skip the light fandango

Written for the
Back to High School Ficathon


Title: Incubus
Author: Maren
Rating: NC-17
Genre: PWP
Pairing: B/A/F
Summary: This is a rewrite of Graduation Day Part II, in which Buffy captures Faith in their fight and brings her back to the mansion to save Angel

Author Note 1: Written for crazy_girl_mary. Request at the end.
Author Note 2: Special thanks to cornerofmadness for the beta.
Author Note 3: Be aware that the pronouns can get confusing if you're just skimming.



Incubus


His lips were teasing her neck, moving with a gentle insistence that belied what was to come. Then the white-hot points of His fangs were piercing her neck and Faith cried out in pain despite her will to remain silent and untouched.

Untouched. . .

As if that were possible with Her holding her arms tightly behind her back, the steely strength of Her grip pressing bruises into her biceps.

Or with His lips suckling against the sensitive skin of her neck as He took great, guzzling gulps of her blood . . . each swallow marked by His groans of pleasure.

No, Faith couldn’t remain untouched because she was being touched in ways that she had never been before.

And this was just the beginning.

*********

The ceiling was just as white and bumpy now, two hours later, as it had been when Buffy first flopped down on her bed. She was tired, but sleep wouldn’t come any more easily tonight than it had in the past few weeks— the days and nights since Angel had told her he was leaving her blending together into a hazy stream of sleepless, ticking time.

Things had only gotten worse since the night. . .

I can’t think about it. If I think about it I’ll. . .

Buffy didn’t know who she thought she was kidding. She hadn’t stopped thinking about that night since it happened—not really, anyway. It was always at the back of her mind, teasing and taunting her. And the dreams . . . the dreams almost made her glad that she couldn’t sleep.

Sitting up slowly, Buffy pushed her hair away from her face and swung her legs to the floor. The only thing that distracted her from her memories of what she had done, of what they had done, was slaying. After grabbing a few stakes and shoving them into the waist of her pants, she quietly left her room to do just that.

She had to slay to keep her mind off the memories, and the knowledge that despite the hole that had replaced her heart inside her chest, she was almost glad that Angel had left after graduation. Buffy knew what he was capable of now, and worse, knew that part of her would always want him to lose control again.

********

Angel wasn’t sure why he was polishing the antique sword that lay across his lap for the third time this week, but he could guess that it had something to do with trying to distract himself from thoughts of Sunnydale and the memories of what it held for him. Most of the time he was unsuccessful, but at least he had a very well-maintained weapons collection to prove that for some fleeting moments he could push back the thoughts of Buffy with her warm smile, warm body, warm blood. . .

Sighing, he stood up and carefully placed the sword in its wall mounts. Buffy’s blood. That’s where his thoughts always started and always ended since that night. That night. Where everything he had ever wanted and ever feared came to pass and he knew, irrefutably, that he could never guarantee her safety as long as he could see or touch her.

Still, he could feel her flowing through him even now, giving life to his undead body, lending him power that he didn’t possess on his own, touching his insides even more intimately than Darla had when she’d turned him into this monster. Angel was different now, in some fundamental way that he couldn’t quite explain. He just knew.

And he wondered whether that night had been destined, if there was some undiscovered prophecy in some moldy, disintegrating scrolls that had been created as written language itself was developed. Angel knew that something Important and Significant had happened to him that night.

Something that had equipped him for the life he was expected to lead here in L.A., a life with a mission from the Powers that Be and a half-demon sidekick named Doyle.

So he spent his waking hours trying not to think about Buffy and what he had been forced to give up, or that his reasons for giving her up in the end had very little to do with the ones he had given her in a sewer weeks ago.

Angel’s sleeping hours . . . well, they were spent reliving that night. They were ecstasy and heartbreak rolled into an aching want that a thousand ice cold showers couldn’t relieve when he found the strength to pull himself free of the hold that Faith’s comatose mind held on his each time his eyes closed.

*******

The pain that radiated from the twin puncture points in her throat distracted Faith for several seconds, seconds that she spent struggling against the hands that held her in place against Him. Then she heard something between a moan and a growl rumbling against her skin so that the sound was magnified inside her, and her body surged forward into His, temporarily loosening Her grip.

