When Angel opened his eyes she was there, standing before him as if she was his own heavenly guardian. Everything about her shone; shouted her perfection like a production of God’s choir. Her lips were still, and with their lack of movement he found it impossible to tear his eyes from them. Lush soft pink naturally pouting at him, beckoning him to touch, to taste.
The prickling of his body was his answer to the promise of her standing before him, wordless but beautiful as she watched him. Her eyes sparkled with an innocent arousal that inspired surges of similar within his frame, but before he was too moved, too inspired to take up the offer, he was lost in the sheen of her hair.
Blond streaks that were alight without benefit of earth’s fire.
In silence her body called to him and he answered with the forward momentum of his feet. Her gaze never wavered, intently watching him and taking heed of his physical instruction. He took everything in as he reached her, the subtle breath she took to control her erratic pulse, the strength of her arousal on the air, the little shifts in nerves and confidence as her body shook delicately before him.
Her presence was unexpected but welcomed. Forgiveness of his sins swept over him as he remained solid in her presence, a hand slowly raised until the fingers tangled in the soft silken strands of wild wheat. It shook, the mercy of her permission almost breaking him.
Forgotten now were all the aborted attempts at intimacy. He dismissed all his arguments of why he must maintain some distance from the girl he’d fallen for while still a mess of a vampire, feeding on rats in alleyways. She was standing before him in the style of a perfect offering, a valiant offering to a master vampire who’d been without touch for a century.
His arguments were no more and finally he nudged her gently to his bed, allowed her to sit and stare as he memorised every small dip in the shape of her face. Every little slight, yet perfection made up the whole that was her, and Angel felt himself as enthralled as he had been the day Whistler had opened her world into his.
They sat side by side, only touching by the awed tightening of his grip in her hair. Nothing else felt right, not yet. Not without the words that could set them both free, that could give them the final direction they had both been hoping to travel from the moment she had taken him seriously. The moment she had allowed him beyond the fringes of his life.
“Buffy,” he almost gasped, the words falling from his lips in valediction of singledom. She’d taken his heart over the past months and he felt it time to finally let her know it. Confirm at last the truth they’d felt but so far never voiced. To finally acknowledge it without his usual taunts of distance and stunted intimacy.
“Angel.” Even the quiet of her voice betrayed her deity, and for one devastating and panicked second he contemplated turning his back, not allowing her to sully herself with the likes of him. Taking the decision from her hands. He was so utterly unworthy of having her like this, within his arms, upon his bed.
But Angel knew he was weak, and so the stop he felt he should bring to this interlude remained absent. Instead his fingers trailed from the glistening lure of her hair to the smooth plane of her cheek, finally tracing the line of her bottom lip.
Her fevered sigh against his digit, warm breath brushing over him, set his cock to a pulsing preparation. He was never one who could hold out, the sins of the flesh too enticing for him to ignore for long. So with barely a touch—no need for build up when he’d had well over a year of fantasies to stir him along—he was ready to possess her, to know her fully and make her his.
He would be her first lover; her only lover and he knew he owed her an experience to remember. But the need to take the next step was almost debilitating as his hardness grew, the restraint becoming painful. But first. The groundwork must be cemented—he must make her sure of his feelings for her.
Her quivering lip brought attention to his ongoing silence and his face—threatening to be consumed with the power of lust—struggled to remove the experience that would frighten the innocent.
“Buffy,” he said again, his throat scratching at the word, constricting so far to almost prevent his declaration from getting through. “I…I love you.”
The light in her eyes flared, a swirling heat leeching out to encompass him in her excitement. He could see the sentiment returned, knew it down deep in his soul before she even made a sound—even parted her soft, beautiful lips to form the joining words.
But still, when they finally came, he felt closer to heaven, felt close to forgiveness.
“I love you, too,” she whispered, tears blurring the sparkling green of her eyes, and at last Angel had his permission to seek her lips. He took them in a soft promise before allowing his hands to drift over buttons. His haste was countered by the soft touch as he pulled the fabric from her skin, leaving her flesh glowing in the darkness of the room.
