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He’d been remarkably unsurprised when all roads led to Buffy and Spike, the cemetery where they’d eventually collided reeking with the heavy and devastating scent of sex. After he’d reset his nose and could sniff the air without fear of excruciating pain, he’d tried again to track Buffy with varying degrees of success, finally giving up when he smelled the tart evidence of their joining behind a thankfully closed crypt door.

One shocked minute had deprived him of the desire to fight and Angel had drifted off to the nearest bar to get good and drunk so he could brood about his loss in alcoholic peace.

For a reason he’d never been able to explain, the other demons in town held him in some kind of regard, and as such, awarded him the space he needed away from interruption. He wasn’t on anyone’s hit list, but he also wasn’t anyone’s friend. The closest friend he had was Willy—his most reliable snitch about all things supernatural—and he’d ditch him in a blink.

All of his recent experiences compounded to give Angel the worst headache he’d ever had, and his desire to drown it out with very strong alcohol was building exponentially every second he remembered how Buffy smelled with her scent corrupted by Spike’s.

He offered up a relieved prayer of thanks when the first of many shots hit the back of his throat, building up to a burn that was reassuring in its predictability. He knew he wasn’t acting rationally; that the Angel that had loved Buffy last year would be howling and vengeful and that Spike would be lucky to be anything but dust particles on the filthy crypt floor. Not that it meant he loved her less now. It wouldn’t hurt so deeply if he didn’t. But something held him back and it was strong enough to make his priority something other than his cheating girlfriend.

And really, even if he had run in there and tore her off his grandchilde’s cock, it wasn’t going to eradicate the truth of what had happened. And the crux of it all was that Spike was part of prophecy. He had a role to play in the world, and play it with Buffy—and Angel…didn’t. If he was honest, that hurt more than finding them together and knowing exactly what they’d done behind the closed crypt door. He’d been so sure that he belonged by Buffy’s side, and despite all the signs to the contrary, Angel hadn’t surrendered that romantic ideal. He could see the poetic justice of it being Spike, and even though it might infuriate both the blonde’s, Angel could already believe it resembled a strange sense of right.

An hour passed and Angel sank from miserable to darker despair. He knew it was time to give up and leave Sunnydale, though the nightmare vision that had been thrust upon him had him pretty much terrified. And now that he’d read the prophecy, he could see his days were numbered. He felt like he should fight that. If Buffy being with Spike was the thing to make him finally disintegrate from this world barely even leaving an impression, he should be fighting her and killing Spike. Should be…would be…if he wasn’t so drunk.

Nothing but a frown and the cool edge of a glass had touched his lips all night. Angel peered around the gloomy but popular bar and wondered at the swirling designs. It looked so abstract and completely unlike it had when he’d first entered tonight. And then there was a drag on the atmosphere and his head was cloudy and heavy, his body losing muscle strength rapidly until he lost his balance and slithered to the floor. He stood again on unsteady feet, his eyes drawn to the entrance of a wildflower amongst the demon weeds of the establishment.

Dumbfounded, all he could do was stare.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She wasn’t happy to follow Daddy into such a place. A lady shouldn’t have to suffer such levels of depravity, not unless it lay bleeding at her feet. Dru stood just inside the door, the air around her thrumming and buzzing to the music in her head while she watched her Angel bent double in his misery.

Dru smiled sadly. Daddy didn’t cope well with change, and what she had to do would forever alter the thing he thought himself to be. He’d no longer be known as the Aurelian Angelus, now leashed with a soul. He’d be different, separate, but joined in a family of two. They would forge their own place in the world, look out for one another and ensure their survival, preserve their magnificence, where staying as they were now would just end them completely.

