance down her spine. It was nice, experiencing the simple touches of this one man, the man she considered hers and definitely vice versa, and had the potential to one day be loved... maybe completely. Despite his obvious gentle movements, Buffy hardly returned the gesture, instead letting him to do his thing. She knew that she probably should, try to scrape her nails against his chest or something to give him the same chills that he gave her, but she refrained. She didn’t know his special spots and wasn’t ready to find out. It had been several days since she had seen Wesley, and Buffy and Riley had yet to bring up the reason for her visit to him. She knew Riley wouldn’t, merely out of respect, but she also knew she wouldn’t because she didn’t want to rehash those types of things with him yet. Yet. After a lot of thinking and wondering, Buffy had come to the conclusion that something was developing with Riley, and all of the surprise visits from Angel couldn’t stop that because they were entirely separate things. So she knew, soon, she would tell Riley all about it. But not yet. They had talked about the party, about Angel and what had happened. It was strange that they mostly dwelled on the subject of Willow and her response to the Angel situation, as if Wesley knew that that was affecting her a great deal more than actually kissing Angel. If Willow, her best friend, couldn’t understand this, then Buffy was definitely in a world of hurt. Wesley hadn’t made any strict conclusions about what had happened and Buffy didn’t offer any. Willow had yet to answer her calls and Buffy was getting a little frustrated with her, for far too many reasons. The blonde had even gone as far to go the redhead’s home, only to find that she wasn’t there. Her key to the apartment had given her the solid answer because it was empty. After that, Buffy had decided that she would let Willow come to her. She wasn’t sure if her constant badgering was making things worse, so instead of continuing the onslaught, she would back off and see what would happen. Wesley had agreed with this suggestion. After a few more moments of talking, Wesley agreed to set an appointment with her and rather than having Anya do it, he scribbled the note into his date book a couple of weeks from that point. He had not-so-subtly noted that it would be rather difficult for her to come in when Angel was around, but instead of answering his hint, she had smiled at him and told him she would see him in a few weeks. Against her better wishes, Buffy had spotted Angel that day, having simply stayed with Wesley for a measly ten minutes because he had an appointment. She wasn’t sure if he had seen her or not because he was walking back to his office, almost as if he were possessed by something that forced him to move around without any life left in his limbs. He barely registered the people speaking to him, only sparking to life when it concerned something that would affect him, such as some papers he had to sign. He had looked haggard and withdrawn, tired and completely unwilling to live on. Buffy had wondered how much of that had been because of her. She could only imagine the kind of turmoil that he might be in with his fiancee because of what had happened at that stupid party. A feeling that she hadn’t felt for years came to the surface upon seeing how he was faring and she had almost gone to him and asked him if he was okay. But she hadn’t been sure about the consequences of her actions had she done that and had turned instead, back to the elevator, ignoring the receptionist who looked at her with an eyebrow raised. Wesley had assured her that Anya had been required to sign some sort of agreement to the practice that didn’t allow her to freely speak about what happened and she saw. This made Buffy feel much better, because she didn’t need the bored blonde running to Xander, who had already created enough waves. As the movie ended, Buffy felt Riley tug at her gently and she grabbed her purse, slipping it over her shoulder as they exited the theater against the crowd. They chatted amicably about the film, laughing as they remembered some parts. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and Buffy snuggled against his broad shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was comfortable. It was warm. It was she wanted at that moment and it felt good.