Her shivering shyness as she covered her breasts only calmed him slightly, prevented his almost lascivious licking of his lips. He felt like a wolf determined to force his way onto his mate, but something at the back of his mind tugged his memory, reminded him that Buffy was a girl—supernatural powers notwithstanding—and deserved a calm and measured consideration of her first time. He owed her an experience to remember—happiness over her decision to come to him. But the demon calling for action, calling for completion no matter the consequences was eager to begin the show, and Angel had difficulties reining it in.
He made himself stop, placed his hands gently on her now bare arms and encouraged her hands away from the curved surprise waiting for his attention. The soft swell of her breasts made sharp needles of his skin prickles. His heart didn’t thump, no circulating blood rushed to his head, but he felt the rush all the same.
Felt the rush and couldn’t wait any longer. His mouth latched onto her hard and he began the seduction that would make Buffy his.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In Spike’s head, it had all gone differently. Rather than the whelp by his side, physical support saying more than words—and not something necessarily that Spike wanted to easily discard—it was Buffy. Buffy who just knew in her heart that he was in the right, who didn’t need an explanation of his attack before just believing in him.
When had it all started to go wrong? Was it right from the start when he’d stupidly made a wish for something he had no right in wanting? Or had it been when it had started to work, started to reveal a Buffy without hang-ups of the ‘poofterish’ kind and he’d allowed his heart to get happy? Why was he even wondering about it? He’d always known that magic had consequences, and he’d be more than a wanker himself if he believed any good could ever come from misguided wishes made drunkenly to Vengeance demons.
Spike hung his head; allowed it to fall into the cradle of his hands as his body assumed the position of defeat. He remained in watch over Rupert, having sent Harris home despite his loud protests of wanting to help.
Spike couldn’t bear the thought of anyone watching him. Couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing what he really was. A loser who’d gained nothing by going back in time. A failure who had already caused the beginnings of pain for these people who would be his hated family in the future, but who were determinedly placing him in the middle of their lives now without the benefit of anything but faith.
His Buffy in the future would have rushed to the poof’s side without a second thought to loyalty, too. Spike had lived around her for years, protected her as best he could, had looked after her merry gang and her kid sis while she had been visiting the great beyond. All without a shred of thanks, if you please. But he’d done it for years. Always been there for back-up, for information despite the lack of a dollar when the monetary enticement all but dried up. He’d been there as fodder for the Big Bads, he’d been her shoulder to cry on when she couldn’t tell her truths to the ones who supposedly cared for her, and he’d been the one to love her, so totally and faithfully that he was crushed by her lack of care.
But knowing he was the dependable vampire, the sincere in love vampire, meant little when it was always his grandsire she would always go back to. He didn’t know if it was a comfort thing, if being her first love meant she had one of those stretchy elastic strings joining the two so that at any crisis it snapped her back to Angel’s side, no questions asked.
But this time, he’d had enough. Seeing her bounce into the fight with her fists cocked—fury tightening her stance—he felt something within him snap. Some little whiff of ozone in the air warning him that his wish was unachievable through no fault of his own. He’d tried, made changes with all the little Scoobies. Made his experience with each and every one of the buggers better. Even found himself liking them.
But not with her. Nothing changed with her. She still meted her affections out by the thimbleful. And dished out her displeasure and distrust with a bucket.
Now Spike knew that nothing ever could change.
Buffy was never meant to be his.
The sooner he accepted the inevitable, the sooner he could do something to get over it. The sooner he could devote his time to just helping the Scoobies remain alive and kicking while he sorted out what to do with the rest of his unlife.
Just that thought caused his heart to bleed. He knew he couldn’t go on being near Buffy forever when there was no possibility of her ever falling for him. He loved her with so much depth that it consumed everything he was. And yet, if he remained he’d slowly crumble away to ashes.
Seeing her with the bumbling foot soldier had hurt—in a way that was the right of the unrequited lover. But seeing her now with Peaches, fighting by his side, taking up his defence…well, it pissed him off at every level. William the Bloody ponce, looked over again. It burned his gut for sure.
Spike felt his fangs slip through the shields, lumpies grappling with the normal human bones of his face and he felt a growl tickle at his throat. He’d bloody completely had it with women. The lot of them were cursed, hell-bent on sucking out all the bleeding marrow of his unlife. They were contrary, selfish evil bitches…far more vicious and evil than him.