Dru could hear them crying, screaming into the vacancies becoming numerous, so very loud echoes of all who’d be lost. The Plague of Sorrow would be the biggest ever, taking with it a mass group of vampires with the very first strike, destroying more with each yawning of the sun on a new day. The shining slayer would take Dru’s entire family from her, but there was only one of the familial line that the vampiress cared about saving. The one that was beyond her grasp—even if he rejected it still—she could do nothing for. Destiny had claimed him long ago and Dru had only been battling time since. She’d wept over Spike. It had been obvious he’d misinterpreted her expressions of regret, but how could she go on with him, knowing already that his imagination and heart had already been caught?

How could she abandon her Angel when he needed her most?

When’d he be left all alone, his heart torn and broken before he was forced to be nothing but dust on the ground?

A very long time ago, he’d found her and had been determined to make her his—give her new life and teach her all the ways in which to be deliciously evil. To be seductive and depraved and dependant. Well, she’d learned much since he’d discarded her for his battered and tired soul. She wasn’t some wallflower any longer. She was her own woman now, and no matter how hard the slayer tried, she wouldn’t corrupt the moment when Dru enacted a new beginning for her beloved sire, bonding them together for eternity.

He’d not recognised her presence in the night, following and watching as he twisted and turned to see her. He’d felt her, but he hadn’t known her. And that had hurt. It had made her insides weep for the connection they’d always had but which had been lost. Even that first meeting the previous year, he’d known it was her in the shadows. He’d sensed her darkened heart the second she was near and he’d faced her. But now he was overcome with the mysteries in his head and he’d forgotten her. That nasty slayer was to blame for it, though she didn’t have time to take revenge.

For once, she was putting her Spike ahead of her own desires. He didn’t know it yet, but if anything happened to his precious slayer, he’d be crippled with agonising loss. And as much as Dru wanted to take a bite out of the slayer’s tasty throat, she wouldn’t. She knew Spike deserved to be happy. He’d been too good to her over the last century and didn’t deserve to have his future and all he was made for turn to nothing because of her own need for revenge. Vengeance was short-lived, whereas eternity would stretch loneliness out forever. One glance at her sire and Dru knew she would never condemn Spike to forever walk alone. It would destroy him more than a stake to the heart.

She’d wanted to call to Angel and chastise him for not knowing she was near, but ultimately it fit in with her plans. She couldn’t share; not yet. To share was to be mocked and she didn’t have time—they didn’t have time for uncertainty or second guesses. What little time she did have was almost out and Dru knew it was now or never. And never tasted burning hot and the fires of Hell hurt her eyes.

Prophetic words were in progress and Dru had nothing left to do but prepare the way.

Slinking inside, swaying to an imaginary sensual beat far from being the juke-box moment this crowd might have been more used to, Dru waved a hand and changed the view of the room. The viscosity held demons in place, still, as glasses barely reached mouths with the precious beverage inside.

She’d stopped the world and made her move.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

He saw her and knew he was dreaming. Longing struck him hard in the gut and Angel found himself glad to see his Dru, even if all the strangeness around him lately made her entrance more than suspicious. Now that he saw her with his own eyes, his senses connected the dots and he realised it had been her following him around at night, and while he should be angry and doling out punishment for her audacity, he couldn’t summon up even one bad word.

Understanding struck him the second she turned off life in the small barroom. While Spike might have been the one to protect her and love her when all else had left her behind—discarded like a dirty dishtowel in the kitchen—he’d been Dru’s child and she’d lost him as surely as Buffy was gone to Angel. He could see the pain reflected in her eyes, but then there was something else and it scared him. She radiated confidence as she glided to a stop, seemingly not suffering the difficulty to move that tied Angel’s own limbs to his body and filled his head with cottonwool.

She’d look innocent were it not for the hidden depths of evil that made her blue eyes glisten. She had the wisdom of ages and Angel felt the first tug of fear at what was going on—at how the world was changing too suddenly around him.

The amount of alcohol he’d unthinkingly tossed down his throat was making him dizzy, and the discharge of energy from Dru held the room in a motionless thrall. Her lips parted and words spilled out, but not one syllable of them could be understood. His head felt fuzzy and nothing made sense all the sudden, everything around him seemed distorted and slow—too slow for it to make any kind of sense.

