Title: Sweet Hereafter
Author: Eve
Email: alfa_fighter_3@hotmail.com
Pairing: W/A/S
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all characters from BtVS and A:tS, the rest are mine.
Author's Notes: In my world, there was no Tara, no Glory, and Angel has been in love with Willow since she brought him back from Hell
Feedback: Writers need feedback like mere mortals need air. :-P
Summary: Fifteen years after the opening of the Hellmouth, Willow, Spike, and Angel meet again

Chapter 1


Willow sipped her third glass of champagne. Just like with the last two, the warm fuzzy feeling quickly disappeared as the alcohol was absorbed into and destroyed by her immortal blood. Normally she would be in heaven--the place was crawling with academics and scientists with whom she could debate the latest discovery or the meaning of Shakespeare. But tonight she was bored. For once Spike had dragged her out to a swank affair and she wanted none of it. She surveyed the room, seeing no one she wanted to talk to. Not even Spike. She wasn't even sure why she was here. Spike was coming to some sort of business arrangement with the host of the party, who happened to be an entrepreneuring demon. He hadn't told her what it was about.

She found an empty table and took a seat. What was wrong with her? She should have been nagging Spike, having fun, forcing him to dance with her, and nagging him some more. Her heart wasn't in it tonight. The only place she wanted to be right now was at home, lounging in a nice hot candle-lit bubble bath. Maybe that's what she'd do when she got home--at least that way she had something to look forward to. Maybe she'd even let Spike wash her back. She grinned to herself. It was definitely time to go. Where was he anyway? Normally he would be at her side all night, asking if it was time to go every five minutes. She scanned the room again, but still no Spike. She lifted the glass to her lips and downed the rest of her drink. It was then that her gaze came to a screeching halt, stopped by the chocolate eyes that were staring into hers.

Angel.

If at all possible, she swore her heart stopped for that instant. Then he was moving toward her, sliding effortlessly through the crowd. He looked exactly as she remembered him all those years ago. Well, except for the tux, which molded nicely to his chiseled physique. His movements were effortlessly graceful, a large panther in a jungle of kittens.

His eyes hadn't left hers.

He came to a stop two feet from her chair, and it was then that she could perfectly make out the curve of his top lip, the light glinting blue and black in his tousled hair, the intensity of his gaze. No, he didn't look the same. If it was possible, he looked even better. Then reality came crashing down around her, and she was as aware of the blood rushing through her veins as he was. She knew from experience that the pounding of her heart was causing her jugular to leap from her neck in a staccato cadence, begging to be bitten. Spike had told her so enough times.

And now Angel was within reaching distance, and he was staring at her with those fathomless brown eyes and neither of them had yet to say a word. In one smooth movement she got to her feet, surprised that she had the presence to appear graceful. Her tumultuous attraction to Angel always brought out babbling, awkward Willow. Pre-Sunnydale Willow.

She held out her hand, and it was immediately enveloped in his large cool fingers. He pulled her toward the dance floor, and their eyes finally broke away when he propelled her lithe body up against his. The only coherent thought she could form was, 'Nice'. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers glide up his arm until they reached the bare skin protruding above his collar. She sniffed slowly. Being around a vampire so long had taught her how to identify people by smell. And this was a smell she remembered well.

Cinnamon. It had become a conditioned stimulus. One sniff and she was drooling like Pavlov's dogs. Spike had to drag her out of a bakery once because they'd spilled a container of cinnamon on the counter and she almost came in her pants.

Sort of like what was happening right now. His fingers had begun to make slow circles on her lower back, and liquid fire raced from that point to her limbs, up her neck to her brain, into her pelvis. A fine tremor of longing washed over her, and he instinctively pulled her closer. She could now feel the tensing and shifting of muscles as he led them across the dance floor. One muscle in particular. At least she wasn't the only one who was affected. She expected him to pull back, apologize, and do the vanishing act he was so well known for. Fifteen years ago she would have turned bright red, apologized in her rambling way, and ran off. His fingers dipped lower, resting on the swell of her buttocks. Her fingers reached his hair, twirling and tugging playfully. My, my, how things do change.

