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15 . I've got you under my skin.

The black-windowed car pulled up slowly in front of the Summers house. Spike gripped the wheel for a while, then he looked at Buffy, who slept next to him. She looked so young and innocent, with her full red cheeks and her long eyelashes, wrapped in the big leather jacket Angelus had left at the hospital before he disappeared no-one knew where…she had taken it and put it on when she came out of the emergency room.
Of course…she had to put something of his on her…
But Spike wasn’t disturbed by that. The real problem that was consuming his mind was another one…it was a question, a single small question…
He decided to touch her softly on her shoulder. Buffy gasped for a moment and looked at him as if she didn’t recognize him. “Are we home?” she mumbled.
Spike nodded. “Is your mom at home now?”
“No…anyway I told her I was sleeping at Willow’s. It’s a lie I use sometimes when I need to stay out at night…”
“That’s good. Rest today, and eat a lot. And put on a sweater that covers the bandages.”
Bloody hell, Spike told himself, I feel like Grandma Duck teaching Huey, Dewey and Louie…How come we’re here in the car talking to each other as if nothing happened?
He looked deep into her eyes, hoping to find something, a sign of his own confusion…
He already knew that he wouldn’t find anything.
“Angelus…”Buffy whispered. “Have you told me the truth? Is he really ok?”
He smiled. Take this, Spikey, and swallow it down whole. “Yes…yes, you saved him. Trust me. Victory!”
“And where is he? Why is he not here?” she insisted, without noticing his sarcasm.
Spike started the car. “Ask him when he comes to collect his jacket …” his expression became serious. “He’ll come. He’ll come to you. I’m sure”
Buffy sighed, a heavy sigh full of too many emotions, as if all the love she hid inside her now was pushing hard to come out. It was both a beautiful and a terrible thing to see…
He observed her while she walked up the path, holding tight to that leather jacket that smelled of musk. And the question, the annoying, unmerciful question started to torture his mind. What about me, Spike thought…Would have she done the same for me?


“I’m a horrible mother…”, Joyce said, brushing down the skirt of her gala dress. “I should stay home with you, making you a hot chocolate for your headache…and I’m going to this inauguration…”
“You’ve been working on it for weeks” Buffy stated, perching on the kitchen table. “And it will help you earn more money…c’mon mom, it’s just a headache…Yesterday Willow was so strict with those chapters about the Civil War…” she smiled. “Go and enjoy your well-deserved moment of glory! I’ll take a long bath, I’ll watch a bit of TV...and then I’ll go to bed like a good girl!”
Joyce embraced her briefly. “You know you’ve grown up a lot? I love you, darling…” she kissed Buffy on the forehead. “I’ll be home late, but I promise you I’ll make no noise at all, so you won’t wake up!”
“Ok…hey, be careful with that dress…no one will notice the paintings with you around…”
She heard her mother laugh as she went out, and suddenly she wanted to cry.
A farce. That was her life, she told herself half an hour later, in the tub. A trembling castle made of lies that was always close to falling. That morning she had talked to Willow, on the phone. More lies. Between them, to avoid talking about the previous night. And lies for Giles: one to justify her absence from school and another one, more picaresque, to explain the damage at his office, forced open by some vampires that she, poor brave slayer, had discovered and killed while she was patrolling. And Giles, poor naïve watcher, believed her…and he had heard the rumours about “the Killer of the Dead” and the wounding of Angelus too, so that an attempted burglary was believable. Those vampires were probably searching for a cure for their boss.
Yep, Buffy thought, but they were not vampires…
She got out of the tub and looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes drawn to the wound on her neck, hidden by the dressing.
Where is he?
He…the only paradox that made sense among the others…
She pulled on her bathrobe and went to her bedroom. The bath hadn’t relaxed her stiffened muscles.
And suddenly the musky scent was so intense that she nearly fainted. She stood in the doorway, without turning the light on.
“Angelus…”