She wasn’t answering the phone. He knew she was most likely pressing ignore and sending him straight to voice mail rather than letting it ring endlessly as she had done a couple of weeks ago. It was useless, but that didn’t stop him from calling her in the next five minutes. It was all he had been doing during his days at work since he had heard she had gone to the doctor’s office for a checkup... and an ultrasound. Without him. Instead of making him sad as he was sure it would, it had angered him. They had been together for how long? And they were engaged, weren’t they? And she was keeping him away from his baby like her damned life depended on it! Thinking rationally, it made sense. He was sure it was some maternal instinct to protect her offspring, or some bullshit, after learning what he had done, but this was ridiculous. It was even bordering on childish the way she wasn’t answering the phone. If she thought that ignoring him would make him go away, she was sorely mistaken because he would just step it up a notch. He was even further enraged to find out that Buffy had been in the offices. He didn’t quite understand where his anger came from, but he knew that he had wanted her to at least come down and say something to him, about what had happened and what could happen. He at least owed it to Christina to show that he could be friends with the woman he had forced to get an abortion, because he was certain that was the only thing keeping her away from him. An hour later, he left his office and went home, much earlier than usual, but he didn’t care. He knew that if he stayed there, he would just sit and keep calling her over and over, letting the work on his desk pile higher and higher. Letting his briefcase drop to the ground, Angel didn’t look around, moving almost on autopilot. Entering the living room, he didn’t spare a glance to the note that still sat on the counter top, barely crumpled and covered in dust. Instead of dwelling on the fact that he would probably starve to death if he was forced to live in the house by himself, he went upstairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he slipped off his sports jacket in preparation of changing into something more suitable for working out. Frustration was not his friend, he had found out, and punching the convenient punching bag in the basement seemed to give him a temporary reprieve. Entering the master bedroom, Angel stopped instantly. Something was off. He didn’t bother scanning the room because he knew everything would be just as he had left it. The bed unmade, clothes scattered about. No, this was different. It was as if the room was... emptier somehow. Furrowing his brow, he stepped cautiously about, ready to give his ridiculous thoughts away to his frazzled state until he entered the large walk-in closet that he had shared with Christina. Emphasis on shared. Past tense. Her entire half was completely bare. Only hangers hung on the metal bar, moving gently to the music of a silent breeze. Something choked in his throat as his hands dropped limply to his sides, forming fists without his acknowledgment. She was gone. She had come to their house and taken her things without even bothering to tell him. On some sane level, he knew that if she had said anything to him, he would have come back here immediately and headed her off, forcing her to sit down and talk with him. But that hadn’t happened. She had come and left, taking her things and making the house seem even more emptier than it had been. He didn’t care that she had seen the disaster he had let the house become. He didn’t care that she had probably seen the note that he had left sitting on the counter. He only cared that she had been here, and had taken things in preparation for not coming back. Something exploded in Angel and he turned and slammed his fist into the wall. Anger coursed through his body as he turned, stalking to the bedroom exit, down the stairs and out to his car. God damn her if she thought she would get away with this. The fact that he wasn’t necessarily thinking straight didn’t enter his mind as he started the engine, barely giving himself time to put the car in reverse before slamming on the gas and backing out of the driveway before slipping it into drive and speeding away to Cordelia’s house, where he knew she would have gone for refuge. Gone was the Angel that had felt moping was the best course of action. In his place was a man on the brink of falling into an endless abyss, without any hope of getting back up. It felt like everything was slipping through his fingers, as water would cascade down in a waterfall. First Buffy, then Christina. It was all too much and the only way he could answer the onslaught was with anger, which he gladly supplied as he finally reached Cordelia and Doyle’s house. He could see their large SUV sitting in the driveway and a random box or two evident in the window. “Dammit!” he snapped as he slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop. He almost pushed the car into park and jumped out but he paused, taking a deep breath, forcing his clenching fingers to let go of the wheel. Christina would not respond to his anger. She never had. She had always kept the calm head in the relationship