After all these years, she was an expert at vampire instincts. He was powerfully aroused. If the hardness pressing into her stomach hadn't given it away, the low rumbling in his chest did. And if she were to look up, there would be tiny flecks of gold illuminating his dark eyes. The last sign was the way he stiffened against her when he inhaled her scent. He could tell she was powerfully aroused as well. She wouldn't be able to sit down after this, not unless she fancied a big wet spot on the back of her dress.

Angel slowly lowered his head until his lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear. "Willow," he whispered, voice husky with desire. She clenched her fingers around the back of his neck. If this went on any longer she was going to shove him to the floor and take him in front of all these proper elite types. Which wouldn't bode well for Spike's business deal.

"Well, looks like you found someone to keep you company after all." Speak of the devil.... His voice was cold, but she could see the amusement in his eyes. She could practically read his thoughts. 'Dry humping in public, Willow? You could have at least found a coat room, or a bathroom. There's a garden out back with some nice bushes.'

"Trying to take advantage of my woman, Peaches?"

Willow resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew Spike's act for just what it was. An act. But Angel would probably take him seriously, which would lead to one of two things. A battle of dominance between Childe and Sire--after all, what belonged to the Childe rightfully belonged to the Sire as well. Or, Angel would concede defeat and go off somewhere to brood.

Once again he surprised her. His hand moved even lower on her backside so that Spike could see, and gave his Childe a small smile. "Would you prefer we share?" Willow knew Spike's thoughts had been following the same path as hers, so his look of astonishment probably mirrored her own. Then Angel brought her hand to his mouth. To any casual observer it would look like an innocent parting kiss, but Willow was all too aware of his tongue darting out to lick at her knuckles, his blunt teeth scraping her tender skin. Seconds later she and Spike were left to watch his retreating back as he sluiced through the crowd and disappeared. Well, it was nice to know that some things hadn't changed.

People began to stare, so Spike took her in his arms and they began to dance. "Bloody hell, Willow. Get yourself under control. I can smell you a mile away, and I'm not the only demon in this house."

She arched a brow. "I'm well aware of that."

"I meant besides the Poof. What did he have to say?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean, 'would you prefer we share' was the first sentence to come out of his mouth. He's like the yellow pages: let your fingers do the talking."

"I think that's 'let your fingers do the walking,' luv."

She giggled softly and let her head rest in the crook of his neck. "Fingers could do the macarena for all I care. I'm in the mood for something a little more horizontal."

There is was again. The hardness against her hip, rumbling in the chest. "God, Willow. Don't say things like that. At least, not in public where I can't do anything about it." He slowly inhaled her scent and let out a low groan, his entire body tensing against her. And for the finale, sniff and stiff.

This time her giggle turned into outright laughter. Sniff and stiff. She'd make sure to remember that one. Spike was asking her what was so funny, but the words wouldn't come out coherently. He finally gave up and pulled her off the dance floor to get away from the strange looks. He gripped her arms to get her to look at him and stared down at her disapprovingly. Her laughter died away as her breath caught in her throat. Spike didn't realize it, but that was 'the look.' The one that made her bones dissolve until she was a quivering mass of jelly. If jelly could be horny as hell, and twice as seductive.

One hand made it's way inside his jacket to lightly caress his chest through the fabric. The other went to his face, and she ran her thumb over his lower lip and traced the angle of his cheekbone with bright red nail polish. He was so beautiful she couldn't bear it sometimes. Did he really fathom the effect he had on her with those big blue eyes? One type of desire had been replaced by another. Sudden and consuming for pure and powerful. Different, but no less hot. She leaned in close.

"Take me home, Spike. Make me feel good."

As he swept her up in his arms and dashed out the door he whispered, "Your wish is my command."




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