Spoilers: This takes place right before "Becoming" in Season 2.
 
 
 

Willow reveled in the soft cool night. She fanned out her fingers, letting
the breezing carress her. For all its dangers, she still loved the night.

She rolled her neck and stared up at the blazing sky and its brilliant
stars. The park was completely empty. Buffy's anger and frustration with
the newly risen Angelus was being released in her nightly patrols. The vampires
were cowering in their crypts for fear of the Slayer. Willow actually felt
safe.

It wasn't just the absence of vamps. Willow had a new-found confidence. She
was really enjoying her newly discovered powers as a Wicca. It gave her
control over something in her life. She wasn't just the Slayer's helpless
sidekick anymore.

She passed the elm trees and smiled. That was where she and Xander used to
have their night picnics when Xander's mom sort of forgot about dinner. Of
course, now that they knew.... night picnics were sort of out of the
question.

"Tsk tsk tsk," she heard from behind her. She turned, her fear covered by
hollow annoyance.

Angelus.

"Willow." His face was obscured by shadow, but she'd know the voice
anywhere. It was the voice that she didn't want to admit haunted her
dreams.  She wasn't sure what his presence in her dreams meant, but she
didn't want  to talk about it with anyone, much less the members of the
"We hate Angel" fan club.

"Love the new look," he said, smirking as he stepped out of the trees. His
eyes roved her obviously. Knee-length black jacket, form-fitting black
slacks, red crushed velvet top with a wide square neckline. He had been
watching her transformation into this new creature for weeks now with great
interest.

"The Slayer is awfully careless with her little friends," he said, stepping
closer. "Doesn't she know better than to let you wander around at night?"

(Breathe, Willow, for God's sake.) She screamed at herself. (Don't let him
know he gets to you.)

"The Slayer's not exactly my keeper," she said, her voice shaking just
slightly.

He grinned arrogantly. "And who exactly is?"

"Don't have one," Willow shrugged, she moved her hand into the pocket
slowly, searching for the stake Buffy helped her sew in the lining.

"Would you like one?" he asked, stalking closer. He was sniffing her hair,
the tip of his nose almost brushing her ear.

"Not in the 'keeper market' right now, thanks," she said. Finally, her
fingers closed around the stake. She lunged for him, clumsily she knew, but
he wasn't expecting it. He stepped to the side, his eyebrows raised in
surprise. He knew the little red witch was just what he needed. He liked
surprises.

He caught her wrist and twisted it just enough to make the stake drop. She
winced, but much to his surprise and pleasure, didn't cry out. He wrapped
her in his arms, his fangs grazing her neck.

"That wasn't very nice, so unlike you, sweet little Willow," he said softly
against her pulsepoint. "Here I was being perfectly cordial and you try to
dust me."

"Just trying to keep things interesting for you," she said, struggling
uselessly, he laughed. His arms tightened even more. She stopped,  refusing
to be a sense of amusement for him.

"Don't want to play now?" he asked. She didn't respond. "Oh well, we'll
have
to play later."

With that he pinched a nerve, just between her neck and shoulder, causing
her to lose conscienceness completely. But not before she berated herself
for falling victim to, of all things- the Vampire Vulcan Death Grip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow woke. Her head was killing her. She had had another dream of
Angelus.

She sat up, or at least tried to before the curtain cords binding her
wrists caught her. She flopped back on her bed.

She looked around. Not her bed. Her sheets were light blue cotton, not
maroon satin. Apparently she had been abducted by a circa 1970s pimp.

Who lived in Angelus and Drusilla's mansion on Crawford St. She groaned.
The dream, it hadn't been a dream at all. She looked down, someone had dressed
her in a low-cut white silk nightgown that barely brushed her thighs. Her
throat burned with humiliation at the idea of Angelus taking her clothes
off.

She rolled over as best she could. Angelus was lying on his side,
shirtless,  watching her with silent amusement. She glared.

"What? No good morning kiss?" he asked.

"Angelus, whatever you're planning- stop it. Let me go."

"Do you really think I would go to all the trouble of setting up this
little honeymoon suite and dressing you up like my little doll if I was just to
let you go?" he asked, running a clawed finger along the neckline of her gown.
She tried to let her breath go ragged at his touch.

He was teasing her and she didn't like it. She didn't like how her body was
responding to it. She didn't like the way he seemed to know how he affected
her.

"About the gown," she said, glancing at it. "It's not really me."

"I could take it off," he offered, his eyes twinkling evilly as he pulled a
spaghetti strap from her shoulder.

"I'll suffer through it." she shied away from his touch. She tried to
ignore the traitorous warmth pooling between her thighs. He trailed his fingers
along her knee, not really touching her thigh. She stared at the ceiling,
determined not to let her face show her inner turmoil. Part of her knew she
should pretend he wasn't there, but deep inside she wanted nothing more than to
wrap her legs around him and let him claim her, no matter what the cost.

