Dies Irae

By Medea

Chapter Eleven

They had five days left.

The Powers That Be had indeed chosen their instrument of retribution well. Once again, Angelus had demonstrated his virtuosity in bloodshed, by slaughtering the most powerful members of the Watchers Council in half the time allotted him.

At first, Willow had expected that the Powers would simply restore Angel, given that the task had been completed. But it became clear that, for some reason, Angelus was to stay for the full ten days.

Not wanting to let him loose in Sunnydale, but recognizing that it wasn't wise to stay in London, Willow persuaded the others to take the TGV to Paris and spend their remaining days there. Angelus ridiculed her for wanting to protect her human friends back home, but was perfectly amenable to the idea of wreaking havoc in France.

Giles chose to finish recuperating in Giverny, in the countryside just outside of Paris. Now that their mission was finished, he had no desire to spend any more time with Angelus, and figured that some time wandering through Monet's gardens would do him some good.

Which left Willow in Paris with Spike and his sire.

Angelus seemed oddly resigned to his impending re-imprisonment. Although he reveled in hunting and tormenting American tourists as if he hoped to make up for lost time, Willow grew increasingly suspicious. She couldn't believe that he would go quietly when the Powers restored Angel's soul. He had to be up to something.

Yet, nothing he did struck Willow as out-of-the-ordinary.

Often, he and Spike would share hunting their chosen victims, reliving their glory days together and leaving Willow to admire the sights of the city by herself. As they did on their next-to-last evening before Angel's appointed return.

"I can't believe they didn't speak English in that restaurant. Everybody speaks English!" whined a passing American woman.

"Oh, they probably did, but that snooty waiter couldn't be bothered to be a little *helpful*. You know the French, they're so rude," her friend huffed testily.

"Well, they should be a little nicer to us, considering that it's our money that keeps them in business," the first woman grumbled.

"Let's just go find a McDonald's. At least *there* we can get ice-cubes in our Coke."

Comfortably ensconced at a café table out on the trottoir, the three vampires watched with disdain as the petulant tourists waddled by in their well-cushioned sneakers. After they had passed, Angelus rose from his seat and announced, "I believe that's my cue. Spike? Willow?"

Spike was already on his feet, ready to join his sire for another bit of sport with the self-indulgent, camera-toting crowd. Willow elected to stay behind.

"There's one for each of you. I'll find my own, later. I think I'd like to stay and finish my wine."

"As you like," Angelus shrugged. "We'll make sure they finish *their* whine. Spike?"

"Be right there," Spike assured him. Angelus left to stalk the two women. The blond vampire dropped to his knees beside Willow's seat and stroked his knuckles against her cheek. "You okay, luv? You've kept to yourself the past few days."

"I'm fine...just cautious..." Willow explained.

Spike fixed her with a knowing gaze. "You don't trust him."

Willow laughed. "You're too perceptive by half. No, I don't trust him. I've been keeping my eyes open. But you should go catch up. As much as I don't trust him, I know how much it means to you to have your sire, your real sire, back for a while."

"Now who's perceptive?" Spike smiled at her sheepishly. Willow had hit home. He hadn't indulged in this much blood sport in decades. "Sure you don't mind?"

"Go on. Get out of here," she shoved him playfully. He trapped her hands in his and leaned in for a slow, deep, measured kiss.

"I've been neglecting you. I'll spend a week making it up to you when we get back," Spike promised.

"Make it two," Willow teased.

"Do I hear three?" Spike purred seductively, nibbling at the corner of her mouth.

"At this rate, you'll never catch up." Willow nodded in the direction Angelus had taken. With a final kiss, Spike hurried after him.

Willow sat back and sipped her Beaujolais.

She had to admit...despite her misgivings about Angelus, this wasn't bad for her first trip to Paris.

"I can't believe we came all the way to see the Mona Lisa, and it's so small and surrounded by god-damned Japanese college kids that we couldn't even get a good look at it," a portly man bellowed crossly to his wife as they passed by. "We should have just gotten a post card."

A sly hint of a smile tugged at Willow's lips as she watched them continue down the street.

"There goes dinner now..."

*****

The following evening, Willow left Angelus and Spike to their final night of hunting and went to browse the bouquinistes' stalls along the Seine. As Giles had so aptly noted, she did love books. Even though her French was too rusty for her to be able to read anything, she enjoyed the simple aesthetics of the old, leather-bound volumes, the black-and-white postcards from the early twentieth century, and the kitschy, colorful covers of Paris Match from the 1950s.

