Pairing: Willow/Angel with a *little* mention of Angel/Darla
Rating: R
Distribution: Near Her Always, Bite Me, Please? Shades of Grey and Soulmates. Anyone else, if you want it, just ask. I always say yes.
Spoilers: Picks up at the very end of Reprise from Season 2. You can find the transcript for that episode at http://www.buffyworld.com/angel/season2/transcripts/37_tran.shtml if you need a refresher.
Disclaimer: Joss created the characters I'm playing with, and Tim Minear wrote the episode I blatantly stole from. I own nothing.
Dedication: To Kat, happy birthday!!! I gave you smut *and* angst *and* Willow/Angel. This means that you can never doubt that I love you.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Angel wondered if he was in hell already. He hadn't expected hell to look like an elevator with bad music this time around, but having a surprisingly friendly conversation with this particular dead man about how the world truly was an evil place didn't exactly seem like something that you would expect to happen on an earthy plane, even in L.A.
"The world doesn't work in spite of evil, Angel," Holland stated calmly. "It works with us. It works *because* of us."
Angel concentrated on blocking out his voice. It didn't matter what he said. All that mattered was that he was taking Angel down to the home office where Angel would finally have the chance to smash at the essence of Wolfram and Hart and go out in a blaze of glory. After all that he had faced in the past few weeks, dying nobly was all that was he retained the energy to do. Moments later the elevator came to a screeching halt and Angel tensed in anticipation. This was it; the moment of truth.
But when the doors opened, Angel looked out to see the same street, the same offices, even the same homeless person pushing a loaded shopping cart that he had spotted when he entered the elevator on his suicide mission.
"Welcome to the home office."
It made sense, in a horrible, freakish sort of way that Angel didn't want to acknowledge. So he tried to argue. "This isn't..."
"Well, you know it is," Holland interrupted. "You know *that* better than anyone. Things you've seen. Things you've, well, done. You see, if there wasn't evil in every single one of them out there, why, they wouldn't be people. They'd all be angels."
The glove dropped from Angel's hand to land on the floor of the elevator as Angel slowly stumbled out. He was barely even aware of Holland's voice calling out after him, telling him to "Have a nice day," as the elevator doors slowly slid closed.
Angel walked home in a daze, barely able to take in everything surrounding him. This world, *his* world, the world he was stuck in for as long as his immortality lasted. was hell. It figured. There was no point to anything he had done. No validity in trying to save people. No ultimate redemption like a light at the end of the tunnel. People didn't want to be saved, probably weren't worth saving, and even if he saved them, would only find some horribly stupid new way to end their pathetic, miserable lives. Damned if he felt like stopping them.
He entered the hotel just in time to hear the answering machine click on. He heard Kate's voice. He heard what sounded like a suicide message. He knew he could save her if he got there fast enough. But he just couldn't bring himself to care. Leaning on the counter, he turned down the volume on the machine, then turned towards the stairs.
Darla. In his apartment. Again. He could feel her before he even reached the door, and Angel fought the instinct to do something human and pointless like sigh. He didn't have the energy to battle Darla anymore. The passion he had once felt for her, the lust, the aching sense of righteousness that had encompassed him when he staked her, the lost sense of hopelessness when he saw her lose her second chance at life, the way he felt when he locked her inside with those lawyers. all those emotions were gone. He felt empty, hollow. Vacant.
"What do you want, Darla?" He held up the ring that he had fought so hard for, back at Wolfram and Hart. It felt like it had been years since then. What the hell had he been fighting for? "You want this?"
He dropped the ring on the floor and watched dispassionately as Darla hurried over to pick it up. Before she could reach it, he grabbed her arm and sent her stumbling towards the wall.
"Or maybe what you really want is this!" He shoved her against the wall, covering her body with his. There had been a time in their mutual unlives when he had wanted her so badly that he'd spend days at a time inside her without uncoupling. Staking, rebirth, and redeath hadn't changed her physically at all. She looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same against his body. And she obviously wanted him the same way she always had. It may have been a while, but he still knew all the signs, recognized all the ways she responded to him. Gently, he brushed the hair back from her face. "That may be - what you really want, isn't it?"