in the past, so Angel took a deep breath, and then another. Doubtless that the car could be heard inside the way he had been driving but hopefully she would have to come outside and talk to him. Turning the car off, Angel stepped out of the car, looking down and making sure he was presentable. Hastily re-buttoning his shirt, he straightened his jacket before closing the car door softly and pocketing the car keys. Calm. Cool. Collected. He had to remain this way if he had any hope of winning this battle. Despite his inner monologue, Angel could still feel his anger thrumming beneath the surface, practically itching to be let free. Knocking on the front door, Angel waited. A moment passed. He rung the doorbell. As another minute seeped by slowly, Angel was resigned to banging on the door when he heard heavy footsteps. The door opened and he could tell the grin on Doyle’s face was forced. “Angel, buddy, how are ya?” he asked as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Angel narrowed his eyes. “Long time no see, eh?” “Is she here?” Angel asked quietly, keeping his eyes focused on Doyle’s. He had always felt he’d known when people were lying and he could tell by the way Doyle looked away that he was indeed fabricating a story. “You wouldn’t happen to be talkin’ ‘bout Christina, would ya, then? ‘Cause she ain’t here, buddy. Sorry. But I’m free, if ya wanna go have a drink or something’...” “Doyle.” The Irishman stopped at the tone of Angel’s voice. It was low and had something... dark lurking there. It was quite the contrast to the weepy man that had been gallivanting about. “I just need to talk to her.” Doyle didn’t get a chance to put a word in because the door was suddenly pulled open and Cordelia stood there, in all her glory, her eyes narrowed angrily as she stared Angel down. “Go away, Angel.” “Cordelia, I just want to talk to her.” “She’s not here. Are you too thick to notice that?” “Bullshit. I can see her shit in your car. Just let me talk to her.” The couple didn’t budge. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Doyle was looking apologetic, but unwilling to let Angel pass into his home, especially in such a heat as he was in. Cordelia, on the other hand, looked ready to fight Angel back physically if he even thought about entering. Doyle sighed. “Look, man-“ “Chris!” Doyle jumped at the sudden outburst and Cordelia simply stepped back and slammed the door shut. “Christina!” “Dammit, man, you’re makin’ a fool outta yourself. Stop.” Doyle’s voice didn’t enter his mind as he stepped back, looking up at the windows. He knew she was here. He just knew it. He also knew that it was most likely completely useless looking up and hoping that she was looking down at him, waiting to be rescued, or some other stupid fairy tale bull. “Chris!” That was when he felt Doyle’s hands on his shoulders, pushing him down the driveway, saying something that didn’t compute. His only reaction was to push Doyle back, away from him as practically hissed. Doyle stepped back, holding his hands up as he said, “Just leave, Angel. You’re in no mood to be around anyone right now.” Narrowing his eyes, Angel stood, staring at Doyle, breathing heavy as if he were ready to jump into a fight before turning to his car. He was gone before Doyle could turn and walk back into the house where Cordelia sat with Christina, whose hands rested on her bulging stomach.
An hour after she had left for work, Buffy made her way to Wesley’s office. It was a bit later than their appointment had called for, but after talking to him earlier, she had discerned that Angel had left for the day and she was free to come at any time she wished because he had no other people to see for the rest of the afternoon. Entering the building as the sun quickly descended behind the city, a golden disk slipping between the ocean and the buildings around her, she made her way up to his floor. Most of the offices had been abandoned for the day and Buffy could see a spotlight of light creeping out from underneath Wesley’s doorway. Smiling slightly, she ignored the urge to look towards Angel’s office as she entered. It wasn’t a mere hour later that she finally left, with Wesley in tow. She felt... lighter than she had in a long while and Wesley had told her that it was a strong possibility that she was moving on, accepting things as she should have many years ago. Buffy had simply smiled. It felt like she was moving on, but the nagging thoughts at the back of her mind gave her a different course of thought. She may be acting like she was moving on, but there was definitely still something there, something that needed to be dealt with, but Buffy didn’t bring it up. Rather, they talked about Riley and how her relationship with him was going. And where it was heading. She divulged that she hadn’t slept with him yet. Wesley had questioned her as to why. But Buffy didn’t really know the answer. She wasn’t quite sure. Every time they had simply laid down together, Buffy had found a reason to either get up or she would turn the TV on, effectively ruining the mood. Wesley questioned her about whether it had anything to do with Angel and what had happened at the party, about whether it brought up old feelings of resentment