She had been a vision of innocent purity. Her skin had been so very soft beneath his fingertips, smooth and silky and rose cheeks and white flesh. Her eyes were wide, gentle and innocent and beautiful. The folds of her clothes couldn't hide the gentle curves of her body from his piercing eyes. Sedate steps couldn't still the slight sway of her hips.
He had taken her, hard and fast and brutal, tearing away the innocence that had first called him to her. Pale skin had bruised beneath his hands, the delicate rosy flush fading from her cheeks as the blood poured from her. Innocence died in her eyes, wide and horrified and begging.
Angelus forced a sigh past dead lungs, a sneer forming on his lips as he watched Drusilla waltz past him, her arms empty and her eyes dreamy. No longer innocent, no longer satisfying, his former obsession had quickly disintegrated into nothing more than a particularly annoying nuisance. An eternal one, at that.
"Drusilla," Angelus called out, his voice harsh. His honeyed tones were saved for the Slayer's ears alone where they would twist at her, slowly driving her downwards beneath the unyielding weight of her beloved Angel's memory. Drusilla, on the other hand, no longer responded to anything save orders... at least not before her vacant eyed stare drove out his plans beneath a wave of rage.
Her high-heeled shoes clacked against the floor one last time before the dark haired vampiress turned. "Daddy?" she questioned, her voice meek and suggestive on one lilting word. Dark eyes stared at him, crafty lunacy shinning from them.
'I want her. Now."
Drusilla's eyes lowered submissively, a small smile barely held at bay. "Yes, my Dark Angel," she purred. Black lace swirled around slim legs as Drusilla moved forward. Long nails, red as blood, lightly scratched against Angelus' temples. Their eyes collided, hers intent, his full of impatience. "Go visit your little playmate... Mind to mind." Angelus' eyelids drooped, and her smile finally reached her lips. "Have fun, Daddy."
"Angel!" the voice was soft, a delighted burst of sound wafting through the pure white ever shifting planes of Willow's active mind. She appeared before him, her form briefly wavering between the Willows-who-had-been and the Willows-who-could-be, before finally settling on the Willow who was.
Angelus always enjoyed watching the brief flicker that met his arrival. It gave him an unprecedented chance to gain an even deeper insight into his newest prey. Little girl Willow, red hair in piggytails, giggling. Lost little girl, eyes teary and forlorn. Passionate, eyes flashing, face flushed. That brief flickering show allowed him to see parts of Willow that he doubted even her friends had imagined her having.
"Hello, Willow," Angelus said as the young woman rushed forward. Her arms wrapped around him, her nose burying into his chest. He held her to him, a smirk briefly settling over his features before he schooled his face into the mask that Willow longed to believe was his true self.
It had been ridiculously easy, Angelus thought smugly. Drusilla linked his mind to Willow's, they had an unknowing informant, and when the time came, another failure for the Slayer after he twisted Willow's mind so thoroughly that she would make Drusilla look sane.
She hadn't resisted his appearance in the slightest, as if she were used to seeing him within her dreams. It had amused him to think that perhaps, meek little Willow's nights had been filled with thoughts of his soul-bonded self even before Drusilla had forged the link.
"How have you been, Willow?" His hand hovered at the base of her neck before sweeping upwards. Dark red hair ran through his fingers.
The girl sighed, her breath warm against his chest. "Not great. _He's_ been really bad recently. Not as if he isn't always bad, but... bad worse. Poor Buffy looks like she's about ready to have a breakdown..."
"Poor Buffy..." Angelus echoed. Her tears soaked through his shirt, slender shoulders shaking as she silently cried. "None of that, Willow. I'm here. He can't hurt you." His voice was soft, understanding. He pulled back from her slightly, just enough so that he could lower his lips and gently brush them against hers.
Her eyes were wide and confused, her body trembling in fear and excitement. "Angel?" Her voice was a breathy whisper. Small hands twined in the material of his shirt, holding herself steady.
He hadn't meant to kiss her.
Maybe this would be for the best. Make her love him, trust him with everything. Take her apart bit by bit, inside out, use her against the Slayer. Blind her with desire.
Drusilla was at Angelus' feet, her skirts spread out around her, arms crossed on his leather-clad knees, chin resting on her arms. Her eyes shifting away from his straining zipper up towards his still closed eyes.
He wanted the girl. Take her away, make her dark and broken inside, just like she was. He wouldn't, though. Angelus didn't understand, but Drusilla knew. Every time he went inside the girl's mind, he carried out a bit of her light with him. Brighter and brighter until the demon was weak.
No more 'Daddy', then. He hurt her and hurt her and hurt her until heart and mind and body would scream. But the brightness would gouge at him, and he'd leave her alone. Leave and go away and just leave Princess alone.
Let the little red witch take his darkness. They'd take the Slayer and Watcher down with them, fighting and lusting and loving and hating and dying. And then there would just be Princess and her Spike, and they would dance beneath the stars together.