Of course, most of the vendors began folding down the sturdy green lids of their stalls about half an hour after she got there, since she couldn't arrive before dusk. So she wandered out to the Pont des Arts, past the pastels that an artist had spread out on the bridge's wooden planks, and settled in at the railing to watch the lighted tour barges float beneath her on the river.

She smiled wistfully as she heard couples to her left and right teasing each other with kisses and gasping at caresses that were far from chaste. What was it about people in this city?

"Truly a view for lovers," a familiar voice spoke behind her. Willow's guard went up as she turned to greet him.

"Hello, Angelus. I thought you and Spike were hitting the Marais tonight."

He flashed her a charming smile. "We were. Actually, Spike is still drinking with some off-duty gendarmes he plans to dine on later. But I told him I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Did you?" Willow arched her eyebrow coolly.

"That surprises you?" Angelus countered.

"Not at all. I was expecting as much. So, where shall we go hunting?" Willow kept her tone even.

Angelus drew closer and wrapped his arms loosely about her waist in imitation of the many human couples on the bridge. "You know what I want, lover," he purred in her ear. "But you don't trust me, do you?"

"You're never wrong, Angelus," Willow admitted indirectly.

He laughed softly in her ear. "I could threaten to kill every human on this bridge if you don't agree..."

"Come on, Angelus," Willow chided him, with a gaze that both seduced and challenged. "I may not be quite the vampire that you are, but I *am* a vampire. Killing a few humans won't sway me."

Angelus nibbled on her earlobe. "Mmm...you flatter me, Willow. Well, then...since you're not interested, how about I leave you to yourself and take a trip to Giverny?"

Willow stiffened and tried to pull away, but Angelus trapped her in his powerful arms. "You son of a bitch..." she spat.

A deep chuckle rumbled from the dark vampire's throat. "Darla wouldn't take that remark very kindly. But, then, she isn't here. What do you say, Willow? Is Rupert's life worth giving me one last fuck?"

"Just one," Willow clarified through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I don't know...it might turn into nine or ten," Angelus countered smoothly. "But I know what you're worried about. You think I'm trying to get you to fuck the soul away as soon as it comes back. Relax. I *thought* about it...but as much as I'd love to pull that off, the plan is flawed. The minute the soul is back, you'll know it, and by then I won't be in a position to keep you going. I don't delude myself into thinking that you'd continue to the point that it would jeopardize your precious Angel."

"So why...?" Willow asked, still suspicious.

Angelus smiled wickedly. "Because he'll remember every minute of it...Do you think I meant for this to be unpleasant, Willow? Not for you. I plan to show you the kind of tenderness and passion he can't let himself have with you. It'll tear him up to know I gave you what he never can."

Willow's lower lip trembled, but she held her tears back. "I hate you...I really, really hate you."

"Giverny or the hotel, lover...your choice," Angelus sighed with mock resignation.

"All right, *lover*," Willow snarled, glaring at him like an opponent. "Show me what you've got."

Triumphantly, Angelus stepped back and with affected gallantry raised her hand to his lips and brushed a chaste kiss against her knuckles. He draped his arm across her shoulders and began to guide her back to their hotel.

Once in their room, Willow saw that Angelus had planned this long before. A bottle of Taittinger was chilling in a silver ice bucket, with two champagne flutes ready nearby. A dozen candles were arranged around the room, and Angelus patiently lit each one. In the soft glow of candlelight, he uncorked the champagne, filled the slender flutes, and offered one to Willow.

He was any woman's dream of romance.

But Willow knew all too well what lurked beneath that pretty surface. She had told Giles that vampires were ruthless.

Angelus was a vampire's vampire, with the ruthlessness to match it.

"I know you're fond of toasts, Willow. So what shall we drink to?" he teased darkly.

"How about I wish you good riddance?" Willow replied with sweet venom.

Angelus wouldn't be baited. "A farewell, then...au revoir, ma chérie." He tapped his flute lightly against hers; reluctantly Willow drank with him.

When they had finished, Angelus took her glass and set both of theirs down. Moving to stand behind her, he rested his hands on her shoulders and gently began massaging her neck.

"Willow," he murmured, "I told you that this was going to be a night of pleasure. That won't be very easy if you don't relax..."