towards sex and the possibility of getting pregnant. Buffy hadn’t answered directly, instead switching the conversation over to Willow. Wesley had gone along, but she could tell by his eyes that he knew she was holding back. They had set another appointment for a couple of weeks later. Wesley told her that, because she wasn’t exactly a normal patient, that this was more of a friendly thing to do. He refused the money she offered, instead giving her hug and telling her firmly that they would meet in a few weeks. “I have to go to the bathroom, first, Wesley, so I’ll just see you later.” Wesley frowned slightly. “Shall I wait for you?” “No, it’s okay. You go on ahead. I’ll talk to you soon.” Hugging her once more, Wesley smiled and nodded, agreeing with her as he walked to the elevator while Buffy turned to the ladies room that was tucked on the opposite side, away from the numerous offices. A few minutes later, she exited, running her hands down her pants, as though she were drying them, despite the fact that she had just spent an extra moment making sure they were dry before applying the lotion the office so gaily offered. The entire floor was dark save for the large EXIT signs that gave the room an almost sickening glow. Moving to the elevators, Buffy couldn’t help looking over her shoulder, scanning the offices as she pushed the button to go back down. Her hand paused mid-air as she saw that there was still someone left. A very soft light came from underneath Angel’s door, as if there were a few candles lit within and nothing else. As the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival, Buffy didn’t move to enter, instead pausing, contemplating what she should do. It was very unlikely that he was actually there doing work, or at least she assumed so at the late hour. Plus, the light was so damn soft that it would be tough to see anything, much less a pile of papers that required reading. Before she knew what it was that she was doing, Buffy was walking towards the office, her hand gripping her purse strap strongly as she stopped before it. She didn’t hear anything coming from inside the office and she brought her hand up to knock gently. “Angel?” she called, her voice so soft that she was surprised it echoed slightly in the large room. Nothing. Slipping her hand to the doorknob, she turned it, half-expecting it to be locked securely. Instead, it opened easily and Buffy slowly pushed it open, the light from within casting a deep glow on her features, creating shadows and grooves that weren’t normally there in brighter light. “Angel?” “What are you doing here?” Buffy jumped, her hand flying to her chest as Angel turned around in his chair. A guilty grin flew to her lips and she cocked her head in a manner asking for forgiveness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here so late.” She didn’t make any move to leave as he continued to look at her. Buffy returned the gaze, though not directly. Instead, she allowed her eyes to filter down his body, taking in his appearance. He was sitting up straight, holding himself... oddly. As if he were ready to jump up and punch something. She wondered if she should leave after all. But she didn’t. Silence held the air, giving it a heavy feeling. After a while, he finally said, “You can come in, if you want.” Buffy smiled again, not giving them either a chance to comprehend it as she stepped in, closing the door behind her. “How are you?” Buffy turned around her, letting her hands flutter through the air as she answered,” I’m fine. Same old, same... stuff, I guess. How... how are you?” There was something in this room that was making her entirely too uncomfortable, yet she didn’t want to leave. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but she had a desire to find it out. Something was different about him. He was... looking at her strangely, and his face was blank like a sheet of paper yet to be used. It was unnerving and Buffy avoided his eyes as she took one of the seats before his desk. “Fine,” he said, his voice betraying nothing. Buffy nodded, smiling uncomfortably before looking around, her eyes roving around the room, her definite excuse to avoid looking at him. He had changed since she had seen him last. He wasn’t the broken man she had seen shuffling through the halls. Now, he was someone to be... feared, if one wanted to look at it that way. Buffy could literally feel something building in him, something practically dying to be let out. She wondered how she must have looked in his eyes. “I... love what you’ve done with your office... It fits you.” It was a stupid comment and Buffy felt like slapping her forehead the minute it left her mouth. She knew nothing about him now, she only knew the person he had been when they had been... well, whatever it was that they had been. She had no idea if this was actually the kind of man that he really was. “So you’re seeing Wesley again?” he responded, casually. She could feel his eyes burning into her as he avoided her easy question and shot right for the hard stuff. Buffy looked at him, startled. “Uh... yeah. Just for little things. Like... stuff. I’m only here every couple of weeks... How did you know?” He smiled. “Everything comes through me, Buffy.” “Oh,” Buffy