That sound resonated inside her and Faith knew that He needed her, He wanted her, He was enjoying her in a way that He had never enjoyed Her. The pain receded as she concentrated on the grunting, suckling sounds and the feel of her blood rushing into Him. She forgot about struggling or resisting the hands gripping her, forgot about trying to escape, and pushed into Him instead. That’s when she felt His hardness pressing back into her and the pain turned into tingling pricks of pleasure that cycled through her blood as though He were infusing it with some drug instead of taking it.

Time slowed to a trickle as Faith concentrated on getting as close to Him as possible, renewing her struggles against the hands that held her not so that she could escape, but so that she could wrap her arms around Him, trail her hands over the muscled expanse of His bare back, His chest, His stomach, and down. . .

Physically she was hot, everywhere. . . a blazing trail of fire running straight from her throat into her blood as it pumped through her, tightening her nipples, engorging her sex until it was throbbing with need and flooding with liquid want. His hands gripped her shoulders more tightly as He growled and pressed His hardness against the willing softness of her body.

“Yessss. . .” Faith panted into the intimate space between her mouth and His ear, and she thrilled at His response, His large hands moving from her shoulders down her body until they were cupping her and roughly pulling her into Him. . .

That’s when the grip of Her hands faltered, losing their bruising purchase on her forearms and dropping away as She gasped in dismay and stepped away from the embracing couple.

His mouth and insistent erection were forgotten for a split-second as a feeling of triumphant victory flooded through her, and then Faith forgot Her as she threaded her now-free arms around Him and raked her nails down His corded back.

But He must have heard Her gasp too, because despite His cock jumping against her in response to the blood-drawing scratches, He stopped sucking her down, lifting His head slightly so that He could search for Her instead.

Momentarily, she was forgotten as He pulled her into His side with one arm, Faith’s head lolling back as she struggled to regain her equilibrium in the face of the blood-loss and rejection. Then she was being half-dragged, half-carried as He raced after Her retreating form and reaching out with His free hand, grabbed Her wrist and spun Her toward him.

“Buffy. . .”

*******

Buffy sat up in bed and pushed the covers violently away from her sweating form. Closing her eyes against the enveloping darkness of the room, she tried to block out the dream as she waited for her racing heart and panting breaths to slow and return to normal.

Clenching her hands into fists at her sides, she wondered if she could will her mind to communicate with her tormentor. At this point, she was willing to try anything.

Just stop it, Faith. Please, just stop.

She hated that she was reduced to pleading for mercy from her enemy, hated it almost as much as her fleeting thoughts of finding Faith’s body and finishing what she had started just so that she could find some peace in the few hours of sleep that she managed each day.

Buffy sighed and slowly released the tight grip that she had on her sheets. Willing herself to relax, she flipped on the bedside lamp and drew her legs up until she was resting with her back against the headboard with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. In these moments, as the vivid imagery of the shared dreams receded, Buffy felt almost fragile. Emotions warred with unwanted desire inside her and she felt helpless to control her reactions. The efforts that she made to accept Angel’s departure and what had happened between them were completely annihilated every time she woke up with the scar on her neck throbbing in tandem with the space between her thighs.

This was not what she wanted . . . not how she would choose to remember Angel and the love that they had (still) shared. Sometimes, like tonight, she could pull herself away from the hold Faith held on her mind before she was forced to relive the whole thing in excruciating, erotic detail. Still, she was never really free—not even when she gained some tenuous hold over her thoughts.

God, it hurt so much to see him with his mouth and lips on her. . .

Resting her head on her knees, Buffy let her mind stray back to the night when Faith had poisoned Angel. Buffy had hunted her down and brought her back to him so that he wouldn’t die and for what might have been the millionth time, she wished she hadn’t been so hell-bent on revenge. If she hadn’t wanted to make Faith pay, if she hadn’t been so insistent that some sort of justice be served for the other slayer’s betrayal, then maybe she wouldn’t be struggling with the jumble of feelings that pounded her from every direction.

It should have been me . . . it should have been only me.

But no, Buffy had been infuriated and had hunted Faith down. After knocking her out with the help of a blunt object to the head, Buffy had brought her back to the mansion where Angel laid dying in agony. When she offered Faith’s still-unconscious form to him, he had at first refused. But the rich, tempting Slayer’s blood that was trickling from the wound on Faith’s forehead combined with his demon’s instinct to live and soon he was giving into Buffy’s demands that he save himself by drinking from Faith.