The redheaded vampire wanted to smack him for presuming that she would enjoy a single minute of this, but his threat against Giles hung over her head. She was going to have to let herself enjoy this. Physically, that shouldn't be a problem. She had no doubts about Angelus's skill. But if she couldn't reconcile herself to it emotionally, the physical enjoyment would be hard to get started.

"I'm trying..." Willow protested.

"Let me help you," Angelus offered. With achingly-slow gestures, he removed each article of her clothing, indulging in sensual caresses of each part of her body as he exposed it. Splayed fingers swept along her side and up her arms as he lifted her shirt over her head and discarded it. Nimbly he unhooked her bra, then slid each satin strap from her shoulders and cupped her breasts as the garment fell to the floor. Teasingly, he circled her straining nipples with his thumbs before letting his hands drop to her waist.

Willow was already leaning willingly back into his chest.

Angelus slipped both hands under the elastic of her flowing skirt and eased it down, hooking his fingers into her panties to guide them along as well. Rather than simply letting her clothing fall to the floor, his hands inched it slowly down her legs. His fingers wrapped around her thighs, swept over the sensitive hollow at the back of each knee, and trailed lightly over her calves.

When he had reached her ankles, Angelus began to kiss his way back up. He started with light, butterfly kisses on her calves and thighs, and progressed to hungry, open-mouthed kisses by the time he had reached the small of her back. Willow was moaning and spreading her legs for him by the time he was fully upright and nuzzling at the nape of her neck.

She felt a twinge of shame when she actually whimpered in disappointment as Angelus pulled away briefly to strip off his own clothes.

"Lie down on your stomach," Angelus whispered.

Willow glanced questioningly at him over her shoulder, and he took advantage of her slightly-parted lips. Covering her mouth with his own, he let his tongue thrust languidly against hers until Willow was moaning again. Then he pulled away and nudged her toward the bed. Without hesitation, she crawled onto it and stretched out, face down.

She heard Angelus pull open a dresser drawer and pull something out. There was a faint snap, and Willow felt drops of oil on her back.

"Where did you--?"

"Sex shop in the eighteenth arrondissement," Angelus explained as he began to spread the massage oil over her skin.

Soon Angelus was splaying his fingers over her body and running his hands from her shoulders to her ass, occasionally pressing down firmly on a specific point for brief intervals. Willow realized he was mapping out the terrain. Soon he stopped his exploration, and when Willow next felt his touch it was on her shoulders, his hands kneading firmly. She almost moaned aloud at the exquisite sensation of his strong hands working her shoulders, as if he were shaping her to his will, but she managed to suppress her cry. His palms moved from her shoulders to her shoulder blades, making slow, languid circles along the way.

His palms and fingers made calculated rolling motions over her oil-lubricated flesh as they slid down her body to her ribs. He stopped at her ribcage and paid meticulous attention to each rib, starting at her spine and following them around their course to the bedspread.

Willow sighed in pure, unadultered bliss as she surrendered herself over to the delicious sensations coursing through her body. How could someone so evil have a touch that felt like heaven? She nestled her head more deeply into her crooked arms as Angelus swept his slicked palms down over her hips and began massaging the pliable flesh of her bottom. As his hands moved down to the soft crease where her thigh met her ass, his fingertips brushed tantalizingly against her intimate folds, always retreating before Willow could fully enjoy his touch. Aching for more contact, she discreetly parted her thighs.

Angelus gave no indication that he noticed her silent invitation, and continued working his way down her thighs. He added generous amounts of oil, caressing it into her skin. Inch by wonderful inch, he pressed his knuckles down her calves, following the contours of her muscles and mercilessly squeezing the tension out of them. Next, his hands wrapped around her slender ankles and tenderly massaged her ankle bones and heels with firm, rhythmic motions.

But Willow's undoing came when Angelus took first one, then the other, foot between his strong hands and caressed the arch. She squirmed uncontrollably until the tantalizing sensations were too much to bear any longer.

"Angelus, please!" Willow sobbed. "You win...I'm begging you...please!"

"Shh, Willow...no..." Angelus soothed her tenderly. "No begging. I promised to make love to you...begging has no place between us tonight."