He kissed her. It seemed like the thing to do. He didn't want her, but he *wanted* to want her. Wanted to feel something for her like he had in the past. Wanted to feel anything but the cold emptiness that was all he had left. And if he lost his soul in her arms, all the better.
He kissed her harder. And when she protested, he kissed her again. He pushed her onto a table and kissed her some more. Threw her into the bedroom, threw her into his bed, threw her clothes onto the floor and his body on top of hers, *inside* hers, and kissed her some more, waiting to feel something, waiting to feel *anything* other than cold.
It didn't work.
An hour later, Darla was asleep. Her rebirth into vampire life had obviously depleted her stamina. Angel supposed he could have woken her, 'convinced' her to participate in another round, but there didn't seem to be any point. She had done nothing to fill that aching void inside him. He felt even colder than before. Rolling over so that his back was to Darla, he contemplated his options. This was rock bottom. There was nothing left to lose. Everything he had fought for, sacrificed for, bled for was worthless. He couldn't save the world; he couldn't even save himself. Maybe when the morning came, he'd watch the sunrise. It didn't seem to matter any more, what he did. There was nothing left to motivate him to continue existing for another minute, nothing left in the world that mattered to him except.
Abruptly, Angel rose to his feet. Darla stirred, muttered something sleepily, but didn't wake. Angel didn't give her so much as a second glance as he threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys, and headed for the car. Ten minutes later, he was on the highway, heading to Sunnydale.
He had always told himself he wouldn't do this. He had always promised himself that he'd stay away from her. But now all his carefully, torturously examined reasons to remove himself from her life now seemed as fragile and inconsequential as tissue paper. If this world really was hell, then it would devour her whole and spit her out eventually, no matter what he did. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't shield her. She'd get hurt sooner or later. She'd get spoiled sooner or later. Something dark and diabolical would take her and taint her and consume sooner or later. and it might as well be him.
As soon as he hit Sunnydale's city limits, he could smell her. His girl was, after all, one of a kind with the beacons of purity, innocence, power, and darkness mingled in her essence. Even in the aching stretch of months since he had last seen her, he had not forgotten the trick of picking out her scent. He breathed in deeply, absorbing her sweetness in a way he had never allowed himself to do before. No more holding back for this vampire. No more furtive inhalations too quick to be noticed; no more exploitation of his vampiric speed to steal a hair band or handkerchief or even (on one red letter day) a cardigan sweater that held her scent on it to take into his bed and hold against his face while he slept. This night was about indulging his appetites and desires to the fullest extent. After all, he had nothing left to lose.
Her scent led him to the college campus and he slipped silently through the door of the dormitory building, right past the bored, oblivious student they had hired to check IDs, and downstairs, into the basement of the building. He began to salivate as he drew closer. He was nearly there. His skin was practically vibrating with its awareness of her heat, close by. Just a few more steps, and. there she was.
~*~*~*~
Three o'clock in the morning might have seemed like a strange time to be doing laundry, but it had some definite advantages, Willow acknowledged to herself as she slid the quarters into the slot on the washing machine. After all, she had the place to herself, which was something of a necessity when washing violently hot pink Eutiner demon's slime out of her clothes. And the fact that she was out of their dorm room meant that she wasn't keeping Tara from sleeping as she tossed and turned. Chronic insomnia was something of a problem when you shared a bed with a light sleeper. This way, Willow got something accomplished, Tara got some sleep, and neither got in the way of the other.
Doing her laundry at three in the morning after a stain-heavy patrol had actually become something of a routine for Willow. Truth be told, she enjoyed it. She loved Tara deeply, but it was difficult to get used to having someone around all the time after growing up in a house where she was so often alone. She liked having some time to herself, when no one else was awake or around. She'd bring with her the novel she'd been trying to find the time to read, or a CD Tara didn't like listening to, and simply relax in the soothing quiet till her clothes were clean. She relaxed completely in the comforting solitude and was completely unaware of the possibility of any danger. Between the hum of the washing machine and the music coming from her headphones, Angel had to reach out and touch her before she realized he was there.