Were they really here? The scene in front of him seemed far too surreal to exist anywhere but make-believe; only as a demon of the mysterious secret world, he knew how much of make believe made up the truth. But maybe this time it was all in his head. He must have been reading, leading him to dream of travelling through worlds and merging his violent urges with the softer tendencies of his souled self.

When the fuzziness waned, Angel realised they were circling each other. Slow, intent circles with eyes caught and darkened with some kind of acknowledgment that his world as he was comfortable in it was irrevocably changing. It was terrifying—an existence he’d spent over two hundred and fifty years getting to know was about to be eradicated in a child’s wink. He didn’t know how he knew that the danger was why Dru had been pulled here—the dreams of death and ending hadn’t come upon him in a restful, innocent sleep. He’d been forced into unconsciousness like the sledgehammer that dark magic was, and given the images to filter through for a reason—he just never thought Dru would be so vindictive as to make him the recipient of something so painful.

Movement flickered around him too fast—her smile too wide and bright even as her eyes wept bitter tears. She had something planned—something hidden up her sleeve—but the time was closing in and she’d make her final move soon. The realisation was violent and he jerked against the discovery with an angry jolt, his body swallowed up by the dense field of misery that held everyone around him still.

Fury welled up out of nowhere and the decision to lash out was sudden and painful. Before he could move a muscle, though, Drusilla looked at him sadly once more, turned and then shot out of sight like the demon she was. It was shocking, the disappointment of seeing her gone, but with her departure returned the hustle and bustle of a busy bar and the moment seemed like it hadn’t really happened. And with his usual reaction to things he’d rather not have known about, Angel buried his face in another beer and tried to pretend his night hadn’t been weirder than usual.

That the clang of his doom had just upped its pace.

It was a pity that even pretend couldn’t mask the tang of fear.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

On the inside, she bled. On the outside she felt the scabbed blood on various wounds littering her body and she ached for the reason they were there. She’d had sex. Wild, hungry, essential sex that had fed her soul with something so elemental it couldn’t be explained.

She was totally blocking out the fact that it was Spike lying naked at her side. Spike, who’d had his thing so deep inside her that she was positive she’d be screaming for days just in reverence of its occurrence. Spike, who’d bitten her and brought her to so many pinnacle moments of bliss that she felt like her skin would melt off if she even moved. Even now she was clenching and spasming down there for more.

God, child much? She’d had sex of the rawest nature with a demon who wouldn’t stall or stutter at reminding her that they’d ‘shagged themselves brainless,’ so she really should get a handle on using the right terminology to fit the crime.

She wanted him again—wanted him to sink his hard cock deep in her pussy and show her again how to make her body lose all control, and she wanted it so bad that she ached and clenched involuntarily for the gift he’d savagely given her.

It was a craving that banished all commonsense and Buffy struggled against the impulse to keep her eyes tightly squeezed shut. Barely moving her head to the side, Buffy saw his hand resting across his crotch and swallowed a sigh of disappointment. She couldn’t look higher, finding the devastating appendage much easier to face than the cold, expected hatred she was sure would be reflected in his gaze.

“Go on, touch it,” he demanded, his voice husky as he verbalised the implied dare.

Buffy shook, but didn’t even consider disobeying. Spike was giving her something important—even if he planned on tearing it away with her next breath. This was the experience she’d lost with Angel, and now that she was getting it with another vampire, caring about it didn’t even seem to matter.

Without thinking, Buffy reached out her hand as Spike lifted his away, revealing his paleness to her. It was a strange experience, like seeing the penis of your enemy in the schoolyard in grade school. Except seeing this one gave her shivers and her body grew hot and wet with anticipation.

Hardly expecting it, she trembled when her fingers encountered the smooth, cool rigidity of his hardening member, falling instantly in lust with the silky promise of it inside her body. Oblivious to her own nudity, Buffy shuffled closer, mesmerised by the new experience and taken over by an impulse new to her. Suddenly it didn’t matter who this penis was attached to, as long as she got to explore every part of it.

