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Part 15

He felt her knee flexing against his rapidly hardening shaft, even while he purred against her skin. This-- the mark he'd given her-- was the only scar that mattered. She was right, he told himself. She would probably get hurt more than once in the future, and she would bear the proof of that upon her pale, soft skin, but it didn't matter. Only *his* mark would, just as the only scar on his body that *he* cared about was the thin, dark line that remained from their Mating. "Willow..." he groaned, pulling his teeth gently from her flesh. One long breath slipped from his throat, catching on the shudders racing through his tense form. His hips raised slightly, the tiny movement pressing his hard cock firmly against her warm, velvety skin.

Her eyes opened for just a moment before closing again, and she was suddenly breathless, just from the rumbling need she felt in him. Her neck arched, and she pressed the slowly seeping wound he'd given her harder against his lips, moaning in disappointment when he pulled his head away after one long, slow lick. But his hand was in her hair, and he was pulling her mouth to the base of his neck, and her heart raced while she shifted above him, her leg continuing its motion until she straddled him completely, her anxious core pressing hard against his throbbing member. A loud moan slipped out, even as she felt him opening his skin for her again, only to fade into the sounds of her lips and tongue feasting on the fullness of her Mate's essential self. She could feel him growing slick with her fluids, feel him trying desperately to restrain himself, but it wasn't necessary. She opened her mind and heart to him, even as she opened her body, sending the fullness of her aching need and fierce love through their bond.

His mouth opened wide, and he snapped desperately at the air as his demon fought to have their Mate to himself for once. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let Angelus turn their time with their witch into something dirty, and harsh, and... No, he told his other self, never. He tried to ignore the voice in his head that was reminding him of the fact that Willow loved *all* of him, but it was impossible, because it was true. She *did* love the demon, as well as the soul; that was one of the reasons both parts of him loved *her* so much. And she was on him; moving on him, and her mouth was tight against the bleeding gash in his neck, and he could *feel* how much she adored every part of him, and... "Willow," he groaned, still holding her lips to his wound, "The *demon*!" A slow, thick growl built in his chest when she simply nodded against him, her fingers tight in his upper arms, and he listened to Angelus again, this time believing that that part of him would never do anything to hurt their Mate.

She felt him changing beneath her, and knew that this time it was so much more than just his features. She sensed it through the bond, and in the sudden wildness of the blood she was sipping so delicately. "Angelus..." she whispered, moving her hips against the thick, hard cock trapped beneath her slippery core. She could feel him tense and relax, and she forced herself to pull back and meet his eyes. "*You* are *also* my Mate," she acknowledged, shifting forward until she caught the tip of his weeping shaft with her entrance. Her gaze remained locked on his as she slid back on him, taking him slowly, fully, into her wet heat. Her hands slipped from his arms to the tops of his shoulders, and she leaned back, pulling him to sit up beneath her.

He could feel the soul still inside him; feel the trust his counterpart was placing in him, and he wished he could do all the things that part of him feared he'd do with the little witch. He couldn't, though, because he loved her, too. No, he could only treat her well, and make her happy, and he didn't care anymore. It didn't matter, he told himself. Yes, he was the baddest damned vampire ever to roam the earth; yes, he was the Scourge of Europe; yes, he was the same demon who'd been a living, unbreathing nightmare for more humans than he could count... and yes, he was completely, entirely, uncontrollably Willow-whipped. His arms wrapped tightly around her slim waist, fingers fastening firmly on opposite hips, and he gently, tenderly, took one straining nipple between his jagged teeth as he raised and lowered her upon his throbbing shaft. His eyes fluttered closed, and he concentrated solely on the sensation of being with her, of being the one in *control* with her, and... it was like nothing he'd ever known before. "Yesss," he finally hissed, releasing her breast, "Yours, Willow..." His head fell forward, resting on her shoulder, and her sweet, soft skin was almost more than he could bear. "Yours..."