All hopes that Buffy had that Faith would remain unconscious as Angel fed from her were dashed as the other woman opened her eyes and began to struggle against Buffy. Then the sounds of grunting, groaning pleasure flooded her ears and she realized with slow, blunted awareness that Faith and Angel were sharing something even more intimate than death. Still, it took Faith’s hissed vocalization of pleasure to spur her to action and she had let go, spinning on her heel so that she could retreat, get away. . .

Buffy wondered if she would have been able to get away, even if she had been able to escape Angel’s grasping hands. It wasn’t only her jealousy over the lust and hunger that permeated the air around Faith and Angel that had finally driven her feet to action . . . no, the final impetus that motivated her to move had been the shocked realization that the sights and sounds of the feeding had instigated a flood of liquid heat that was already dampening her panties.

She was ashamed—had felt it then and was consumed by it now.

When Angel had called out to her as she turned to flee, the longing in his voice had caused her to hesitate for a split second. That infinitesimal moment of weakness had been just enough . . . just enough time for him to reach her and just enough of a moment for her own desire to overrule her morals and common sense.

The fact was that when he called her name the second time as his hand closed around her upper arm possessively, she could hear the steely command in his voice and she had thrilled at the evidence that Angel hadn’t forgotten her even in the throes of his union with Faith.

******

. . . “Buffy,” He called again as He reached Her and placed one hand on Her arm to stop Her from running. This time Faith could hear the commanding note in His voice and she wished that it was for her instead. Why did She always get everything?

He was pulling Her toward Him now with His free arm, still holding her tightly against His side with His other. Then His mouth was devouring Hers as He nestled Her against His body tightly. She writhed against Him as He groaned in response and Faith felt the jealous rage build up inside her . . . along with the desire. Watching Them together was . . . so fucking hot. The way She pressed up against Him as close as She could, Her fingers threading through His hair, a low moan of pleasure emanating from Her throat. He in turn was attacking Her mouth with His as His hand wound down Her back and cupped Her ass as He tried to pull Her even closer.

“God, Angel. . . I want. . .” She began, whispering against His lips almost too softly for her to hear even as close as she was. But She wasn’t the only one who wanted . . . wanted those lips and hands all to herself. Faith wasn’t used to being a third-wheel and she didn’t plan to continue in that role.

Sliding her hand up His bare chest, Faith grazed His nipple with her fingernail as she leaned toward Him and licked His neck. He groaned in response and tightened His grip on both of them. Emboldened by His response and the intoxicating pulse of sexual energy that surrounded them, Faith replaced her tongue with her teeth and bit down on His neck in imitation of His earlier bite on hers.

The response was immediate. His face morphed to his demon visage, a snarling growl laced with naked want sounding from His throat. He began to turn back towards Faith, His eyes straying to her still-bleeding neck, when She began to struggle against His chest—Her intent to run away again fully evident. A sound of frustrated defeat escaped from between Faith’s lips as she watched Him turn back to Her and crush His lips to Hers. Then she saw the blood bubble to the surface on Her shiny pink lips where His fangs had nicked Her.

Faith watched, her breath coming in short, hard pants as His golden eyes stared at the bright red blood that decorated Her lower lip. He was transfixed, perfectly still, as it gathered into a bead on the quivering piece of flesh. She was watching Him right back, Her green eyes hazy with anticipation, waiting to see what He would do. In the instant before the drop of blood fell, He attacked Her lips, suckling at them with a new level of ferocity and hunger than He had displayed even when He was at Faith’s throat. Faith stumbled as He suddenly let go of her so that He could wrap both arms around Her. One of His hands gripped Her hip to hold Her close as the other wound tightly into Her hair so that He could tip Her head further back for better access.

Faith was forgotten for the moment, and she considered that this might be her only chance to get away. But the sight in front of her was intoxicating and she knew it wasn’t just physical weakness that kept her from turning away. It wasn’t often that this kind of mindless, hungered passion was on display and just watching Them heightened her own cravings. He was beautiful—all hard, chiseled muscle and dark handsome features. She was even more lovely—light where He was dark, soft, smooth skin feminizing Her own muscular frame. Faith watched as She stood with one hand pressed against His lower back and one hand splayed across His chest, Her face flushed and Her chest heaving, and she wanted Her.

Something that had been brewing in Faith since she had first come to Sunnydale and saw Her with Her bouncy blonde hair and sparkling innocence finally bubbled over in that moment, and she knew that she wanted Her just as much as she wanted Him. Faith wanted to touch Her, taste what He tasted on Her sun-bronzed skin. Part of her desire was born of the wish to possess a piece of whatever it was about Her that made Her so special to everyone in Her life. Most of her desire, though, was simple blood pumping, heart racing, wet and throbbing want.