Her hand curled around him and Buffy marvelled at the gasp of pleasure from Spike and the way his body tensed at her touch. It made her feel powerful, feminine and the resurgence of their mutual lust began to boil and bubble in her belly.

It made her aware of her own body.

The morning that Angel had trashed her heart, she’d stood naked in front of her mirror, desperately trying to find that one part of her that must have been so revolting to him that he’d changed his mind and hated her for tricking him. She’d stood shaking and staring at her reflection, barely making herself out through the flood of tears. Every part of her appeared abhorrent, ugly, and in the end she couldn’t blame him for turning on her. Why would he have wanted to see her when she couldn’t even bear to look at herself? She was short, pudgy in the wrong places, flat in the even more wrong places, and her body hadn’t reacted as enthusiastically as it could have. Yes, she’d been already grieving for losing him for all those indeterminable months, and many of her responses had been switched off to him. It was hardly any wonder he’d woken up feeling deprived and cruel.

Finding out later that she’d made him so happy he’d rejected his soul hadn’t gone far in reversing her opinion. Mentally maybe, but her heart had clung to her broken-hearted summations.

All that was pushed to the side as a primal urge overtook her and Buffy lowered her lips to kiss the tip of Spike’s penis.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Lick my cock. Come on, Slayer. You can do it.”

She could do it. Spike’s throaty approval filled her with more confidence than Angel’s non-responsive kisses had been able to since his return from Hell. And it gave her the courage to think of the term in her head. And thinking it was just one step away from saying it—and embracing what it was and wanting it even more desperately.

Cock. Oh God, it throbbed in her hand, siphoning heat from her palm and making her burn in places that should ache.

She startled when she felt his hand sift through her hair, and the moment happened too fast that she looked up and was caught in Spike’s needy gaze. The blue depths were licking her with fire and Buffy felt more boldness for this new activity as she lowered her lips and sucked in the bulging head of his cock, letting her tongue rub back and forth as she sucked softly and held his stare, her hand stroking his inner thigh in a slow journey to his balls.

He tilted his head to the side, captivated with her actions as well as with her courage to look him in the eye while she sucked him into her mouth. Sensation focused on the head was enough to make his eyes cross, but Spike gripped hard onto reality and the seductive view before him and gently moved his hips, nudging her lips further down his swollen length.

“That’s it, baby. Open up and let me in.”

The sexy timbre of his voice worked them both over and Buffy and Spike thought intently on the spell that was obviously hard at work. Surrendering, Buffy switched her attention fully to her mouth and the sensation of having it filled, and tested herself on taking him in deeper.

His garbled shout filled her with pleasure and Buffy swallowed him down as far as she could, vaguely surprised when he reached her throat and she began the fight against her gag reflex. She wanted no limitations, wanted to go on inducing the hoarse shouts of encouragement from a vampire she would never have expected this kind of pleasure from. Pure stubborn pride pushed her to succeed at this and with an enthusiasm she had no idea of its origins, her lips reached the base of his
cock. And then her attack began in earnest.

Lifting her eyes again, Buffy watched Spike surrender to the pleasure she was giving him, and felt powerful. Her mouth rose and fell as her tongue tickled and slurped around him; it was an exercise in multi-tasking, breathing through her nose while she titillated his flesh and sucked him raw.

Spike fisted her hair, slowly setting a pace for her by lifting and dragging her head down around his cock, fucking her face much slower and with a sensuality that had been missing from their many joinings earlier.

She didn’t know how she knew—whether his cock swelled in her mouth or if his balls tightened in her hand, if the temperature rose against her lips or if his rambling dirty words became incomprehensible—but she knew when he was about to come and it filled her with a disappointment she couldn’t explain.

On the edge of a cry of impending fulfilment, Buffy pulled back and let him drop from her mouth, the sudden action seemingly violent and cruel. His eyes widened in what appeared to be pain and Buffy felt guilty and selfish, but as he reared up to attack, she slapped her palms against his chest and pushed him back, quickly straddling his straining cock and dropping down to take him hard and fast inside her.

