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 13


Spike floated in a sea of his own thoughts. He jumped from one to the other, not really feeling, just observing. He remembered being angry. Something had happened to Willow. He was going to kill his Sire. He wasn't sure why.

There had been a fight. He remembered pressing a wooden stake into Angel's chest. A dawning realization came over him. He was going to kill his Sire--was killing his Sire. He felt his eyes go wide with surprise. He couldn't do it. He'd never be able to live with himself.

A voice in his head kept chanting "For Willow, for what he did to her. For Willow." But this fight was no longer about Willow, if it had every really been. It was about Spike and Angel. It had always been about Spike and Angel.

This just wasn't how it was supposed to be.

And then a blast of furious Wicca magic hit him and he watched himself falling forever into oblivion.

Willow slowly became aware that she was in bed, and it was not her own. A glance to her left revealed Spike, his mouth hanging open as he slept. A rush of protectiveness washed over her. She let out a quiet sigh, running the backs of her fingers over his slightly battered face. He didn't stir at her touch. She breathed deeply, stretching out her stiff limbs. She was immediately surrounded by the smell of cinnamon. Oh goddess, she thought. I'm in trouble. A faint cough from the other side of the bed drew her attention. Angel was sitting in a chair watching her intently. She rolled onto her side and tucked her hands up under her head.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

Once again his face was unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking. Then she thought back to the gentle kiss he'd given her on the street. All right. Maybe she did know what he was thinking.

"How are you feeling?"

Now that the clamor of Spike's mind had stopped, a lot better. It also helped that the worries about the dustiness of either vampire were gone. She studied him for a moment before answering, "I'm fine." He looked relaxed despite his battered state and the present company. His shirt was nbuttoned halfway, and she could see the still-healing scar over his heart. It was an angry red welt on the otherwise smooth expanse of skin. A brief flash of heat flared in the pit of her belly, which she tried to quash. And with an unconscious Spike lying in the bed next to you! her conscience declared in that outraged matronly voice. Shut up, she told it.

It was hard to think of anything but the man that was sitting across from her, what with the way his thigh muscles kept flexing, drawing her eyes to his crotch, and the bulge that was beginning to appear there. How could she not think of him when she was lying in a soft silk-covered bed, big enough for three people to be comfortable . . .

She tore her eyes away, wondering if he could smell her, hear her heart racing. If her spells were still in place, she'd be okay.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost a day. The sun just set." He smirked, letting her know that he saw right through her simple question. Her 24 hours was up, and there was no hiding behind her magic. She was in so much trouble.

Willow laughed weakly. "I guess that's what I get for living with a vampire."

"That's what you get for being exhausted," he said. "Tell me what happened."

She sat up and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Well, it was mostly the spells. Those kind can take a lot out of you. And then the nightmare--" She shut her eyes for a second, pushing away the images that flew at her. "--And then Spike. I could feel his anger through the bond. It was overwhelming, immobilizing. I can't even remember how I got to you."

After a pause Angel said, "I'm sorry."

She frowned at him. "For what?"

"For kissing you. If I had controlled myself--I can't help but think that none of this would have happened."

"Angel, don't you think I've already thought of that?" She got to her feet and walked to stand in front of him. "Believe me, the blame is squarely on the shoulders of either me or Spike. I'm voting Spike."

Angel chuckled and slid his arms around her waist. When she ran her hand over his head he began to nuzzle his face against her abdomen. Willow would never understand how his hair could look so hard and spiky but be as soft as an animal pelt. As she continued to play with his dark locks, a rumbling began in his chest that sent vibrations straight to her core.

She lowered her head and urged him to look at her. "I'm sorry that I ran out on you yesterday."

"Don't be. I pushed a little too hard."

"It's not that. It's just, you were always so gentle with everyone. And then you were forceful. It startled me." Before he could apologize again, she put a finger to his lips. The words flew from her lips before she could even think about stopping them. "Besides, I like it rough."

His eyes darkened immediately. "Willow," he growled.

She smiled even though his look was making her knees begin to tremble. "What am I going to do with you?"

He pulled her closer, nipping at her belly through the fabric of her shirt. His fingers danced over her waist, down her legs, and up over her backside. "Do you really want me to answer that, Willow?"

Her fingers clenched in his hair as she let out a tiny moan, unknowingly pushing her pelvis against him. "No," she breathed.

His reaction was immediate. The rumbling changed from a soothing purr to something lower, more dangerous. He filled his nostrils with the scent of her arousal and stiffened against her. Willow ran her fingers down his neck, over his shoulders, down his arms, shivering as the powerful muscles bunched under her touch. She tugged at him until he got to his feet and stared down at her with amber-flecked eyes.

"We need to talk," she told him.

"Talking is overrated."

She couldn't help the wry grin that tugged at her mouth. Even with the tendrils of desire shooting through every vein in her body she managed to say, "You would think that, wouldn't you?"

As his face inched closer and closer, Willow let her eyes flutter shut, preparing for the inevitable kiss. This one wouldn't be soft and timid. Not if she had any say in the matter. Spike wouldn't mind, she told herself absently. They both froze as a knock came, followed by a female voice saying, "Angel? We're getting a little impatient out here."

Willow looked to the bedroom doors and finally realized where they must be. Angel's hotel room. Which meant that was . . .

"Penelope," she said in greeting, pulling the doors open. The young woman was surprised for a moment, and then she frowned and looked over Willow's shoulder. "Willow. You're awake. Angel?"

Willow glanced back and saw that Angel had spun around and was now buttoning his shirt with one hand and absently rearranging the objects on the nightstand with the other. His posture was decidedly tense. Hiding his erection from the ex-Watcher's inquiring gaze.

Penelope shrugged and smiled at Willow. "I'm sure you're hungry. We ordered room service, so help yourself."

"How can you eat so much?"

Willow paused with a pickle halfway to her mouth. Angel was staring at her in astonishment. "What do you mean?" she asked him. She always ate this much. Slaying demons and vampires and expending magical energy on a nightly basis took a lot out of a girl. She reached for another helping of perogies, but they were gone. So too, was the ham. And the corn.

All right. So maybe she was eating a lot. But she was totally burnt out, and hadn't eaten in over a day. And where had those rolls been hiding?

"Using a lot of magic can drain a person. Witches need to eat and sleep more than the average person to keep their energy levels up," Sean stated knowingly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "That and Spike," she added without thinking. Four pairs of rounded eyes turned on her. But only one of them mattered. When she realized what she said, she met Angel's gaze. Heat flared between them, and Willow had to resist the urge to crawl across the table into his lap. She wouldn't want to let any of this wonderful food go to waste. Plus, there were people watching. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"You've lived with him. Didn't he drain your energy?"

"And my patience."

"I read an account of a Watcher in Seattle who speculated that Spike had ADHD," Penelope broke in thoughtfully.

Willow allowed a sly grin to cross her face. "Oh, I think Angel knows exactly how draining his Childe can be on one's stamina." His eyes didn't waver from hers, but darkened slightly at the innuendo. This time, the rounded eyes were on Angel.

She knew exactly how they'd spent those early years together, in between the maiming and the terrorizing and the killing: in bed. Well, not usually in a bed. Any place would do. Tables, haylofts, fresh water streams. Chained to one of the gates on London Bridge. She had picked up clues about their 'pre-soul' relationship from many of the Watcher's Diaries she'd gotten her hands on over the years. The rest she'd gleaned from Spike after plying him with sex and copious amounts of whiskey.

Sean finally broke the silence. "Speaking of Spike, I've got a few questions.

Willow turned her smoldering gaze on him. "Shoot."




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