So instead of listening to the predator in her brain that was screaming at her to take this chance to leave so that she could regain her strength and come back later for the kill, Faith said an internal “fuck it” and slid around Her so that she was pressed against Her back.

Faith tentatively slid her hand down Her side, following Her curves with a whisper soft touch. Expecting to be violently rebuffed, she was surprised when She only stiffened slightly before relaxing once again against Him. Faith’s touch became bolder, and she wrapped one arm around Her waist and worked up the hem of Her shirt so that she could spread her palm across the bare flesh of Her stomach. He purred against Her lips when Faith’s hand brushed across His erection where it was pulsing against Her tummy, and Faith’s lips turned up into a carnal smile.

Then she was placing those lips against Her neck and nuzzling it softly as she rubbed her own aching breasts against Her back. Brushing Her hair aside and holding it with her free hand, Faith pressed her lips more insistently against the sensitive skin of Her neck, not failing to notice that She tipped Her head even further to give her better access. They stood that way for several long moments, writhing and panting, licking and kissing, their moans and His growls the only sounds that permeated the passion-thickened air of the mansion.

One of His hands moved around Her so that it was cupping Faith’s breast, His thumb brushing over her erect nipple, making it tighten almost painfully against His palm. Faith moaned and nipped Her earlobe in response, making Her let out a breathy gasp into His mouth. Sliding her hand up from Her stomach, she grazed over Her breasts and began playing with the turgid peaks that pressed against the thin fabric of Her shirt. At the same time, she let Her hair fall and moved her newly freed hand to pull aside the neckline that was obscuring so much of Her shoulder and neck from Him.

Faith’s eyes met His over the creamy expanse of Her shoulder, and she held His gaze for a long second before returning her lips to the space behind Her ear. His mouth followed hers to the exposed flesh and He placed tentative licks and kisses over Her pulse point. He let out a low, unneeded breath and stilled momentarily, and Faith knew, without seeing, that She had finally moved Her little hands to stroke His cock through the cloth that confined Him.

As Faith watched the emotions play over His face, she knew what He wanted and guessed that She wanted it too. Deciding quickly that she wanted to watch Him drink Her, Faith greedily met His lips with hers over Her shoulder and kissed Him hungrily. The hand that had been teasing Her nipples dipped lower once again, but this time Faith pushed it under the leather and lace with one swift movement until her fingers were buried inside Her and her thumb was brushing softly against Her clit. The strangled mewl that greeted her action made Him pull back a fraction of an inch as He smelled the air before He attacked Faith’s lips with renewed force. Faith moved her fingers insistently as she rubbed her own aching sex against Her backside.

Then she tore her lips away from His and stared straight into His eyes as she dipped her head and bit Her neck, right over the pounding pulse point. . .

********

Angel’s head snapped up from the desk and he quickly looked toward the door and windows that divided his office from the reception area and Cordelia’s desk. He could see her sitting there, drinking a cup of coffee and arguing with Doyle about something that Angel hoped he’d never have to hear about. He let out a shuddering breath in a vain attempt to dispel some of the tension coiled inside him and moved to lock the door and close the blinds from their potentially prying eyes.

He didn’t want them to see him like this . . . hard, aching, and with the demon so close to the surface. Pacing around the small room, he tried to shake the images of the recurring dream, tried to will himself not to savor the lingering echoes from that night. The problem was that he hadn’t figured out how to do that yet, and it had been months now.

Faith didn’t pull him in every night now—not like she did at first. When she did, though, it was becoming harder and harder to pull away from her mind’s control. It was also becoming more difficult for him to want to escape the dreams. He hated himself for what he had done to Buffy, and hated himself even more for fantasizing about doing it again and again. He couldn’t even blame Faith for all of the fantasies.

The truth was that if it weren’t for Faith’s continuous night-time forays into his mind, he probably wouldn’t remember a lot of what happened that night—at least the first part of it. The poison had been eating away at him, making him delirious. At first it had been his senses in control of his body—the taste of Faith, her slightly spicy slayer blood that quickly became laced with the taste of her desire . . . the scent of fear and lust that permeated the air . . . the sounds of pleasure- hisses, moans, mewls, and breathy whines . . . the feel of soft skin, fleshy curves and muscular expanses warring to make themselves more known against his body. . .