The connection nearly blew her senses right out of her body.

Buffy felt like she was vibrating with new life and that her past had been spent only half existing. There was something huge in the room with them, and for the amount of fear it instilled in her, she wished it was a demon she could slay. But there was nothing she could fight, and even the terror of handing herself and her fragile heart over to Spike wasn’t enough to halt her body’s progress around his cock.

Buffy lifted her body against the braced hands on Spike and felt the gentle drag of his cock against her pussy walls as they clenched and tensed around him. Nothing had ever felt this good before and she wanted to remember every second of it. Everything seemed to slow as she concentrated on hearing her own pants and raspy breath, the pin prickle of her skin as it tightened in preparation for the ultimate explosion. She concentrated on the hardness of her nipples and the need to have them touched or stroked or sucked and to that end, she leaned forward, watching in rapt attention as Spike lifted eager lips and took one in, his tongue circling the nub before biting down playfully. No matter what he did to her, she seemed to catapult into a place writhing with decadent promises.

She wanted to remember how his fingers dug into her hips as he thrust up into her; how his eyes lanced her soul and seared her heart. She wanted to remember that he was thoroughly into round two and that he had no leg to stand on if he threw it in her face later that she’d never been worth it. There was admiration and pleasure radiating off him and Buffy was left in no doubt how much he was feeling with every confident stroke to his ego. He made love to her body with his lips and fingers and his eyes burned with an intensity of feeling he wasn’t supposed to have.

It bolstered her spirits enormously to have this much effect on a bed partner—but also one that was her natural enemy. For this one moment all the hate and fear were banished as Buffy took her pleasure from the one creature who had freely offered it.

And as she wanted to remember everything, she leaned forward and tasted his lips.

His taste was unique as far as she knew boy’s kisses. He was warmer than Angel; softer if it were possible. And she enjoyed it infinitely more than she ever had with her boyfriend, and that observation rocked her from every firm belief she’d ever held.

Buffy slid into the kiss as if her romantic heart was forever made for this moment. They shared her warmth as they clung to each other, her hips slowing to a gentle rock that drove her equally as crazy as his tongue and lips. It was a slow and leisurely caress that made her skin sing, flashing hot and then nose-diving into freezing depths. Spike sat up and crushed her to his chest, making it more difficult for Buffy to move anything but her hands, so she substituted the rotation of her hips with the rhythmic tightening of her vaginal muscles, slowly working up a sex sweat she could be proud of.

“You’re bleeding well incredible, Slayer,” Spike gasped, jaw clenched and head reared back as he rode each new sensory wave that Buffy created. The temperature of her body was escalating and her hormones building up for an explosive release—and she felt happy. Buffy felt wild and carefree and like she wanted to do this all day.

With Spike.

She’d obviously lost her mind.

A euphoric burst of laughter whistled through her lips and Buffy flung her head back, her arms hooked around Spike’s neck. Rocking back, she faced him again, her eyes twinkling and her body flushed down past her ribs. He smiled a little uncertainly, and then his gaze slipped down her face, passed by her neck and focused on the little cherub pink buds on her breasts. He licked his lips and then stuck out his tongue to run the point of it over the tip, lapping back for a second time to consume the whole areola.

Buffy moaned as a bolt of desire zapped her to her core, and her hips were on the move again, quickly regaining speed and power until the gentle sucking on her nipple became a bite, elevating in pain as the tempo of thrusting increased. She cried out in mingled pain and pleasure as the cock inside her hit places she’d only ever read about and the teeth in her breast went from blunt to sharp, and then the drawn blood that overflowed in his mouth and coated the milky plain in bright, thin rivulets.