She could feel the sudden *snap* within her; sense the *something* changing, and her back arched, even as he continued to direct her movements. The blood rushed furiously through her veins, and her heartbeat sped until her chest burned from the friction of blood racing through muscles and veins. She could feel his cool brow against her skin, his large, strong hands clutching rhythmically at her hips, and she cried out in both desire and fear. "Angelus! Angel! Angelus!" She could hear the begging tone in her own voice, and wasn't sure of whether she was asking him to stop, or to go on. "My Mate!" she finally sobbed, her tight, swollen clit grinding hard against him. "My love!" She arched hard against him, her fear washed away by a sense of *rightness* as she exploded, and felt her heart... *stop*.

"All of me," he whispered repeatedly, even as he made love to her for the very first time. "All of me..." His mind spun with the sense of her loving him, even knowing what he was, and when he felt her tightening harshly around his straining shaft, he screamed. Pleasure and pain washed over him in thick, sensual waves, and he raised her quickly, one more time, before sliding her fully to his base. His eyes flew wide, and glowed gold, then green, then brown, and gold again, even as the sudden, unexpected fire took him. He felt himself deeper inside this woman-- his Mate-- than he'd ever been before, and when he came, sending long-denied ribbons of cool, dead seed deep within her, he screamed again. He felt the soul spiraling into him, or himself joining it, and realized that he didn't care which it was. She was their Mate, and they were now one. There was no longer an Angel,or an Angelus. There was just *him*, and he was *both*. He felt her heart beat its last, a short cry of "No!" flying from his lips when it didn't start again, and he moved one hand, faster than lightning, to his neck. He gouged harshly at his skin, dragging his fingers through his own blood, and forced those same fingers between her slack, unresponsive lips. "No. No, Willow! You *can't*!" He didn't even notice that he was shouting at her; didn't notice anything but her stillness. "No..." he moaned, pulling her hard against his chest. His head fell to rest on hers, and the tears streamed unnoticed from his eyes. They ran swiftly down his cheeks and into her hair, finally dripping down her forehead and along her nose to slip over her upper lip and into the lax cavern of her mouth.

She'd been in a void, it felt like, but... She was drowning? She swallowed convulsively, choking for just a moment on the salty liquid. His arms... his arms were tight around her, and he was rocking her as though his heart was breaking, and... Gods, he was still inside her, but she could tell he didn't even know it. Why was he crying? But then he was staring at her like he'd never seen her before, and the love and relief on his face took her breath away. "Angel... Angelus?" she whispered, her brow furrowed as she sensed the changes in him through their bond. "What...?"

He didn't have any idea of what had just happened, and he didn't really care. His Mate was *alive*! She was looking at him, and there was *light* in her eyes, and she was there-- really there, inside-- and she was *alive*! His lips closed hard over hers, and he reveled in her whimpering sigh, thrilled by the sensation of her heart beating, once again, against his chest. He couldn't even begin to find his voice, and he didn't give a damn. His hands roamed desperately over her back, her neck, her cheeks, and he moaned in pure delight at the heat, and strength, and breath of her. "Mine," he finally muttered, pulling her mouth away from his own and pressing her lips against the bleeding spot on his neck.

She couldn't help but take him. Her mouth opened wide, and she sucked hard at him, his slow, thick blood fulfilling her in more ways than it ever had before. And he was hard within her again, a low growl starting behind his lips as she drank. Whatever had happened, he needed this, she realized. It was some sort of a reassurance for him, and he was, after all, her Mate; *all* of him was. She would give him whatever he needed, just as he would do for her. Her eyes closed contentedly as he began moving within her again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He caught himself groaning yet again as Fred finished her latest drink. Fred. What a name. It called to mind truck drivers, or toll booth operators-- or Hell, even chunky, animated quarry workers! It definitely wasn't a name that made him think of lithe, too attractive, disturbingly intelligent, and wickedly confusing former-librarian physicists! But still, it was her name, and he found it somehow... oddly pleasing. Of course, he was trying to play it cool, but he had a feeling he was failing miserably. Or he was if the amused looks he was getting from the more benevolent of his patrons was any indication.