A groan from the bed halted his warm up to his ‘all women are bitches and should be drained at birth’ speech. Spike was on his feet in the next breath, hovering over the weakened watcher with a concern that was damned unseemly for the likes of him.
Rupert was too pale, and Spike still wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t have packed the man off to the hospital. Harris had suggested it, but at the time the watcher’s heartbeat had thumped a reassuring tune and Spike left him to his bed upstairs. All the better to be on hand to knock Dru out each time she regained consciousness and to confront Peaches the second he came through the door.
And that went well.
At least Spike knew where he stood…and it was about a metre and a half away from Buffy when it counted. But only centimetres from his biggest enemy in the ‘stay away from Buffy’ camp. Will wonders ever bloody cease?
When he came back to earth from his angry self-berating, he encountered wide, curious eyes. Giles passed a hand over his face and then flicked at his teeth, pointing out to Spike that he was sitting over a man in full gameface who had just been vamp chow, and very nearly dead.
“Sorry, mate,” Spike apologised as he let the demon features slip back into obscurity. Not until he sought out the rhythm of the only heartbeat in the flat did he realise Giles had not shown fear at being confronted by his demon. His eyes filled with awe even as Rupert’s eyes drifted closed again and he passed into a more relaxed sleep. Reassured that he was safe. Reassured that he wasn’t dead, and despite the demon presence in his room, unlikely to be.
The acceptance and belief—something he’d craved but not received from Buffy—brought tears rapidly to the surface. He returned to the chair he had chosen to stand vigil from, burying his feelings of fear in losing Buffy. Not like it was a new situation. He’d lost her in his world, too. For some reason this hurt even more, broke apart all that he had felt secure in.
He’d believed so strongly that Buffy had loved him, but duty to the Scoobies prevented her from acknowledging it to herself. Duty to her watcher’s misguided teachings to stick to her belief that Spike was soulless and therefore evil of the really bad variety.
And being dragged from her heavenly home had so skewed her senses that she trusted nothing, no one, and so any feeling for him that she might have been developing would probably have taken her years to acknowledge. Years after she had killed him—one way or another.
He’d buried his face in his hands again, the cup of his palms feeling decidedly damp. Spike had always been emotional, but since his turning and rebirth into the Aurelius family, he’d grown a pair. He’d learned how and what to hide to keep his secrets safe—and also his unlife. Angelus favoured no weakness, and that William couldn’t prevent some of it from showing through in relation to Drusilla, meant that he’d never been able to make it to Angelus’s private mark of acceptance.
But Buffy had made him cry more than he ever had in his entire century of being second to Dru. Of being important to no one. But now…well now, he had people. Had a purpose that wasn’t all about Buffy—purpose that gave him no hope but some small measure of achievement. As his swimming azure eyes fell on the figure quietly resting himself back to health, he recognised the beginning of that purpose. He’d gained the Scoobies trust, something impossible for him to do in his future. Now what was he to do with it?
He sniffed the air once and breathed a resigned and sad sigh.
“I smelt the magic in the air before. Never suspected it might have been you.” His voice sounded dead, no inflection of the emotion that usually typified Spike.
“I could see there was a bit of a situation, so I stayed back for awhile.”
Anya looked just as she did the last time he saw her, and it scared the bejeezus out of him.
“Put the face away, luv, before you hear me screamin’ with nightmares.” It was a start, a small hint of a chuckle and Anya let the wrinkled reality of her demon face slip into nothingness.
“What are you doin’ here, pet?”
Anya answered his question with a silence that emphasised the nervous twitching of her hands. The doom that had been drowning him in depression since he’d found Dru’s fangs buried in Rupert’s throat seemed unlikely to lift as he watched the changing expressions of hope and anxiety chase themselves across her face. But she was in no rush to enlighten him, and instead she took a seat on the bed and watched the man she had been working for over the past two years in concern.
Spike left it, having a feeling something would be before him to consider before the night was through that he wasn’t yet ready for. As the minutes turned to ten, they united in a steady, companionable silence, and watched Giles as he diligently sucked air into his lungs, confirming his secure grip for the moment on the world.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Angel was all thumbs in his eagerness. The exploration of warm skin with his fingertips was something new, yet old. It had been beyond long since the last time he had touched a woman, which to him made this all the more special. Even more so that it was Buffy.
