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 15


Willow could smell him the moment he neared the door. She willed away her quivering arousal, but couldn't bring herself to turn around. She knew once she did, she'd be completely and utterly lost. Instead, she focused on Spike. In his sleep, he had thrown back the covers that she had so carefully wrapped around him. Her eyes traced over the sharp planes of his face, across broad shoulders, down his torso, until the blankets concealed him from her questing gaze. Still, she knew every plane and valley of his body, every muscle that lay beneath his pale skin. The blanket couldn't conceal her own memories.

She wanted him to wake up. One, so she could kiss him for being alive, two, so she could smack him for running off like a damn fool. She wanted to strip off her dirty clothes and slip into the bed, curl around the comforting coolness of his body. She wanted to wrap her lips around his cock to see how long it took him to come around. Willow grinned at her own bad pun and groaned silently. Her desire was so strong she could almost smell herself. And that meant Angel definitely could. When he finally spoke, she realized he was still standing in the doorway.

"He'll be okay."

"I know. I can feel him."

"You love him, don't you?"

Willow knew what he really meant. You're so in love that you'd kill for him. You'd give up your soul if he was safe. She couldn't deny that those things were true. She had nothing against Sean, but the mere idea that anyone would hurt Spike, especially when he was vulnerable, pushed her over the edge. She'd lost it. At least Penelope didn't seem too shocked by her behavior. Willow was past the time when it mattered to her what other people thought, so she let it go. Her mind drifted back to the few words she and Angel had just shared. They were strangely familiar . . . She risked looking at Angel over her shoulder. He was leaning lazily in the doorway.

"Isn't this when I confess to you that Spike is actually my brother and we live happily ever after?"

Angel smirked. "I always considered myself to be more of a Luke than a Han Solo."

She couldn't stop her mouth from falling open a little at the fact that he'd understood her reference to Star Wars. The Angel she knew wouldn't have known George Lucas from George Harrison from George Bush. Once again she was amazed by how much different he was. Perhaps Cordelia had actually accomplished the daunting task of 'modernizing' Angel, like she had always been threatening to.

The top half of his shirt was undone again. Pop culture references weren't the only thing he'd come to terms with. He seemed more sexual, and she was reminded briefly of Angelus. A shudder ran through her, not entirely from fear. Though Angelus had terrorized them, had almost killed her, there was a part of her that always thrilled when he was near. It had taken her months to admit to herself that 'that part' of her was most decidedly her pelvis.

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Angel?" she half joked.

"I could ask you the same question." He pushed his bulk away from the doorframe and began walking toward her, taking slow, measured steps. Stalking was the more correct term. Her body turned to face him of its own will and she couldn't help but stare as he came closer. His eyes glittered in a way she'd never seen before. He looked . . . hungry.

"What do you mean?" she asked. He was towering over her now, dominating her with his physical presence. He stopped just short of touching her, leaning down to whisper softly.

"The Willow I knew wouldn't tease me under the table with her foot. Wouldn't admit to liking it rough. She wouldn't arch her body into my kiss and make kitteny sounds in the back of her throat. And she wouldn't wear leather pants so goddamn tight that they had to have been painted on." He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing over her cheek as he spoke. Willow let her eyes fall shut, sure that her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest and land on the carpet between them.

"So who are you, Willow?"

This was so unfair, she thought hopelessly. She was so turned on she couldn't move. And even if she could, she had nowhere to go because she was trapped between Angel's body and the bed. Not exactly a rock and a hard place, but moving toward either option would result in torn clothes, feverish kissing, loud moaning. And finding her and Angel twisted together in a mass of sweaty limbs on top of him was probably not the way Spike wanted to wake up. Although it did pose an interesting picture . . .

Her energy was still really low, and any little spell she did was bound to drain her. So she couldn't just freeze him in the spot like she really wanted to, or transport herself to another location. Think, Willow, think! she commanded herself. Moving was not an option. Talking was not an option. Hell, breathing was barely an option. And what could she tell him? Who was she? Right now she was a horny little witch who wanted to hop into bed and have wild sex with two vampires. Telling him that wasn't going to get her out of this situation. She swallowed a few times, trying to work up enough saliva to get her tongue to work. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

"The Angel I know wouldn't be so forward." She started out croaky, but gained confidence with each passing second. "He wouldn't press me against his hard body so I could feel his arousal. Wouldn't let his fingers dance over my skin. Wouldn't proposition his own Childe for a threesome. He wouldn't--"

Her words stopped abruptly as his lips caught hers, his tongue invading her mouth. Her body knew exactly what to do. Her fingers undid the remaining buttons on his shirt so she could feel the cool skin under her hands. He growled as she raked her fingers down his torso, and he crushed her against his body, trapping her arms between them. Willow was helpless as he plundered her mouth, his free hand tangling in her hair to hold them together. Oh Goddess. She was completely undone with Angel. Overwhelmed by the feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him, it was all she could do not to fall to the floor in a boneless heap. Only Spike had ever made her feel this way . . .

Spike, she thought. The vampire that's not more than two feet away, and will be waking up any time now. Panicked, she began to fight against the arms that held her. If he woke up now, and saw them, Goddess, what if he left her? She'd never survive. No matter how much raging lust she had for Angel, she'd never be able to live without Spike.

"Spike!" she tried to say against his lips. He pulled back suddenly, but wouldn't let go.

His eyes were clouded with lust, lips red and swollen from their kissing. He'd never looked better to her in her entire life. He glanced at the sleeping vampire behind her, and if it was possible, his eyes darkened even more. He licked his lips. "What's wrong?"

"Spike," she whispered. "I can't . . ."

Slowly, he let her go. Then he took a few steps back. His face was unreadable. They really did need to talk. She was about to ask him to wait, let her explain what she was feeling, but he beat her to the punch.

"I'll be back before sunrise." He turned on his heel and marched out of the room before she could stop him.

Shakily, she sat back on the bed. Now Angel had left. Was she really leavable or something? How was she going to fix this mess?




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