He reached below the bar and dragged out the bottle he kept there for emergencies-- emotional emergencies-- swiftly pouring himself a shot. He tossed it back quickly, and nodded when the girl looked at him from their table across the room. A small sigh slipped from him, even as he mixed them some fresh cocktails. "Hell, I'm in *trouble*," he admitted almost silently.

The subtle tap, tap, tap of his shoes was lost in the noise of the crowd as he walked from behind the bar and to the table. "Here you go, precious," he said as smoothly as he could, placing the glass gently on the surface before her. He froze for just a moment when her fingers brushed his, then swiftly retreated to his chair.

Fred was barely managing to hold in a wild giggle, because she was pretty sure Lorne knew she'd meant that song she'd sang for him. And it *had* been for him, regardless of how many other demons had been there by the time she'd gotten up to sing it. He seemed to be keeping her at arm's length, though, and that just wouldn't do. She'd been in that demon-place for five years, after all, and it was time she had someone because *she* wanted *them*; not the other way around! She nodded swiftly, a determined look entering her eyes, and stood, moving swiftly around the table to sit in the chair beside him. "I know what you want," she said seriously.

Lorne's fingers clenched hard around his glass, and his red eyes grew even wider. "Wha- what are you talking about, sweetness? What could I *possibly* want?" Both his hearts were pounding wildly, even as he pretended disinterest. "Other than a decent bartender, I mean." He locked his gaze on the blue-skinned demon on the stage, and tried to ignore the girl who was driving him quietly mad.

The wild giggle finally escaped her then, and she let it. Her hand rested lightly on the shimering blue sleeve of his jacket, and she squeezed his arm lightly through the fabric. "I know your kind," she said then, "I know what draws you, and I know you're fighting it. That's fine." Another laugh burst from her throat when she felt his arm tense even more. Her voice became softer, and she leaned towards him, her lips almost brushing his ear. "We're not in the bad place anymore, Lorne." A purely feminine smile crossed her lips when he moaned low and deep. "I won't let you run." She released her hold on his jacket and leaned back, pulling her drink from across the table. "Just thought I'd let you know," she said simply, taking a sip. She wasn't sure of where she'd gotten the nerve to say those things, but she was glad. Things would be easier if he knew where she stood.

He'd thought *home* was Hell, but obviously, he hadn't known the meaning of the word. There was a *reason* he'd never gotten involved with any human women-- in the romantic sense-- and he shouldn't even be *thinking* about doing so now. But... she knew what he was; knew what drove him. She'd been a slave in Pylea for a long while, after all, and he *knew* that she had to be well-acquainted with his kind's particular-- and *peculiar*-- needs. Every inch of his skin was itching to feel her touch; every impulse racing through him was screaming that his brain should just *shut* *up*! Who was *he* to protect her from herself? But he'd never been 'normal'; never been thrilled with his own urges. That was why he'd been so happy to find *this* world, wasn't it? And he didn't want to make her into what his own kind had made her in the 'bad place'. No. He wouldn't make her his whore. It wouldn't be right. More importantly, it wouldn't be the kind of relationship he'd dreamed of having, even before he'd known there were other kinds. "I appreciate the warning," he said breathlessly, his fingers moving from his glass to encircle her wrist, "Really." They'd have to talk about things, he knew, but... the middle of a loud, crowded club was hardly the place. "Stick around 'til closing, Freddie?" He swallowed hard when she laughed again, and closed his eyes. Oh, *this* was gonna be a fun night. Only three more hours to go. Three more hours to figure out what in the *hell* he was going to say to her.
 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gunn watched silently as the bitch lawyer drove from the parking garage of Wolfram & Hart's downtown building. He'd been watching for her for almost the entire day. "Now, *what*, I wonder," he muttered to himself, as her tail lights disappeared around a corner, "Is so important about Willow Rosenberg?" It was a good question, he knew, and one that he would find out the answer to.