The squeal on her lips at being caught off guard was instantly silenced as his mouth closed on hers. Faster than her mind could process, she was pinned up against the washing machine, the knob on the swing-out door digging painfully into her back as she was crushed from the front by over six feet of vampire covering her with his body and nearly choking her with his tongue down her throat.
Angel shivered in pure pleasure. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast, he could literally feel it pulsing against his chest, and the scent of detergent and heat and Willow was so overpowering, he could swear it was making him lightheaded. Warmth and dizzying pleasure crashing over his body in tsunami-like waves as he drowned himself in Willow. It was even better than he had imagined.
When his hand slid out of her hair and over her shoulder to firmly grip her breast, Willow snapped out of her shock and began to struggle. It didn't do any good. The washing machine was solid with no give whatsoever, making it impossible for her to just slip away; Angel covered her on every side other than her back, and he was far too strong to be stopped by her struggles. He stepped his legs to either side of hers, squeezing her torso from her hips all the way down to the floor between his legs, preventing them from moving. Her hands were taken care of as one of his hand clamped onto both of her wrists, holding them pinned between their two bodies. Between the closeness of his legs literally wrapped around hers and the position of her hands, locked at the wrist in front of her, it was physically impossible for even her panic-stricken brain not to process the thick hardness poking against her, right at her finger tips.
Angel let out a shuddery gasp into her mouth as her struggling fingers brushed against the tip of his cock and he felt the material of his pants soak in the drops of precum collected on the head, readying him for the beauty before him. He needed her so badly; the ache in his groin was beyond painful. The thought of stopping didn't even occur to him, even when the scent of her fear filled the air, pure and uninterrupted with even the slightest tinge of arousal. She wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as he was; it really was a shame, since it was going to happen whether she wanted it or not. He'd make every effort to make this enjoyable for her, but in the end, no matter how she responded, no matter what she said, no matter what she did, he would have her. Of that one thing; in a whole world of uncertainties; he was certain.
Her struggles tugged down the front of her tank top, revealing all of her neck and most of her breasts. Abandoning her mouth for more tempting terrain, he traced her neck with a series of nipping kisses before fastening his lips onto the soft flesh of the top of her breast, using his free hand to work under the neckline of the top, shoving the rest of the breast over the material, baring her nipple to the attentions of his lips and tongue. It looked like candy and he licked his lips in anticipation of its sweetness when the sound of Willow's voice caught his attention.
"How did this happen?" she whispered. She didn't bothered asking what had happened, just how. The 'what' seemed perfectly clear. Obviously, Angel had once again lost his soul. He'd probably come straight to Sunnydale for revenge. Revenge against Buffy for sending him to hell, revenge against Willow for shackling him with the soul, and revenge against the world for. who knows? Existing, maybe? Whatever he chose to do to the world, it was fairly obvious what he planned to do to Willow. Rape was a very effective means of revenge.
"I saw hell tonight, Willow," Angel answered, oblivious to the conclusions she had drawn. "And I realized I've been living in it all along." His tongue traced the curve of her ear as he whispered, feeling her shiver at the combination of cool breath against her ear and his cool hand continuing to caress her breast. "All the times I tried to prevent the end of the world, I was just wasting my time. All the people I tried to protect; I was only delaying the inevitable. I can't save the world when it doesn't want to be saved. And if nothing I do matters, and there is no reward at the end, then there's no reason for me to deny myself the only thing I ever wanted."
Angel pressed himself harder against her; his hips thrust against hers instinctively and he moaned at the pressure. "God, Willow," he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. His lips were less than an inch from hers when he spoke again. "You're the only thing left in the world that I want."
Willow froze as realization struck. This wasn't Angelus; it was Angel. He didn't want revenge; he just wanted. her.
"You. you want me?" she stammered out.
Angel lifted his head to look her in the eye and Willow's breath caught
at the look of intense hunger that filled his eyes. She squirmed, embarrassed
and unable to look him in the eye, and he let out a ragged growl at the
friction her movement caused. "I need you, Willow. Can't you feel how much?"
he gasped, thrusting against her. He buried his face in her neck and closed
his eyes again, his hips continuing to rock against hers.