Buffy watched him with wide eyes, naïve in the ways of men and love, but so very willing to learn. Her strong yet tempered hands moved over his naked skin, hesitant fingers tracing around the ball of his shoulder. His skin was cool, yet not in a way that would squick her. It was nice.
“I’m so sorry about Giles,” he told her, his voice heavy with the disappointment of his failed control of Drusilla. “I never thought she would…”
“Shhh.” His sun covered his lip with a firm, determined finger, and once she had caught his eye, washed all memory of the previous events of the night from his mind, succumbed to the draw of a kiss.
Her lips were soft, cool but inflaming his ardour.
“Buffy,” he gasped, his cock already so hard he was in pain. “I can’t wait, can’t go so slow.”
Her nod of permission was hesitant, slightly frightened, but the end result was the same. She pushed apart from him to continue removing her top layer of clothing, leaving Angel hungry yet speechless as he waited for her.
This was the beginning of all his dreams; the culmination of his first moment of crush when he had been shown her by Whistler in LA. Buffy joined him on the bed and their lips met again, drawing out the innocence of the deed.
Angel buried his human face in her throat, contemplating the virginity that she was giving him, and surrendered to the joy of the moment. As he drew back, her green eyes never wavered in their trusting gaze while she watched his own disrobing. Angel lowered his body back to hers and captured her in a tender kiss.
Nothing had ever been so perfect.
Nothing so glorious as he pushed his way into her body, as he soaked up her goodness and felt his dead heart swell with perfect love.
And as he felt himself reach that wonderful moment, he released his energy into his love’s depths and snuggled in beside her, his arm curved over his brow as he settled back and fell asleep.
With the lowering of his eyelids, the magic faded into sleep and he was left with the mysterious reality of Dru wrapped naked around his body, the artificial heat he’d felt fading from his mind and closing in on the coolness that had always been against his flesh.
Beside him, a brunette lay with a frown marring her satisfied moment. One look at Angel beside her and she tumbled from his side.
She stood over the bed, looking down on her sire with eyes glittering with a directed madness.
“Daddy’s a wicked boy for leaving Princess all a quiver.” She pouted then began a slow exploration of her body, culminating in the release that had never been close under the attentions of the elder vampire.
Drusilla trembled with delicious aftershocks and returned to the bed to watch over her pretty picture.
“Sleep, my sweet. Princess will be waiting for your surprise.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
“What happened?” Anya had kept her own counsel for thirty minutes, just sitting and watching the still form of Giles as he recuperated from his violent ordeal.
“Weren’t you here?” Spike’s voice came out on a self-recriminating croak.
“Only popped in when you were attacking Angel.”
Spike was startled at first at the short, yet informative sentences that Anya was aiming at him, so used to her left field opinions that were nothing if not bizarre. He surmised that perhaps the gravity of Giles lying so ill on his bed had shocked her into near silence.
“Silly git decided to babysit Dru. The poof forgot to tell him she does thrall, so she conned him into lettin’ her go and she took a chunk outta his neck. Now he’s all anaemic.” His smile was bittersweet.
“And Buffy?”
Spike raised pained eyes, cold in their blueness as he pinned her to the spot. She showed her demonhood admirably, not succumbing to his intimidation now that she could more than protect herself.
“What do you think? Bitch jumped in to save the poor hard done by Poof. Peaches gets more forgiveness than he bloody deserves.”
The slow fall of tears spoiled the effect of his harsh words. Again his heart was breaking. No matter which Buffy he tried to love—either in his future or this untouched and innocent to heartbreak Buffy of his past—she would never choose him.
Spike shook his head, his hands running in distracted roughness through his hair. The action served as some kind of settler, a miracle in itself as the agitation was set to zoom. Again Spike became aware of Anya’s quiet presence and wondered what she was doing here.
“Out with it, Demongirl. What are you doin’ here? Wouldn’t be makin’ house calls for the hell of it.”