He walked quickly down the street, ducking into the stairway of the public parking garage he'd hidden his truck in. There was some reason that the law firm had wanted to keep the witch and the vampire from becoming Mated, and it *had* to be pretty damned important. Maybe the redhead would stop something-- or *start* something-- that wouldn't bode well for the senior partners.

The handsome black man darted quickly up the stairs to the second floor, glancing swiftly about him as he began to undress. He pulled the suit from its hanger on the passenger seat and swiftly arranged himself, making sure the creases in the pants legs were straight. Finally, shirt buttoned and tucked in, jacket hanging perfectly, he picked up the briefcase from the truck floor and opened it. He pushed the dagger and crossbow pistol aside, finding the ID card that proved that Charles Willoughby Gunn was an employee of Wolfram & Hart. He clipped it to the breast pocket of his suit and returned the way he'd come. It was time that he got some answers to his questions, and he was damned well going to get them *now*!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He'd still go by Angel, he decided, his fingers roaming lovingly up and down his Mate's spine. It would be less confusing for his friends that way. Besides, they might not even have to know that he was whole. *He* wasn't planning on telling them, and he didn't think his Willow would, either; especially if he asked her not to. That *she* knew wasn't even in question. She *had* to know; he was entirely sure that she felt the change in him, just as he could feel the change in *her*. Whatever had happened when she'd... died... She wasn't the same as she'd been before.

A small, pleased rumble purred in his chest, even as she breathed softly against his skin. She was dreaming again. He could *feel* it. The sense of it flowed through ever part of him, down to the center of his bones. Somehow, they were more connected than even the Mating could account for, and he welcomed that. He closed his eyes, still stroking her gently, and insinuated his awake mind into her dreams.

"Hello, love," he sighed, staring up into her smiling green eyes. He smirked slightly when she shifted on him, then laughed a bit wickedly. "Is this all you ever dream about?" He couldn't deny that the thought made him wildly happy.

Willow giggled softly, her fingers trailing up his chest to his face. "Not so much anymore," she admitted, "What with having the reality, and all. But sometimes, yeah." She moaned softly, rocking against him and feeling him shift inside her. "I died," she told him, saying it for the first time.

Angel growled at the memory, his hands on her hips stopping her movements. "I know," he said angrily, scared again, "I was *there*!" He sat up beneath her, holding her hard. "I *felt* it!"

Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, and she licked his neck soothingly until she felt him relax a little. "It's okay, baby," she murmured against his skin, "I was *supposed* to. It was the only way to trigger the bond." A soft moan slipped from her when his lips moved to her scar. "Can you feel it?" she continued, one hand moving into his hair. "We're tied together by more than just the Mating, now. You're *one*; the soul and the demon are entwined permanently, and... I'm in there, too."

He froze completely for a few minutes, feeling through himself, and when he found the strong tendril of 'Willow-ness' within him, he nodded slowly. "What does it mean, Will?" he whispered, suddenly afraid of the changes he'd welcomed. He didn't want them if it meant things would be different with his love.

"I don't know, exactly," she finally admitted, "But, you're dead, my heart, and I think I had to die, too, for us to be together this way. The Powers have big plans for us, it seems." She pulled back slightly, meeting his gold-flecked eyes. "I think *my* soul is attached to you now. I think we were meant to be."

Angel smiled suddenly, remembering what Lorne had said before. "We weren't supposed to be together *yet*," he repeated quietly, "But we *are*. It just took them a while to adjust the time-frame..." His hands moved back to her hips, and he laughed happily. "Just don't go dying on me again any time soon, okay? I don't think I could handle it."

The redheaded witch smiled secretively. She wouldn't tell him the rest of what she suspected; not yet, anyway. She pushed him back against the mattress, and rocked her hips hard against his cool, strong body, chuckling when he groaned at shifting within her again. "Okay," she agreed, pinching his nipples hard.

A smile formed on his sleeping face, and he held his Mate more tightly, enjoying her dream almost as much as he would enjoy her in reality when they awoke.
 

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