He needed her. The revelation shocked her to the core. Angel, who she
had always thought of as invulnerable, invincible, indestructible. needed
her. Shock wiped out fear and instinct took over. Wriggling her hands out
of Angel's loosened grasp, she threaded them through his hair, stroking
it gently to soothe some of the tension out of him. He purred with pleasure
at her touch and his shoulders relaxed a bit.
"I need to love you," he whispered. "Please, Willow, please let me love you."
"I." Willow started to answer, then stopped. What could she say? She didn't love him. She had never even considered loving him. He was out of her league, and he was Buffy's ex, and she had a girlfriend now, and. and Angel, not willing to wait for her answer, had taken possession of her mouth once again. The kiss was quick but gentle. Affectionate. Almost. loving. His lips moved down to the hollow of her throat which he caressed with his tongue, before moving on. His lips traveled down to her chest, bypassing her breasts to follow a straight line between them, leaving soft kisses down her ribcage through the cloth of her tank top, her abdomen, her belly. He was on his knees by now, nuzzling and kissing her through the cloth of her boxer shorts. He raised his hands to the waistline, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic.
"Let me love you?" he asked again. When she didn't answer, he slowly tugged the boxers down. She didn't protest, so he leaned forward slowly, pressing his lips softly against her thick folds. Finally, he got a response when he smelled the beginnings of her arousal seeping from her core. With a predatory grin, he dove in.
His hands were strong and certain on her hips, otherwise she would have fallen. Cool tongue where she was used to feeling warmth on warmth, and deep penetration, farther than fingers could reach or any tongue had ever been willing to go, and no pulling away to breathe, just more and more and friction and licking and sucking and deeper and harder and faster and. bliss.
The next thought that actually filtered through her brain was a foggy awareness that the floor against her back, hard and cold though it was, was still more comfortable than being pressed against the knob on the washing machine door. Then thought went foggy again as large, cool hands massaged every last bit of tension out of her shoulders and arms and legs reducing her to utter bonelessness while his mouth explored every inch of flesh that it could reach, until his mouth was on her neck and his hands were cupping her ass and his body was heavy on top of hers and thought came back with a vengeance with a single, solid thrust.
She hadn't had a man inside her since Oz, and Oz had never felt like this. It wasn't just a matter of size; although she was *definitely* feeling the difference in that category; it was more a question of intensity. Oz had loved her and she had loved him, but sex had never been like this between the two of them. Oz had never looked at her like this, like she was handing him something pure and priceless and impossibly dear just by letting him love her. The look of gratitude and adoration on Angel's face wasn't something she would ever forget.
"Warm," Angel whispered, his voice sounding awed. "You're so warm." The almost childlike tone of his voice brought out a surprisingly protective urge in Willow.
"Yes Angel," Willow cooed, wrapping her arms and her legs around him blanketing him in her body as much as she could. "Let me make you warm."
"So warm," he repeated, "so perfect. I-I love you, Willow. So much." He hissed in pleasure as she shifted her position, allowing him to enter her more deeply. "So *much*," he moaned, tightening his arms around her, driving his full length inside of her and simply holding it there, loving the feel of being buried inside her, wrapped up in her heat and softness and comfort and amazing, incredible acceptance.
"It's alright, Angel," she soothed, planting tiny kisses all over his face, caressing her warm hands all over his body. "Just let go," she coaxed. "I've got you."
And so he did. His hips picked up the pace, driving in and out, in and out, over and over, deeper every time, harder every time until he might have worried that he was hurting her if she hadn't been screaming his name and pleading for more. So he gave her more, and more, dear God in heaven, nothing had ever felt this good, and then one more drive caused her muscles to clench tight around him and calling it 'heaven' would have been an understatement, and he was falling.