said, looking down at her hands. So he had known that she had been there that day. She wondered why it had such a strong affect on her. A moment of silence passed and Buffy didn’t meet his eyes again. Her mind was awhirl with things that she suddenly wanted to tell him, things that came up when she spoke to Wesley and things that she often thought about. As they continued to sit there, neither of them saying anything, Buffy finally pulled enough courage to look up, open her mouth and speak. “Angel, I’ve been thinking. A lot.” Angel listened and this time, Buffy didn’t look away from him. “About you. And Wesley, or at least what we’ve been talking about. I... I have to say some stuff here. With you before I... go insane. I have to get over you. I can’t keep... feeling these things for you after all of these years and expect to be fine with it.” She ignored her bluntness and the urge to somehow sugarcoat what she way saying as she continued. Angel sat still, his posture stiff, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers where they were clasped together. His face was blank as he listened to her from where she sat across from him, his large desk the only thing standing between them. He could see her straight back, her intertwined hands where they rested in her lap and her face. She was determined. She didn’t look sorry or unhappy. She was determined. As she continued, telling him about her conversations with Wesley and how, now that they were going over them a second time, she was beginning to understand new things, he barely listened. He barely listened to her as she explained that there was someone new in her life - this oddly didn’t have the affect on him he was sure it would have - and how things were... different. He could hardly hear her voice enough to hear what it was she was saying. He didn’t care, or at least not in that moment. He was in a whirlwind of... emotion, was the only word that seemed to fit. He was losing her. On top of losing Christina. And their baby. It was almost too much for him to not get up and scream at her. It had seemed over the years that he had always had her, somehow, close to him and still in his heart, despite his constant denial. It was something that hadn’t gone away. He knew that she hadn’t lost him inside her as well, and he was sure that that was what lead to many of the decisions in his life. But things were changing and he knew he didn’t want them to. He just couldn’t explain why he was feeling this way and so desperately wanting her to go on with her life, with him inside her and never leaving. He soon began to realize that he didn’t want her to leave, officially get over him and never think of him again. All of these years of wishing he had changed things and wishing that she would forget him seemed useless compared to the realization that struck him in that moment. He didn’t want her to leave, having said her goodbye. There was never a goodbye, and this he was sure of. The Christina situation was enough evidence of that. Buffy knew that she was looking at him, but she didn’t really see him. She avoided his eyes as if they were the Black Plague, instead concentrating on anything else, anything that would help her along her path to finally be free of him. But how could she be free if she could barely bring herself to look into his eyes? Why was it taking so much effort to simply tell him what it was she needed to say and why it was she saying these things? She knew she needed to let him go and get on with her life, but a feeling deep down in her stomach tugged at her, something she hadn’t let herself feel for a long time, and she knew that she would never get over him. He would always stay with her, no matter what. But another tug, in her mind, told her that he needed to hear these things. It would give her a sort of freedom from him that she had never had before, and it would be better than the prison she had constantly occupied for the last nine years. “I won’t come here again. I guess I just don’t need it,” Buffy concluded. That was an outright lie, but it seemed to fit her speech perfectly. She wasn’t sure what had exactly come out of her mouth, but she knew that she had covered her bases. She was over him. She didn’t need him. She was moving on. Something in her clicked and she bowed her head, looking to her hands. She would break down at home. She was over him now. He wasn’t going to see her cry. He wasn’t supposed to see her cry. Looking up once more, Buffy finally let her eyes focus. He was still. He hadn’t moved an inch since she had sat down and his face was just as hard. She swallowed, forcing her features to keep their look of determination as she stood. A pregnant pause captured them as they stared at each other, their eyes meeting and Buffy felt a sickening finality to the moment, the blissful ignorance earlier seeming trivial to what was happening now. This was it. She was doing it. “Goodbye, Angel,” she said, her voice soft. Then she turned. His office was large and his office doors were farther away than she had remembered them, but she continued. As she got closer, her hands clasped in tiny fists to keep herself from doing anything that would surely reveal her true feelings, she didn’t pause