His suspicious gaze was hard, piercing, and he felt a small sense of satisfaction when he saw her give an involuntary shiver, even though she’d likely be able to put him in the bloody ground now with her souped up demon powers.
Anya took a deep breath, patted down the skirt of her pretty floral dress, and deflated like an empty balloon.
“I was hoping you would take back the wish.”
Spike’s eyes were suddenly riveted to her mouth, hoping yet wondering if he really wanted to be sure she’d said what he thought she had.
“Why would I want to do that, luv?”
“Now that I’ve been human, I don’t feel right about some of the things people are wishing from me. There have been deaths, and some of them pointless.” She stopped with a nervous laugh. “I want to smash the amulet and be human again.”
“Simple as that, yeah? Why do you need me to take my wish back again?”
Anya looked at him as if he was the stupidest vampire undead.
“Don’t ‘spose anyone’s been askin’ about me?” he asked her hopefully, the real question implicit in his tone. Has Buffy been asking…?
“No. Sorry,” she rushed in when she noticed how crushed he was at the neglect. “Though to be fair we have had a few problems. An apocalypse to prevent.”
“Yeah?” This news perked him up and he waited for her to fill him in.
“Tara was shot and…”
“What the bloody hell?” He jumped to his feet, gameface surging forward as his protective instincts kicked in. “What do you mean Glinda was shot? Is she alright?”
The sadness shadowing Anya’s face was his answer, and he shook his head in agitated denial.
“The others? What about Buffy?” His voice was broken, tears cracking the steadiness.
“Oh she was shot, too.”
Again he was menacingly on his feet, his voice raising in terror. Not again, he couldn’t help screaming inside his head. He couldn’t take losing her again.
“Oh, she’s okay now. Willow saved her before she died again. But Willow went kinda crazy and tried to destroy the world. You should have seen her, all black hair and eyes, super scary. Knocked me out, nearly killed Giles. She did kill that Warren guy…he’s the one that shot Tara and Buffy…but Xander saved the day. Ironic, really, but he stopped the world from ending and now Giles has taken Willow to a coven in England get her some help in controlling her magic. Oh, and the Magic Box is being repaired after Willow almost completely destroyed it.”
Spike was stuck in place, not moving a muscle as the tale of horrors unfolded in the air around him. Anya sounded like she was recounting a rather fun stage show and he was appalled at her lack of empathy for the people she had been friends with for the past couple of years.
“An’ you want me to go back to that?” There was no doubting the incredulous tone to his voice.
At her vigorous nod he felt like smacking her. But as his furious amber fell onto the sleeping man on the bed, he began to remember all that he had achieved by being in this world, and he didn’t mean the money or the Gem that made him now invincible. He had made friends. These Scoobies trusted him, looked up to him. Or at least, they were on their way to believing in him.
So you’d think that…
“You just bloody well hold on there, pet. If I’ve been schmoozing and the likes here in the past, then how did everything go all arse over tit in the future. I think you’re pullin’ my leg.”
He never knew demons could blush.
“Oh, alright,” she mumbled in irritation. “So that’s one version of what was going to happen if you hadn’t made the wish. Look, you’re mucking things up for me by being here. You’re changing Xander and making things all different. I need you to go back before you change it all too much.”
He had too much to lose now. Sure, he might never have Buffy, could never beat the poof at anything to tell the truth. But if he went back, not only would he be going back to an apathetic, abusive Buffy, but all her friends would hate him again. They would want him out and would be threatening his life every other day until he left Sunnydale for good.
Whichever time he chose, there would always be Buffy. Young, in love with wanker Angel in this time Buffy, yet Spike friendly with her mates. Or bitch Buffy backed by the entire gang and armed with deadly stakes and crossbows. Each decision would include a Buffy that would never choose him, would come to hate the sight of him.
So, what would it matter? If demon girl wanted to be human again, if she wanted to be…the scream tore through his throat with a violence borne from knowledge.
“Oh God,” he shouted as he collapsed to his knees, his hands clawing at his neck.
“Oh fuck,” he swore as the tears poured forth down his face.
“What? What is it?” called Anya frantically, her eyes darting around the room in a desperate longing for answers.