Rapid pulsing started Buffy on that quick train toward release and she gave in to the sensations swarming her higher senses. Faster and faster she sought it, her nails digging in to Spike’s shoulders as she reached for that elusive end, tipping a little closer to it when Spike threw back his head and burned her with the amber heat of his demon eyes. It held out for a little longer, making her work hard to find the spot, the moment that would say she’d won—that she’d earned her place in a blissful come down. Her pussy gave in to a small fluttering and then it was over, Buffy launching herself at Spike’s mouth to claim every last drop of love he could give her before his evil nature kicked in and he started the round of hurt.

He consumed her lips, roughly sucked the bottom into his mouth and then teased her with his tongue. Buffy wanted to be so far inside him that she’d lose her way out, but then he was pulling back and biting her again, making her look like a human chew toy and it was something that didn’t embarrass her in the slightest.

His fangs pierced her throat, slashing into the Master’s marks and infusing her with even more mystical power than the old one had by causing her death. Buffy grasped his head and willingly gave in to the influx of feeling and strength that flooded her senses, working his cock and continuing her climax as long as he would let her. She was beginning to calm, her body slowing its frantic sway as Spike announced his moment with a growl, blood coating his lips as he jerked several times, releasing his come deep inside her.

The minutes ticked by too fast and Buffy realised in panic that this was when it would all go wrong. She’d just experienced the most amazing moment in her life and as all things Sunnydale, right about now he’d stand and throw her off him, call her some choice names and tell her she was worthless. Not that she’d believe it this time. Not with all the memorising she’d done with painstaking attention to detail. Like how he’d looked at her in complete wonder when she’d stopped moving and milked him with her muscles instead. How he lavished her breasts with loving attention when he could have been using his fingers to bruise her instead.

Not when she’d received a sweet kiss on sensitive lips after they’d both stopped breathing hard.

He looked shocked when he pulled away, like he’d surprised himself by doing it that one last time, and not when they were on the brink from a lust burnout.

The confidence she’d felt earlier in her nakedness waned and Buffy quickly stood, groaning as Spike’s cock slid out of her and she felt the cool trails of come coat her inner thigh. She ignored it, dressing fast and without looking at Spike while a blush burned her cheeks flaming red.

He stood with a lithe grace she’d expect from a predator, a man used to slinking in shadows and snaring his most resistant prey. His eyes never left her, wondering all the while why the anger he’d used to bring him to this town had fizzled out the second he’d found himself buried nine inches deep into her welcoming body.

“There’s a prophecy,” he confided, watching her carefully for any telltale flinch or signs of disgust. Her valley girl eye roll did little to fill him in, and Spike was disappointed and still confused.

“Figures,” she said with a sad, little smile. “When isn’t there?”

The moment was over and it was kind of disappointing. She’d hoped it would end without the attack on her heart, but finding out everything she’d just shared was because of a prophecy made Buffy feel like she had no control over her own life.

Spike dressed without taking his eyes off her, wondering at the droop of her shoulders and his sudden desire to comfort her. His brains had obviously leaked out of his ears for the time being and he didn’t know what he was thinking about, let alone doing. All he knew for sure was that he needed to leave, get out of there with his dignity and Big Bad intact.

Buffy looked down at the floor once he was dressed—without his torn tee, which pissed him off in an extremely irrational way.

“Go ask your watcher, pet. I’m almost completely in the dark, but I know enough.” Concentrating on tightening his belt and congratulating his ability to thread it through all the appropriate loops, Spike wondered how she’d take that—and how she’d take all that they’d done this night some time in the future.

Hesitating for another second, Spike found that he was waiting for her to speak—just the parting of her lips even to say his name. Making a decision, Spike strode close to her and banished some of her fears with a sweet, yet demanding kiss. It felt like a promise and Buffy clung to that, even if her brain was telling her that was wrong.

Before she could register the deprivation of his lips, he was gone, his coat barely a slap on the doorway as he practically flew past. Buffy sunk to the floor, drawing her knees up as she stared at the place he’d last been. When had her life become such a farce? Such a Soap Opera? She sure didn’t know, and in between the belated shaking of her body and the hysterics building up to attack her, she made a decision.

It was high time she find out.





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