as the sound of his chair hitting the back wall echoed in the office. She didn’t dare look back, nor stop as she finally reached the door. Her hand was on the cold metal of the doorknob when he grabbed her elbow, throwing her around carelessly. His movements were sure and powerful as he effortlessly circled his hands about her waist and lifted her, slamming her, hard, into the strong wooden door behind her. Her head hit the door, her back immediately responding to the rough handling in a cry of pain, but he didn’t pay any heed to it. His lips were on hers, pushing roughly into her mouth and demanding her response. Fear came to life in her chest, mixed without something else, as he held her tightly, instinct telling her to bite down. He merely growled in turn, and Buffy felt him grabs her legs and pulled them up, forcing them high on his waist. She felt as if she should have succumbed to his actions, give into him and return them just as passionately, if that was what one could call it. But she didn’t. He was hurting her, and something inside her responded in kind. She wasn’t going to give in. She couldn’t. It was in that moment that her speech suddenly had a new meaning to her, the sort of meaning she had hoped to instill in Angel. She was over him, she didn’t need to give him gentle kisses or caresses. He didn’t deserve them. She could feel the shiver go through his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails digging into the sinewy muscle of his neck. As she scratched her nails down his skin, beneath his shirt, so hard that blood was brought to the surface, he thrust up against her, his hard member poking at her insistently as he pushed her into the door once more, causing it to rattle. Desire and a need so deep that is almost scared her grabbed hold of her thoughts and she surrendered to them, to the instinct of responding to what he was offering her. She thrashed against him in his arms, but he didn’t let her go. She was fighting him, and he knew that this was their form of argument. Gone were the fluffy feelings of whatever they had between them the last decade. In their place was a need to be dominated, and a need to dominate. It was almost unfortunate that they had to come face to face when Angel was at his lowest and Buffy on her way to new happiness, because as they continued to kiss, literally biting at each other, something seemed to understand each other in each of them... something on the brink of hatred for their lives and what they had become... with and without each other. Buffy’s senses flew into overdrive as he hit her against the door once more, their tongues dueling wildly in their mouths. His hands were rough where they pulled at her jeans, and she swore that he would have torn them had he given himself the chance. But he didn’t, instead pulling her against him and turning towards the hard couch that served more for decoration than comfort. He practically fell on her, their lips never leaving each other. Buffy fought desperately to find a medium between pushing him off and giving in, instead settling on slamming her fists into his shoulders and digging her nails into his skin. She wanted him to feel pain, the sort of pain that he had so kindly delivered to her for so long. She didn’t pause to wonder if there was something terribly wrong with this situation, that she should truly try to fight him off and get free of his office. Instead, she gave into something deeper, and let go. A shocked cry fell from her lips as he pulled away from her, his fingers snapping the button to her jeans off when he violently tugged them open, the zipper opening without complaint. He tore them from her body, her heeled sandals slipping off, and it hurt, but Buffy didn’t give any thought to it. Her panties were next and Buffy felt herself sitting up, almost as if she were about to get up and run away. She wasn’t sure if it was an act or if she was in actuality wanting to get away, but neither mattered as he blanketed her once more, pushing her back, his teeth finding her bottom lip and biting it before kissing her. She had never seen Angel act this way and she wasn’t sure if she loved it or hated it with everything inside her. She knew that a part of her didn’t want this, but a darker part deep within her desired this so strongly that she couldn’t control herself. She wanted to be hurt, just as badly as she wanted to hurt him. Pain was the main motivation to this tryst and neither of them could deny it. She distinctly heard his own zipper, but it happened so fast she didn’t respond and before she knew what was happening, her nails digging into his back, through his thin shirt, he thrust into her. It had been so long since anyone had entered her, and the force of his thick member, already large and pulsating with need, pushing into her with a primal demand made tears form in her eyes. But along with the pain was a deep pleasure, something one could only feel when they were getting what they had long wished for, but had never given voice to. Her deeper desires were being sated and she felt something let go in her. As her hands continued their assault on him, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, aiding her in her returned thrusts as he pushed