And that was all just in the few seconds before Buffy’s tiny sound of distress pierced through his poison/passion hazed mind.

When she started to run, he should have let Faith go and followed her alone. Better yet, he should have let them both go, should have left that night before he had a chance to hurt her.

But he had smelled her arousal and had still been too out of his mind to do anything but grab her and pull her into his body. He wanted her, the demon wanted her, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking what he wanted.

From the moment he had first seen her sucking on a lollypop in the bright sunlight, she had been his greatest temptation. The knowledge that she was completely forbidden to him hadn’t decreased his desire for her—in fact, he wanted her more each day. That night, poison and slayer-blood had lowered his inhibitions and he had given in to his need to possess her in a way he had never allowed himself before. That it had happened with an audience, a co-conspirator, was even more unforgivable. It was little consolation to realize that Faith's presence was likely the only thing that kept Angelus firmly caged.

Angel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The guilt that he felt for losing control was compounded by the guilt that he felt for letting Buffy see that he was sexually attracted to Faith. Ever since the con they’d played on Faith to get information about the mayor, Buffy had been feeling very insecure about how much of his attraction to the other woman was an act. Angel had brushed off her worries-- not because he wasn’t attracted to Faith, because he was, but instead because any sexual attraction he felt for the other slayer was nothing compared to what he felt for Buffy.

That night, when he ripped into Faith’s throat and felt her powerful body flush against his as her slayer-blood flooded his tongue, he had wanted her— man and demon. But one small gasp from Buffy had ripped his attention away from the feast in his arms and she became the center of his attention once again, even in the midst of his delirium. And with his attention once again focused on her, he detected in an instant that she was almost as aroused by watching him drink Faith as he was from tasting human blood, with his soul intact, in longer than he could remember.

Angel wished that he could continue to blame his behavior after he caught Buffy and pulled her into his arms on the effects of the poison, but he couldn’t. His memories of kissing Buffy, of holding her tightly against him so that he could feel the wriggling movement of her body against his erection, of hearing her sounds of pleasure and smelling the desire that welled and spilled from her, of tasting the blood from her lips for the first time . . . they would be clear in his mind even without Faith’s constant reminders. His memories of what came later, memories of the greatest transgression he’d ever committed with his soul fully intact, were even more crystalline.

Those specific memories, the ones that he cherished as much as he despised, were what made him tell Buffy he was going to leave after the battle with the mayor without so much as a goodbye.

Those memories were proof that he couldn’t be trusted around her, not ever again.

********

Faith met His eyes, taunting Him, as she dipped her head and, opening her mouth, bit down on Her neck just where Her pulse was pounding violently. The sounds that flooded her ears in that moment warred with one another and Faith couldn’t decide whether His growl of strangled jealous possessiveness or Her loud half-scream/half-moan were responsible for the sudden frantic pulsing in her clit.

God, she just wanted one of Them to touch her the way she was touching Her! Even now, as she was biting down on Her neck in imitation of the intimate touch she had shared with Him, she was moving her fingers firmly inside Her sex, flicking the pad of her thumb rhythmically against the bundle of nerves that rested at its apex. She was rocking Her hips, trying to get closer to her hand, even as the loud keening sound erupted from Her throat.

Faith was caught up in the beautiful taste and feel of Her, so much so that she didn’t see His hand coming at her. Then He was wrapping His hand in her hair and He was ripping her mouth from Her throat so violently that it was a surprise that her retreating teeth didn’t draw blood. Their eyes met once again over Her shoulder and this time anger joined the want evident in His brown depths. He looked like He wanted to rip her throat out for daring to touch Her that way. He also looked like He couldn’t wait to cover the ugly purple bruise that Faith put on Her throat with a mark of His own.

A smile crept across Faith’s face and she cocked an eyebrow at Him while staring pointedly at Her neck. His eyes strayed from her face to Her throat, which was prettily displayed as She arched it in supplication.

“Take her, Angel,” Faith whispered against Her ear, and She whimpered as Her eyes fluttered closed, but She didn’t protest and She didn’t move away.

He was momentarily quiet as He stared at the offering, and then He let go of her hair and moved away from them both.

“No,” He snarled, stepping back so that air separated His body from Hers for the first time in several long minutes.