When he found himself again, he was using the last bit of strength he had left to keep from crushing her beneath him. He was drained and spent and warmer than he'd been in a century or more, and he could hear himself purring, feel it vibrating through his body as he settled into the sweet languor of sublimely spent pleasure. He rolled over to the side of her, pulling her into his arms, and smiling in satisfaction when she cuddled willingly into them, snuggling against him and resting her cheek trustingly against his chest.
Angel felt waves of pure contentment wash through him, head to toe, bathing him in bliss. This was more than pleasure: this was elation, this was rapture, this was. oh God help him, this was perfect happiness. Panic took hold as Angel realized what he had done. He had allowed himself to be perfectly happy. in Willow's arms. She was the only thing left in the world that he valued, and he had practically gift-wrapped her for Angelus to use in whatever twisted schemes for revenge he had cooked up over the years.
Every muscle in Angel's body tensed as he yanked himself out of Willow's arms and waited for the wracking pain to take his soul away. He knew it couldn't be long, now. He'd never known pleasure like that before, and the time to be punished for it had come. A single tear fell from his eyes as he said a silent goodbye to Willow. And at that moment, Angel felt something break inside him. It wasn't the curse; it wasn't his soul; it was his heart. He had finally reached perfect despair.
But then, instead of pain, all he felt was Willow's warm arms wrapping around him. "It's not going anywhere," she told him gently.
"What's not going anywhere?"
"Your soul," she answered, simply. She laughed softly at the look of confusion on his face. "One of the fun perks of the being the person who cursed you. I gave you your soul, Angel. No amount of happiness I give you can take it away."
For a moment, Angel simply sat there, stunned. It was a lot to take in. He could have safe sex, as much safe sex as he wanted, with the only woman in the world that he loved.
"How long have you known this?" he stammered at last.
"Oh, I've known all along."
"And you never told me?"
Willow shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered. Knowing, academically, that you *can* have perfect happiness with me without losing your soul isn't an issue if I'm not the person who can make you perfectly happy."
"But you *are*-" he insisted, wanting desperately for her to know how much she meant to him.
"I know," she cut him off, placing her hand over his mouth. "I know."
He kissed the tips of her fingers reverently. "I love you, Willow."
She smiled at him softly, moving her fingers from his lips to curl in his hair. "I know," she repeated. Her hair was a rumpled mess that stuck out in dozens of different directions, the harsh fluorescent lighting leeched the color out of her skin giving her the appearance of someone suffering from a wasting disease, and she looked so beautiful it nearly made Angel cry. And that's when he had his epiphany.
"It's worth it," he whispered.
"What?"
"It's worth it," he repeated. "If I can save a single life, or stop a single demon, or delay the apocalypse by a single day and make the world that much closer to being the world that you deserve, then it's worth it." He pulled her in greedily for another kiss. "As if I needed another reason to love you," he chuckled when he had kissed her breathless, "you had to go and restore my faith in the world." He nuzzled her cheek, cuddling her in his arms. "A world that can make someone like you is a world worth fighting for."
She kissed him then, sweetly and gently. That she would give herself to him so completely absolutely floored him. This wasn't just about passion. This was trust and compassion and affection and so many things he had never dared to hope she'd feel for him. It wasn't love, but it was enough.
[You made me trust you. You made me believe.] The words echoed in Angel's head as he remembered the situation he had left behind in Los Angeles. Darla was in his bed. Kate was at death's door. And the world needed saving. Again. But the thought of returning to L.A. didn't fill him with the same dread he'd felt only hours before. He'd been so cold when he'd left; so bitterly cold, he'd been afraid he'd never feel warm again. But Willow had given him warmth and gentleness and her own, sweet self, and that had given him the strength to face the battle again.
He kissed her again, and this time, it tasted like goodbye. He knew that he needed to leave soon if he wanted to beat the sunrise back to the City of Angels. As tempting as it was to stay with Willow, he knew he had to leave. She wasn't ready to love him yet. Maybe she would be someday, and he would live in anticipation of that day, but he knew what he had to do with himself in the meantime.
He would fight the good fight, just like he always had, and work every day to be the hero Willow believed him to be. If it would make her think well of him, if it would make her proud of it him, if it would, in time, maybe make her love him. then it was worth it.
THE END