into her, hard. She could feel his pelvis smacking into hers and she knew she would be bruised. But she didn’t care. Angel felt like he was watching the scene from the other side of the room. He wasn’t in his body, but he was at the same time because he could feel the sickening joy at the thought of taking her in such a way. He had never done this to a woman, had never dwelled on the idea that he wanted to, but Buffy had brought it to the surface, her speech of moving on and letting him go sparking it within him, the final straw in a series of events. He couldn’t let her go, and on some level, he knew that she was lying through her teeth where her speech was concerned, but none of that mattered. All of the years of pain and pent up emotion were coming free, and they were both experiencing something they didn’t know they had within them, but knew that they could only experience with each other. Their kisses had broken long ago and she could feel his mouth on her, his teeth scratching the skin of her neck as she moved her hands to his chest, her nails squeezing the hard muscle there. Something a kin to a moan fell from his lips and she felt a shock travel down her spine at an alarming speed as he pushed his hand up her shirt, pulling her bra away from her breast painfully before cupping her, tweaking her nipple roughly. The sensation went directly to her core and she could feel her crisis building within her, growing with power as he continued to thrust into her, not thinking of her delicate form and what his body could be doing to hers. Buffy wasn’t sure when it happened, but his movements became wilder, yet still had a sense of control over them before he shouted in pleasure, his back cording as his sperm shot free, coating her inner walls. With one last painful squeeze of her nipple, his large hands seeming to get tighter as he climaxed, she came, her mouth opening in a silent scream as her nails dug into his scalp where her hands rested on his head. For a moment they were both caught up in a surge of pleasure, something powerful, something they hadn’t felt for each other or with each other before they collapsed. Angel’s heavy bulk pressed her into the hard material of the couch, but she didn’t think of it. His hot breath panted against her shoulder and she closed her eyes as her body went limp. Angel immediately rolled off of her, laying on his back and closing his eyes as he felt a deep sense of... something settle in his chest. Something had changed between them. Buffy’s eyes were dry as she sat up, immediate pain lancing through her body as she stood, grabbing her pants and tugging them on. Should she cry? She wasn’t sure about what should happen, only that she had to get out of there, away from him to somewhere she could be alone. What had happened... it was too powerful for her to simply turn to him and talk right away. She needed to be by herself... needed to leave and get away from him before something else happened. Angel didn’t move as she left the office, closing the door behind her quietly. He didn’t move for a long while.
Buffy entered her apartment slowly, almost as if someone was living there with her and she had to be quiet. But no human being was. Only the mixed emotions that seemed to take life within her. Sighing, she immediately headed for the bathroom, shedding her clothes along the way. She switched on the shower, knowing that if she climbed in and cleaned herself of their actions, of his smell and seed, then things would be okay and she would be calm and rational about what had happened. It took her a full five minutes of standing before the shower, the curtain thrown open and a light mist hitting her naked body before she sunk to the floor, her heavy chest anchoring her to the cool tile as she stared at the water slowly leaking down the drain.
It was five days before she saw him again. She didn’t dare enter that building because she knew she would head directly to his office. She needed him, on such a primal level that it shocked her. Need. It was such a strong word. Something she thought was used far too much for stupid things, such as a fast car or a hug... but this was different. While those things were often wanted, she needed to have him touch her again... Take her in such a way that would ensure that she was his for that moment in time... That nothing had changed over the years except their outlooks on life and relationships. They hadn’t changed for each other, that night being enough evidence. She had yet to sit calmly and think about what had happened. The morning after that night she went to work, and then the next day. Everything was normal except for that little chamber within her body that screamed at her to go back to him. But she held out... It was a full five days before she found herself before the large building where Angel worked and she looked up. She couldn’t see any lights, and she wasn’t shocked. It was ten in the evening and she knew that if he was there, that she would give herself to him, and if he wasn’t, then it wasn’t meant to be. Five minutes later, she sat on his desk, his hips between her legs as he fucked her on his hard desk.
l be kind, rewind l back to top l
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