"Willow..." he blew gently against her neck. She didn't flinch. He brushed
a kiss across her lips, slowly but throughly claiming them. "You know, it
might be more pleasant for you if you participate."

"You're boring me," she said, her voice soft and bereft of emotion.

He chuckled, letting his cool fingers slide higher along her thigh. "I
don't think so, Red. You're body tells me otherwise."

His fingers reached her wet warmth, gently probing. She gritted her teeth
to keep from bucking against his palm.

"You're right, I am surprised at you," she said coldly. "Fucking a girl
trussed up like a turkey? Not much of challenge for the great and powerful
Angelus."

He slipped another finger inside her. She moaned slightly.

"Are you afraid I'll run from your bed?" she asked. "It wouldn't say much
for your appeal."

He considered for a moment, all the while torturing Willow with slow,
gentle thrusts of his hand. With his free hand, his ripped at her bonds. He rolled
over her and kissed her again, harder this time. His clever tongue expored
every depth of her warm red mouth.

This was his woman, his true mate. Not that simpering Slayer. Willow was on
fire with his touch, hell, the  girl was fire.

(Take your time, Will, she thought as she allowed herself the guilty
pleasure of returning his fierce kiss. Wait for your moment, then conk him
on the head and run like hell.)

He trailed sweet cold kisses down her neck, lavishing her jugular with
attention. His teeth grazed the delicate skin, but didn't break it. She
gasped. She felt him grin against her neck as she responded. She chastised
herself inwardly.

"Willow, I want you, and I'm going to have you, you might as well enjoy
it." he said, swirling his tongue around her puckered nipple delicately. "I know
you want to."

He kissed the length of her body, dipping his tongue into her navel. A
heavy wrought-iron sculpture on the night stand caught her eye as he laved her
hipbones. She reached for it slowly. He lapped at her once, just to get her
attention, smiling as she threw her head back and cried out. He nudged her
clit with his nose, wrapping his tongue around her delicate folds and
sucking greedily at nectar that dripped from her.

She tried to reach for the sculpture again, but instead found her fingers
tangled in Angelus' dark silky hair, urging him closer. He drew his mouth
away. She groaned in protest, but soon found Angelus above her propping
himself on his elbows.

"I'm waiting," he whispered, licking at her earlobe.

Her brow creased in confusion. "For what?"

"To be invited in," he grinned, ringing her lips with his finger.

"Come in, Angelus," she moaned, pulling him to her lips and thrusting her
hips to meet his as he filled her. She cried out as he stretched her and
broke the barrier of her maidenhead. He bit her neck gently to distract her
from the pain. She lashed out and bit his finger with her blunt teeth. A
trickle of blood seeped between her lips. She licked at the already closing
wound.

"Come in," she mumbled again. "Stay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow woke with a great weight on her chest. A cold dead weight with
depthless brown eyes and a confident smirk even as he slept. She winced as
she realized what she had done. Handed her virginity to a merciless demon
on a silver platter.

She eased out of his embraced and desperately searched for her clothes.
Angelus had hidden them. She picked up the white silk gown and felt cold
regret wash through her as she recalled what it led to. She grabbed
Angelus' black silk shirt and buttoned it hastily. She ran for the door, but before
she even had the knob turned, Angelus was behind her, with an iron grip on
her wrist.

"Such bad manners, Red," he lectured. "Running off on your lover without
even a kiss?"

He whipped her backward, tossing her on the bed like a ragdoll. She landed,
trying to catch her breath.

He slid along the length of her body, grinding against all the right
places.

"And in one of my favorite shirts, too," he whispered against her throat.
He ran his hands under the shirt and rolled her nipples between his fingers.

"I told you that gown's not really me," she said, trying to ignore the
waves of demanding heat his hands were sending through her.

"If it's not you, Sweet Willow, what is?" he asked, brushing her knee with
his palm. "A cute little pink flannel number with feet?"

"Look my grandma sent me that for Christmas, I never wear it," she hissed.
Her jaw dropped. "You've been going through my drawers?"

He shrugged. "Excuse me for taking an interest in my girl."

"An interest? How long have you been following me?" she asked, her veneer
of confidence shattering.

"Let me show you something," he said softly, his lips barely brushing her
forehead as he reached for her bonds.

He lifted her from the bed and led her into the next room. It was obviously
a study of some sort but it looked like it had been transformed into some
sort of weird shrine. Candles burned in every nook and cranny. The walls
were papered in sketches and pictures. Angel released his hold on her wrist
and let her step examine the walls. They were sketches of her. Sleeping,
laughing, making every expression from seductively smiling to goofy
grinning. There were sketches of her lying in  Angelus' arms. Of him
kissing her neck tenderly. Her smiling at him adoringly. Her blood ran cold with
fear.

He had been watching her. Everywhere.