Settling himself between her spread legs, Angelus slid a finger into her as he began to tease the small of her back with his tongue. Willow didn't even try to hold back her whimpers of pleasure as she raised her hips to match his thrusts. Angelus kissed his way up her spine as he slipped another two fingers inside her. Sucking on the column of her neck, he let his weight rest on her, pressing her hips down firmly against his fingers and grinding her into the bed. The sensation of his fingers fucking her hard and fast, combined with the friction of her clit against the bed, soon built Willow to a screaming climax.

From then on, the evening passed in a daze for the redheaded vampire. Angelus showed her a tenderness and patient attentiveness to her needs that surprised her. He spread her reverently beneath him and spent a full hour worshipping her from head to toe before easing into her again and rhythmically building her to another powerful release.

With an almost childlike playfulness, the dark vampire coaxed Willow to apply massage oil to her hands and explore his body at her leisure. He lay submissively beneath her, gazing up at her with a fire in his eyes that made her tremble, as she gave herself over to the sensual feel of his skin against hers. Against his nature as a master vampire, Angelus gave full control to Willow. He didn't try to force her hands where he wanted them to go, but offered up his body to her like a sacrifice. He made no proud efforts to demonstrate his superior will by hiding the effect she was having on him, but openly moaned and gasped when a caress or a stroke brought him pleasure.

For one terrifyingly treacherous moment, a small voice inside Willow wondered if Angelus might be able to feel love, after all.

She pushed the thought away.

Their lovemaking continued into the early morning, when suddenly Angelus tensed. His face clenched in pain briefly, and he fought against the sensation.

Brushing his hand tenderly against Willow's cheek, he murmured, "Looks like time's up."

"What?" Willow all but cried out, unprepared for the end of the evening she had so dreaded when it began.

"Gotta go," Angelus laughed painfully. His eyes held a lingering regret, and he added softly, "Give my love to William. Just like we did tonight."

With a final seizure, Angelus was gone and Willow looked down into the disoriented gaze of a newly-resouled Angel.

"Willow?" he asked hesitantly.

Willow struggled against her desire to touch him and welcome him once again into her body. Every inch of her was tingling from the things Angelus had done to her during the night, and against her better judgment she craved more.

"Willow? Are you okay?" Angel repeated.

She was shaking. Something was wrong...as good as it had been, she should be able to calm herself down. But her efforts were failing. Far from diminishing, her desire to push Angel back and make love to him was steadily mounting. In a panic, Willow scrambled off the bed, leaving a confused Angel gaping at her odd behavior.

Her eyes fell on the near-empty bottle of massage oil. She grabbed it and smelled, her senses alert. A faint perfume, so light that it could go unnoticed...*had* gone unnoticed...wafted up.

That bastard.

Frantically, Willow flung herself at the dresser and yanked open the drawer. There inside lay a small, glass bottle. Twisting off the stopper, Willow detected a much stronger, more concentrated dose of the same scent in the massage oil and her suspicions were confirmed.

That sneaky, low-down, no-good bastard! A love potion!

She and Angel were saturated with it.

Willow saw the danger clearly now. She had to get away from him until the effects wore off. Without a word, she scooped her shirt up off the floor and pulled it on.

"Willow, what is it?!?" Angel grew increasingly alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"I'll explain later," Willow answered shakily, calling upon every reserve of strength to fight off the urge to ravish him.

She slid on her skirt and was bending down for her boots when Angel reached out to her. "I don't understand what's going on--"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!!!" Willow yelped, knowing she would be lost if their skin came in contact again. She practically leaped away from him and staggered to the door. Before he could follow her, Willow escaped, not bothering to put on her boots.

She burst out of the hotel...

...and into the punishing rays of the sun.

Howling in pain as her skin began to smoke, Willow ran blindly toward the nearest Metro stop. She half-scrambled, half-fell down the stairs until she had reached the safety of subterranean shade.

Miraculously, her boots were still clutched in her hands.

She slipped them on, wincing at the soreness of her sun-blistered skin, and then fished in her skirt pocket for the carte jaune that would allow her unlimited rides on the Metro throughout the day.

However, she swiftly discovered that she would have to come up with another plan. Between the agony of her burned skin and the incessant yearning that the love potion made her feel, Willow could barely focus. She needed somewhere to curl up and just wait out the misery. Not wanting a repeat performance of her dash through the sunlight, Willow considered which Metro stops connected with underground entrances to buildings.

With relief, she realized that she wasn't far from the stop for the Louvre. And from her visit early on in their stay, she knew the perfect spot for a vampire to suffer in private.