The vampire was standing near the window, in his black trousers and a ruffled white shirt. He had his arms down at his sides, and his two rings shone in the dark. And he was looking at her, his dark eyes bright.
“Are you here for your jacket?” she said, before thinking how stupid the question was. But her heart was nearly exploding and she messed up the words.
Angelus knitted his brows for a moment. “No” he answered simply.
Buffy went in. Even when she tried-desperately but uselessly- to resist him, it was so easy to get close to him, reach him. As if her feet were walking on a path they had known for ever.
She stopped close to him. He was good, yeah. He was always so good looking. Always strong. Always surrounded by the night that followed him anywhere he went, like a lover…
“Why? Why did you stop?”
Silence lasted, underlined by the ticking of the alarm clock on the bed table. Then, Angelus bent his head. “Did you really want to die? And become a thing like me?”
“And if I already was? A power like mine doesn’t come only from light, right?” Buffy replied. “Everything in nature is made up of darkness and light…what if my dark side were the predominant one? If I was a wrong slayer?”
Angelus walked around her, preoccupied. “It’s not so easy…”
“Yes it is…” Buffy became heated. “I tasted darkness, as you taught me, and I found it more pleasant that I could imagine. Too pleasant. I’ve walked over all my ideals and values. Every day I lie to my mother and my friends and… I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference now. If I think about tomorrow, about the future…I can see only you”
He surprised her, turning around and looking at her. “Because you love me?” he looked angry. Furious. “Little girl, you’re confused”
“No, I’m not” she pulled at his arm. “You told me I could never understand your sacrifice to save Drusilla…but I understand it. Now I understand!”
Suddenly, the vampire took her by the neck. “No! You don’t understand at all!”
Buffy gasped. He wasn’t clutching, but when his fingers touched her wound, she moaned.
And she wasn’t feeling pain. Angelus understood it looking at her face. She was softly enjoying it. And this was enough for him to admit that the point of no return had been passed a long time ago. And it would have been childish to protest.
He came closer, designing little delicate circles around her wound with his fingertips. Buffy moistened her lips: that feeling was unusual, as if from the injury there radiated uncountable hot waves and shivers. Then he took off the dressing and bent over her. Buffy stiffened, ready for his bite again.
Yes, my love, again…
But Angelus didn’t satisfy her. He traced the outlines of his bite with his tongue, and the waves of heat and shivers became fire inside Buffy’s veins. She held on to his shirt, reaching out towards him, while he moved up along her jaw and chin, until he found her mouth.
He plucked it, he opened it like a fruit, invading it with an unusual sweetness. He kissed her, pushing back her head, holding her face in his hands; slow, sensual. She was dazzled. God…he used to take her kisses…but now he was giving her an endless one…Buffy moaned, clumsily trying to undress him.
“Shh…calm down…” he whispered. “Calm down…” he started to kiss her again, another lovely and breathless kiss, keeping on touching her, as if it was important, desperately important to keep in contact with her skin. One hand took her golden hair, and with the other he began to stroke her softly, from her throat to her breast, up and down, going inside the bath robe, which fell down around her. Angelus moved back, undoing his shirt slowly.
Breathless, naked, waiting for him, Buffy leaned against the wall, the same one he had pushed her violently against the first time they talked…and kissed each other....and now he was so different, his eyes were so warm…she looked at him, seduced, fascinated, while he knelt down in front of her, embracing her, taking her nipple in his mouth.
She had never felt him hers, but that night he was. He belonged to her. And she…God, she wanted him. More, she demanded him.
Repaying his embrace, she caressed his shoulders, his hair, his face…and she noticed, surprised and touched, some circular scars on his forehead: an indelible sign of the young Liam; the imperfections of a short human life stuck in the perfect secular death…she was dazzled by pleasure and sadness, and her eyes became wet. And a suspicion lit up her mind…
“Nobody has ever told you that…”she whispered.
Angelus raised his face and one of her teardrops fell on his mouth.
“I love you…”, Buffy continued. “Nobody has ever told you I love you…”
He didn’t answer. It was useless. She was the first one. She was the first for him.
“And do you like it when I tell you that?” she asked, secretly excited.
Once again, Angel didn’t answer. Not with words.
He raised her leg, leaning it on his shoulder. He looked at her for a moment, with his golden and enigmatic eyes, then he bit into the inside of her thigh. Buffy trembled and looked around for something to hold on to. This bite was different from the other one, it was even better. He was sucking her softly, with a slow and hypnotic rhythm, and she could feel his teeth, the pressure of his tongue, and hear his low moan, like a cat…and she felt as if she was on the edge of insanity. An unpredictable, sweet insanity…
She came holding on to a shelf full of books and her gasps filled the silence. And when she calmed down, Angelus stood up, rubbing himself against her. “Tell me again…” he asked, with her blood on his face.
Buffy licked his lips, between the teeth, kissing him passionately. “I love you. I’ll always love you”
She wasn’t scared of admitting it. This child was extremely sure of her feelings…Angelus’ face became human again, both confused and excited. No, no one had ever told him “I love you”. And he didn’t care at all. He wanted to be feared, not loved. Love was…what was it? Was it that?
That torment that was burning inside him, destroying his self-control?
He held her in his arms, so beautiful, glowing with sweat and perfumed with pleasure, and he put her on the bed. He took off his trousers and lay next to her, over her, inside her. Naturally, like a heartbeat. Even if his heart hadn’t been beating for a long time. “Come with me, come…” he whispered. “Come with me, now…”