There were pictures of her taken through the library window. She was
sitting at her computer researching. There was one of her scrunched up in a chair
in Giles' apartment, reading one of his occult books. There was a shot of
Xander and Willow sitting together in the Bronze, they were sharing a good
laugh. Xander's face was scratched out visciously.

"Do you know how hard it's been for me?" he asked, his hands carressing the
small of her back and he nuzzled her neck. "Watching you for all these
weeks. Not being able to get to you because of that stupid bitch and her
little cronies. Knowing you could be so much more than her little lapdog.
Wanting you in my bed. You're mine Willow, you have been for so long and
you never even realized it."

"And I'm supposed to what?" she demanded, pulling away from him. "Fall at
your feet overwhelmed at your amazing stalking abilities? Thank my lucky
stars that I have such a goal-oriented guy interested in me?"

He grinned. He did love a challenge.

"I want you to give in to what you want, what your body is screaming at you
to do. You think I can't smell it on you?" he asked, trailing a finger
along her throat. "Your lust hangs on you like a perfume. It has since that first
night I came back. When we were in the hallway that night, why do you think
I sent Xander away?"

"So you could kill me," she rolled her eyes.

"Nothing so vulgar, Red," he pressed her hand to his lips. "I wanted you.
Even as when Soul-boy was in control."

"Angel had Buffy," Willow protested. "Why would he want me?"

"Didn't you notice the way he seemed to deliberately avoid you?" he asked.
"Like he was afraid to get too close? It was because I was whispering in
his ear 'This is the girl that could make us both happy. Take her. Make her
ours.' But he wouldn't listen."

"Because Angel was Buffy's boyfriend."

"Because Angel railed against anything that would satisfy me," he growled.
"Part of Buffy's charm was that his being with her drove me absolutely
nuts."

Despite herself, Willow giggled.

"I like that sound, Willow," he whispered. "Be with me. Let me claim you.
But make no mistake. You would be with me, Angelus. Soul-boy is long gone
and he's not coming back. But I can offer you so much more. Devotion.
Passion that you would never feel with your little whelp, Xander. I could
love you-"

"Love?" she laughed. "You're a demon, you can't love anybody."

"I could love you," he insisted. "Don't be so quick to judge."

"Don't be so quick to mistake obsession for love."

He chuckled. "You're afraid of me aren't you?"

"Just because you have a history of driving your crushes insane, don't be
silly."

"You're not a crush, Willow, you're my life's pursuit. Why would I want to
hurt you?"

"Why should I believe you? How do I know you're not just gaining my trust
so ripping my throat out will just be all that much sweeter?"

"I give you my word that I will never hurt you," he said solemnly. "The
only screams I'll ever cause you will be whimpers of pleasure. I love you,
Willow."

He brushed the softest of chaste kisses across her lips.

"I could have raped and beaten you a hundred times by now if I wanted to.
But I haven't. And I'm not exactly known for my patience."

She shook her head.

"Willow, please kiss me," he begged.

She shook her head. "I can't do this, Angelus. I just can't."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Do I really have to give a reason?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

"Do you really think I'm going to take no for answer?" he thundered.

"For one thing, you already have a live-in girlfriend.  Drusilla? Secondly,
you killed Miss Calender without a hint of remorse. And you- you killed my
fish!" She ran into the next room and flew at the door. The knob wouldn't
budge.

"Locked, I'm afraid," Angel said, slipping into his tight leather pants. He
slid into his coat. He pried her hand loose from the knob. "I'm going out
for a bite. I'll give you some to think it over, when I return, I'll expect
a much more receptive little witch waiting for me."

He tossed her effortlessly from the doorway onto the bed. He was out the
door and had locked it before she was even up.

"Like hell I will," she growled.

After she saw Angel stalk angrily through the weeded garden. She rushed
over to the lock and focused all of her energy on it. The knob exploded in a
cloud of electric sparks.

"Locked, I'm afraid," she snarled, imitating Angel's superior tone.

She gave up the idea of looking for her clothes. It wouldn't be easy
explaining to her friends why she was wandering through Sunnydale alone at
night wearing nothing but a man's shirt, but it was better than  spending
one more minute in this house than was absolutely necessary.

She crept stealthily down the hall. She heard two female voices coming up
the stairs. Angelus' minions. She ducked into the nearest unlocked room and
slumped against the door.  Her jaw dropped. What she saw reduced her to ...
giggles.

Spike was  shirtless, wearing only his black jeans and flailing his legs
and arms Richard Simmons' style to the perky beat of de Barge's "Rhythms of the
Night." He turned suddenly.

"Holy shit! Red! What the hell are you doing??" he demanded. He was
horrified that he had been caught... well, it was more like "Sweating to
the Oldies" than anything else.

"Shhh." she hissed. "I could very well ask you the same thing."

"I know, I know, I'm walking," he said dejectedly flopping into the
wheelchair he hadn't needed in weeks.

"No, I mean, what the hell are you doing listening to de Barge?"
 
 

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