Spike’s speech was momentarily crippled, his voice becoming hoarse from the wailing his demon felt it necessary to make. He repressed the truth as much as he could, but the fire that burned at his neck was undeniable, and as Spike raised a tear-soaked face to the ceiling, he had the answer to his dilemma.
His eyes found Giles’s as the weaker man tried to shoulder his way to sitting against the headboard of the bed. The question hung in the air, unspoken by Giles despite being shouted hysterically by Anya, and it was the watcher that received Spike’s tortured response.
“She did it,” he cried, very near literally.
“What has she done, Spike? I presume you mean Buffy?” Giles’s voice wobbled with his weakness.
Spike nodded, dumbfounded in his emotional acceptance.
“The silly bitch slept with the bastard. Hello fucking Angelus.”
His fear was immediately shared, and blue eyes clashed with green.
“So,” Giles ventured. “In light of this catastrophe, one wonders what your decision is to be in regards this wish?”
Spike lowered his eyes, ashamed yet scared.
“And don’t think we won’t be discussing this at a later date.”
Contrary to his fears, there was no censure in the Watcher’s voice and Spike met his eyes again, relief allowing a small smile to spread along his lips. It disappeared as he recalled his first go round with his grandsire, the consequences for this group of people by allowing his family to run rampant around the Hellmouth.
If he could do nothing else, he could make sure that the teacher that Rupert had his eye on would stay safe while she attempted to finish translating the spell that would re-instate Angel’s soul. Maybe this time without the curse, so at least Buffy could have the lump of her dreams rather than become emotionally retarded from being without her soul mate.
Spike directed his answer to Anya without looking at her, instead showing his respect and support of the man still sprawled beneath his bedsheets.
“The wish stands, luv. I’ve things to do here. Grant one other wish, pet, then smash the amulet.”
He felt rather than saw Anya’s dejected acceptance, then felt the need to watch her as he offered an olive branch.
“Let things unfold, yeah? Let that Cordelia bird make her wish and you’ll be human ‘ere again with the whelp, and maybe I can help makin’ things stick this time.” He offered her a wink and sighed in relief at her suddenly enthusiastic and happy smile.
“Of course, Spike. You’re a genius.” She darted forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
Spike stood stunned in the same spot as she demonstrated her exiting arm wave and disappeared to her own time.
Belatedly, “That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you lot for years.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He wasn’t sure what woke him. Whether it was the subtle movement on the bed beside him as she rolled away from his body. Or the sound of her voice as she hummed a very tuneful rendition of Greensleeves.
Or it could have been the pain that seared the inside of his chest, forcing him like a bullet from the bed and outside the apartment, tearing at his skin to counteract the pain, try and turn it in on itself while he tore it out and killed it.
It burned as much on the way out as it had when forced within.
The release was immense, the return to himself more profound than he would have ever expected. The leash was gone and it released a mountain of pent up anger, vengeance that he wanted to act on immediately. He wanted to tear this town apart, rip everything with a soul to shreds for no reason other than he wasn’t able to physically constrain his own and blow it apart.
As he came more to himself he felt his senses magnify, honing in on a woman—a hooker—as she approached him, a cigarette hanging from her lips. He pounced and within seconds claimed his first easy meal. Exhaling the second-hand smoke, he spied Dru in the door opening, her nightdress thin and transparent.
An evil smile consumed his face as he leered at her. Looking around the now empty alleyway, he gestured her to come forward.
“Come here, Childe. On your knees. Time to show Daddy how glad you are he’s back.”
Dru grinned as she fell to the hard ground, her hands seeking the hard length of his cock. No hesitation and her cold mouth engulfed him, deep-throating in the way she knew he would only accept, expecting the punishment that would undoubtedly come from not reading his mind when he required a change in action.
His body tensed as the release neared its quarter; spasming happily in her mouth as his cum flooded the recess. The first blow came as his limp dick slipped from between her lips. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to the apartment’s bed and fucked her till the sun came up, spurred on by her laughing insanity each time she welcomed him back.
It was good to be home.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I am so proud of this fic and that has been a long time coming. Maybe I'm proud because I have it all written? Whatever it is, a fair few left for you all. I am so appreciative for all your reviews. Thank you for hanging with me this far. I hope you like this one.