Faith sensed more than saw Her eyes snap open in hurt surprise, but she felt Her body tense and begin to pull away from her. He was watching Her intently, His fists clenched at His sides so hard that it looked like He was struggling to keep them from grabbing Her. Faith moaned in disappointment when She pulled completely away, dislodging her hand from its warm, wet home and leaving her with only the suddenly chilly air of the mansion to kiss her front.

“I should have known you wouldn’t want me after her,” She whispered, tears threatening to spill from Her green eyes, as She turned toward the door.

He didn’t let Her get two steps before stopping Her with a hand at Her waist, spinning Her around and into His arms in one fluid motion. He kissed Her hard on the mouth before pulling away to stare into Her glistening eyes.

“You’re the only one I want. You’re mine, beloved,” He purred. Then His eyes shifted to gold and His fangs descended. Faith watched, mesmerized, as He gave Her one more slightly tortured look before groaning in surrender and biting into the flesh that Faith had teased Him with earlier.

They surged together, the sounds of ecstasy hitting Faith like tiny slaps in the face. Once again, They had shut her out, left her alone and unwanted as They always did. Still, she couldn’t look away or ignore the scene in front of her. He was worshipping Her with His mouth, grunting as He sucked Her down slowly, almost delicately. She was squirming against Him, mewling and clutching His arms for balance. She didn’t need to worry about falling—He was holding Her tightly around the waist with one arm and cupping Her bottom with the other. Then He was lifting Her up, and She was wrapping Her legs around His waist. Faith watched as They ground against one another and time seemed to stop as He continued to drink Her down.

Bitter jealousy and anger rose in her and she began to turn away from Them. Faith felt her strength returning, felt it pulsing in time with her frustrated desire. She would run from Them now—They would get what They deserved when the mayor ascended. But before she had fully turned away, she heard the pitch of Her cries change . . . heard a great rumble come from His chest. . and Faith lifted her eyes to see Her coming apart in His arms, saw Him pull His mouth from the wound in Her neck and call out Her name as She called out His.

Faith let out a strangled cry of her own and quickly moved to break off the leg of the wooden side table, furious that They had cast Her aside like some worthless piece of garbage again. This time, when she aimed for His heart, she wasn’t trying to miss. . .

*******

Buffy’s breathless cries were drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tile as she convulsed in the shower. Tonight she hadn’t been able to break free from Faith in time and she’d been driven from her single bed in the dorm room to the private shower to try to relieve the incredible pressure that inevitably built up in response to the culmination of the dreams.

When her womb finally stopped its rhythmic clenching she leaned heavily against the wall and let the sobs consume her small frame.

Why won’t she stop? I can’t keep doing this . . . what kind of person am I?

On nights like these, the shame and guilt warred with the erotic memories that flooded her mind, refusing to be ignored. The very memory of Angel’s fangs in her throat as he exploded against her made her incredibly hot. At the same time, she wondered what was wrong with her that she’d never been so turned on in her life, before or since. What kind of slayer enjoyed being bitten by a vampire? What kind of girl flushed more from arousal than shame when she remembered the feeling of her enemy touching her more intimately than anyone other than Angel ever had? What kind of slayer fingered her scar as she touched herself in the darkness of night? Buffy felt more than a little lost, felt as though she didn’t even really know herself any longer.

Finally, as the water began to turn cold, she stopped crying and pushed her wet hair out of her face. Turning off the faucets, she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and stood gazing at herself in front of the long mirror.

Now it was time for a different kind of consideration . . . a different kind of self-hatred.

What kind of girl, what kind of slayer was she that she had tried to kill another human being only moments after being wrapped intimately in her arms? Who was she that she could hurt Faith so badly that she was still in a coma, immersed in her own dreamworld, months after that night?

********

Angel ripped into the blood bag with his teeth and impatiently guzzled the contents down. He was so hungry, felt so empty that countless drained bags littered the counter in his kitchenette.

It was always like this after. . .

He groaned and threw down the newest empty bag in disgust. It wouldn’t do any good and he was wasting a week’s worth of supplies. He was hungry for Buffy and nothing else would be able to curb his hunger—he’d just have to wait it out and hope that Faith gave him a temporary reprieve before she started all over again. It was times like these, when he felt desperate and broken, that he almost wished Buffy had killed Faith instead of putting her into the coma. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, though, he cursed himself and pushed the wish away. Buffy had been upset enough as it was. . .

When Faith had come at him with the broken table leg, the rage and rejection written clearly on her flushed features, he had been sure it was the end for him. He was delirious—this time from Buffy’s blood rather than the poison—and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to avoid her thrust.