Humid skin, musk and vanilla, rapt sighs, wet kisses, stiffened muscles, burning orgasms…they swayed one inside the other more times, lost, kept, blind, deaf…all night long, never full, drunk…maybe scared…until peaceful rest came to comfort them, forehead against forehead, hand in hand…
The rest and the dreams of exhausted lovers…
…Dreams…
…Nightmares…


Angelus woke up with a gulped-back cry, and he felt as if a huge weight was pushing him down. Buffy was sleeping and holding him tightly, her lips were still swollen and she was smiling. She…she loved him…She…
A sudden nausea affected him and the whole room turned around him…What had he done? Damn, what had happened to him?
I can’t, he thought, frantic. I really can’t.
I must not…




The room was dark and the creased sheets smelled of passion. Buffy stretched, feeling a bit sore. She moved her legs one against the other and the soft, voluptuous pain of the bite made her start…Oh, it wasn’t a dream…it had happened. So wonderful…so incredible.
She sat up, smiling, delightfully tired; but she wanted to scream, and laugh. And make love. Again and again, with her dark prince…she looked for him with a rapid glance.
“Angelus?” she called him softly. “Angelus?”
She slid off the bed, puzzled, and pulled his big, creased shirt around her. “Angelus…?Where…?”
He came in, his leather trousers on, bare-chested, wet hair. “I was taking a shower” he told her, laconically. “Don’t worry, your mother is snoring like a miner. She didn’t notice anything”
“You could have woken me up, so we could take the shower together…” she provoked him, admiring his tattoo. That night her hands had touched it and she imagined it moving between the muscles of his perfect back…
Angelus ignored her, concentrating on looking for something on the floor. “Darling, I’m really long-lasting…” finally he found his little chain on the carpet and picked it up. “…but I’m not your personal sex machine…”
Buffy turned pale. “Angelus…something’s wrong?”
“No, why?” he smiled at her, while he put on his chain.
What a cold smile, Buffy thought, and his eyes…he behaves as I weren’t there…What’s up?
“Last night…” she babbled, suddenly scared.
“Yeah, last night…” that strange smile was still on his face. “A great night, honey. You’re getting better”
What? Why was he treating her like this?
Her chin trembled and a lump in her throat stopped her words.
He arched an eyebrow. “What’s up now?” he understood and he laughed. “Oh, God, I’m not very tactful, right? You gave me your blood, we played at lovers for a bit…and you’d already thought yourself the main character of a Disney production, right? Did you think this morning we’d wake up among twittering birds and cute bunnies, singing like in a musical?”
He was over her, his eyes were inscrutable, cold. And nasty. “Darling, I told you that you didn’t understand… harsh reality has got its rules. At night we fuck, telling each other hot lies to get horny…and the morning after…well…we have our own lives”
No…no…that wasn’t possible…”Why are you behaving like this?” Buffy gasped, her fists clenched, the first of many tears on her cheeks. “Last night we were together and it wasn’t just fucking…I’m not an idiot or stupid. You didn’t fuck me, you loved me!”
She ground her teeth, angry and frustrated. “Why are you turning back, uh? Are you scared? Scared to admit that you love me?”
Yes…it must be that! It was the only acceptable explanation…
Angelus picked up his leather jacket, insensitive. “As you wish, my dear. You’re so young…who am I to take away your teenage illusions?” he replied.
“You can keep the shirt…it’s spoiled”
“Angelus!” Buffy cried, as the vampire climbed out through the window. “I love you…”
“Oh, darling…me too!” he replied. “I’ll call ya, right?”
He jumped into the garden and put the jacket on over his naked chest. It was a pity he had left his cigarettes in his coat, at the mansion…you should always have a cigarette to smoke, when you’re yourself again. He had left something in that room, between the soft arms, and on the fresh mouth of that girl…something of him that he had to cut off, before the necrosis affected all of him.
I’m the Scourge, he thought, walking under the stars that were beginning to fade, I’ve no mercy for anyone. I possess and I’m not possessed. And I won’t let anybody love me.
Never again.





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