Getting off when the train reached the right platform, Willow managed to sneak into the museum -- not having any money on her -- by blending into the crowds of tourists. Very carefully, she avoided the broad patches of sunlight that streamed in through the glass panels of the Pyramid entrance, and made her way down to the basement.

There, in the expanses of the medieval dungeon that had been excavated beneath the modern museum, Willow crawled into a dusty cistern, drew her knees tightly against her chest, and hoped that nobody would investigate the quiet, haunting moans that rose up from her hiding place.

*****

When Willow returned to their hotel room, disheveled from her day holed up in the Louvre, a very worried Angel was waiting for her.

"Willow! You're safe!" he exclaimed as he nearly knocked her down with a grateful embrace. "Spike is out looking for you...Giles is due back from Giverny soon. What in the name of hell made you run off like that?!?!"

Willow smiled wearily and drew a hand across her face. "Angelus thought he could arrange a little get-out-of-jail-free card."

Angel's expression darkened. He knew his counterpart well and would have expected as much. "What did he do?"

Briefly, Willow explained about the charmed massage oil and her reaction to him once the soul had returned. She assured him that she had spent the daylight hours safely ensconced in the Louvre, although she let him believe that she had been enjoying David's mammoth tableaux and Michaelangelo's sculptures.

"I'm sorry he toyed with you, Willow. It's my fault...He drew on my memories. He knew how much I love you...how willing I would be..." Angel murmured, his brow furrowed with remorse at having been the cause of Willow's trauma.

"Shh, it's okay," Willow kissed him, before teasing playfully. "So you love me. I promise not to hold it against you."

He smiled weakly, but his expression was still tempered with regret. "I'm also sorry you had to put up with him for so long."

"It wasn't all bad," Willow insisted gently. "Anyway, don't apologize. It isn't your fault we were stuck with him for that long."

Angel's eyes took on a profound, faraway look as he confessed, "Yes, it was. Well, in a way it was."

"What do you mean?" Willow wrinkled her brow, puzzled.

"The Powers kept him here in order for me to enjoy the full consolation they had granted me," Angel whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

Willow watched as a tear slipped from his eye. But the broad, unabashed smile that stretched across his face reassured her that it was a tear of joy.

"Ten days with Buffy," Angel explained. "Our souls were joined for ten days. It was the best the Powers could offer, since we were cheated out of time that we were supposed to have together...But it was almost enough."

"Oh, Angel..." Willow sighed, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face against his chest. "I'm happy for you."

At that moment, the door to their hotel room slammed open with a loud bang and Spike stormed in, followed moments later by Giles. The blond vampire's eyes widened with relief at the sight of Willow. When Angelus had insisted on a night alone with Willow, Spike had feared the worst. When he returned to find Angel, disoriented and muttering something about Willow running off in broad daylight, his fears seemed confirmed.

But she was safe.

His relief quickly turned to fury. Striding over to her, he shouted, "Don't you *ever* scare me like that again! I was nearly out of my mind worrying you'd let the sun cast you to the winds!!"

Angel willingly released her into Spike's desperate embrace. As the blond vampire engulfed her protectively in his arms, he whispered softly, "Don't ever leave me, baby."

"Shh, Spike, it's okay," Willow soothed him, kissing his eyelids and steadily easing the tension out of him.

Giles relaxed and let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of their entire ordeal with it. Willow was safe. Angelus was gone, and Angel's soul had returned. And Spike...well, Spike was putty in Willow's hands.

Everything was back to normal.

"So, who's ready to go home?" Giles inquired.

A chorus of voices rose in unison, all ready for the adventure to be over.

~Fin~

Continue to 'Oil & Blood'

The poem recited by Angelus was 'A Dream of Death' by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939).

The excerpts recited by Giles as he buried Fiona Leary are taken from 'Philip Van Artevelde: A Dramatic Romance in Two Parts' by Sir Henry Taylor (1800-1886).

The Scriptural passages cited by Giles after he was stabbed are Matthew 5:21-22.

Angelus's toast to Willow is an alteration of a traditional Irish toast: " Here's to the four hinges of society. May you fight, steal, lie and drink. When you fight, may you fight for your country. When you steal, may you steal away from bad company. When you lie, may you lie at the side of your sweetheart. And when you drink, may you drink with me." (There are a number of variations)

And, for those unfamiliar with architecture, Christopher Wren was the architect who designed St. Paul's Cathedral in London...at least in its current manifestation.