Angel still wasn’t sure how Buffy, who had been trembling against him milliseconds before, had been able to deflect the potentially deadly blow. The makeshift stake had pierced his shoulder instead, a shoulder that healed almost instantly after his double-dose of slayer blood. Then she threw him aside as she charged, enraged, at Faith. The two of them fought hard, but sloppily, and he knew it was because of the blood he had taken from each of them. He watched carefully, ready to jump in if he needed to, as they punched and parried their way up the stairs onto the second floor.

He had thought, then, that he was going to have to enter the fight. Faith had Buffy on the ground, pounding her head violently into the floor. But just as he reached them, ready to pull Faith off of her, Buffy had kicked up with one last show of brute strength and catapulted Faith off of her and through the large window. Then Buffy passed out, the combination of blood loss and the concussion knocking her unconscious.

When she woke up in the hospital, Angel had had to tell her that Faith was in a coma and the doctors didn’t expect her to wake up. Buffy looked shocked, and more than a little sick. Angel was pushed aside as Giles, Xander, Willow, and Oz arrived and crowded around Buffy and he had slipped away, needing to be alone.

Any doubts that he had about leaving Sunnydale were annihilated as he considered what he had done. He had put Buffy in danger, could have killed her, weakened her so that she could have been killed by Faith. Angel had known he couldn’t give her the life she deserved, knew that he wasn’t the kind of man that she deserved, but now he knew that he was a danger to her very life. Now that he had possessed her as intimately as his demon could ever wish, he knew that he would never be able to be around her without wanting to taste her and touch her again.

He had to leave, and he had to do it as soon as the battle with the mayor was over.

So he left her with just one backward glance and started a new life here in L.A. fighting the good fight without her. Angel couldn’t leave her completely behind, though—not with the dreams that came when he closed his eyes, cyclical and predictable in their regularity but never boring.

Not with the daydreams he engaged in when he was sitting alone in his office, staring at her picture as he pretended to read a book. He loved to torture himself as he stared at her beautiful face and the neck that was untouched in the photo but which he knew was now scarred from his marking bite.

Angel cleaned up the empty blood bags and made his way back to his rumpled bed. If he was lucky, Faith would leave him alone to toss and turn with his own dreams tonight.

*******
His lips were teasing her neck, moving with a gentle insistence that belied what was to come. Then the white-hot points of His fangs were piercing her neck and Faith cried out in pain despite her will to remain silent and untouched.

Untouched. . .

*******

Buffy’s hate, fear, and resentment toward Faith grew as each restless night passed and as each day ticked by in an agonizing trickle as she tried to forget. When she wasn’t thinking about Angel penetrating her, possessing her even more fully than he had their first fateful night together, she was trying not to think about his hands and lips on Faith as he took life and pleasure from the other slayer’s body. She refused to think about the pleasure that she herself took from Faith. It was torment enough to know that she’d been right all along about Angel’s attraction to the other slayer, even in those moments when she could bring herself to believe that he only loved her.

The normal life that had looked so appealing before wasn’t quite as tantalizing to the slayer but what happened that night made her even more resolved to have it. Normal meant safe, bland, and shame-free. Normal wasn’t flushing with heat, nipples tightening, at the sight of your boyfriend pressing his erection against the smooth, curvy flesh of another woman. Normal wasn’t allowing your enemy to bury her fingers between your thighs as you kissed the man who you knew was going to leave you. Normal certainly didn’t involve coming so hard you thought you’d never stop as a vampire’s fangs ripped into your throat and a possessive, consuming growl surged through the air. Normal was college classes and dorm rooms, frat parties with silly children who had no idea what really went on in the darkness of Sunnydale, pretending that you didn’t know or care to know who the silent caller was on the other end of the phone during all of the late night hang-ups, and sweet but bland boyfriends who never growled or purred or bit you when you had sex.

Normal meant trying to forget how much you still longed for abnormal.

******

Faith opened her eyes for the first time in months, confused and frightened for a moment as she tried to remember where she was and what had happened to her.

When the memories began to return, her eyes clouded and she moved as quickly as she could to escape the hospital.

She had a few people to see . . . and a few debts to collect.



-----End

Requests:Main Char request: Faith and Angel
Genre: angst, dark
Rating: as high as you dare to go
requests: What if Buffy had got Faith back to the mansion to save Angel from the deadly poison? I want all three of their thoughts during and after the rewritten episode.
restrictions: none