Corruption 19/21
She curled around him languidly, her body feeling boneless and pleasantly numb from their wild sexual marathon. She wasn’t quite sure how they’d ended up in their current position, with her the crossing top to his T, but all in all despite the fact that she couldn’t wrap her self around him like a clinging vine at present, she had no complaints. She rested her left cheek on her out-stretched arm and smiled blissfully, content to have her natural enemy use her stomach as a pillow. She enjoyed the silence between them, enjoyed the soft hazy afterglow that clung to them and unable to stop touching him, she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair.
Angelus turned his head slightly and looked at his golden lover; she had the appearance of a woman who had been recently – and thoroughly – loved: her skin was flushed, her hair was wildly rumpled and her lips were swollen from the ferocity of his kisses.
“What are you smiling about?”
Buffy curled her fingers in his hair and tugged gently. “Pierce Brosnan.”
The master vampire blinked at the unexpected answer. “Who?” he rumbled.
“Just an actor,” she sighed.
“And just why,” he growled, “are you thinking of this man when you’re in bed with me?” Surely she hadn’t been fantasizing about this Brosnan character while they’d been –
“My mom went on a real Pierce Brosnan kick a few months ago,” she explained, continuing to stroke her fingers through his hair. “I think we must have watched every movie he ever made. Anyways, there was this poem in one of them. I was just thinking about that poem.”
He rolled slightly to look at her more directly. “You’re going to recite poetry to me?” he asked skeptically.
“Hey, you get it from books, I get it from movies, but poetry is poetry. Now, do you want to hear this or not?”
His brows arched in amusement. “Tell me,” he invited, wondering whether he was about to be subjected to some bubblegum pop version of “Roses are Red and Violets are Blue.”
Buffy stroked her fingers down his face, tracing his brow to his cheek and then the sensual curve of his lips. “’Because thou lovest the burning ground,’” she intoned softly, “’I have made a burning ground of my heart, that thou the keeper of the eternal flame, may dance thy eternal dance.’”
He thought about it: thought about the barely leashed violence within her; thought about the man she had killed to please him; and thought about her vicious brutality to his childer. Somehow, for some reason, the Slayer had made room in her heart for a demon to burn, and to make sure he was comfortable, she had turned up the heat within herself.
Angelus rolled to his side and cupped her jaw, tilting her head back to meet his kiss. No more raging inferno tonight…or rather, no more raging inferno at the moment: just the hot, slow heat that simmered between them.
Buffy moaned softly in delight, sliding her fingers from his hair to his shoulder as the pleasure of his lips and carnal caress curled her toes.
He pulled back from her lips to look at her, his young lover. His young mortal lover. She was so terribly young, but he knew that it was not time that would try to steal her away from his arms. No. Time was the least of her dangers. Brutal destiny was the problem. Those vicious fucks that were the Powers That Be would not be satisfied until his golden goddess lay bleeding and broken on a pile of rubble, her beautiful green eyes glassy and empty with death.
No matter what side she fought on, good or evil, the Powers were never satisfied until their Champions and their Swords were broken and a new innocent was ripped from her life and forced into divine servitude.
Well, he would not lose Buffy to their self-righteous cruelty. She would not be stolen from him…not by conflict…not by time.
“You look unhappy,” Buffy murmured, stroking her fingertips along the furrows of his brow. “Didn’t you like it?”
“I did,” he replied, sitting up. “But it touched on something that we should deal with.”
“You’re spoiling the mood,” she pouted.
“We’ll have others. Other nights. Other days. In fact we could have an eternity of them.”
She stiffened and sat up slowly to face him. “What are you saying?” she asked him carefully.
Angelus combed his fingers through her hair and then let his fingers trail down the naked length of her body, from her shoulder, to her breast and down to her hip. “Eternity. I want to spend eternity with you. You’re mortal, and though as the Slayer you’re stronger than most mortals, you’re still so very fragile. Let me make you. Come across to me. Cross into night and leave daylight behind. Be with me, always.”
Buffy closed her eyes and clenched her fists, the pain of his request striking deep into her heart. How could he? After all that she’d done to prove herself, how could he ask her this?”
“Buff?”
Unable to stop herself, her hand flew out and cracked hard against his cheek with a resounding smack. “How dare you?” she hissed, springing off the bed.
The vampire snarled, enraged and baffled by her response. He stood up from the bed and stalked after her, catching her by the wrist and spinning her around to face him. “What?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
She whirled around, hand raised to strike him again and he caught hold of her wrist; feminine punctuations of ire aside, slap or no, she was still the Slayer and she had quite a bit of punch to her smack.
Buffy struggled in his hold, shoving hard against his chest and pushing him away. “How dare you? How dare you ask me to surrender you to some demoness whore!”
Angelus blinked. What?
“You just want the body? You just like the way the package looks? Then get Dru plastic surgery and some bleach!”
She lunged toward him and slapped at him, open handed feeble blows that were meant to communicate her displeasure rather than be any form of punishment; she managed to land a few before he caught hold of her again, tightening his grip over her wrists so she couldn’t break away again.
“Are you Angel?” she demanded. “Are you the soul I fell in love with? No! You are an echo of him because of the curse, because of the hundred years you two spent in the same body. But that’s not the way vampirism works! It won’t be me!” A sob burst from her lips, and then another as tears began to spill from her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. “How dare you. How dare you ask me to turn my lover over to some whore along with my body?”
Angelus caught her against him and held her tightly. He didn’t want to admit that she was right, but he knew she was. That was the way that vampirism commonly worked. He was different because of those damned gypsies. And Buffy? Well, the demoness would have her memories and her mannerisms, but the eyes that looked up at him would be flat and empty, the love that burned inside her now, gone, replaced with automatic and empty responses.
He could not give her up. He adored her beautiful, radiant soul. But her body was mortal and destiny or not, time was ticking against him.
Buffy sobbed against his chest, struggling half-heartedly but her demon lover held her firmly.
“Shh,” he soothed, rocking her against him. “I want you. You. Not some demoness. I’ll find a way. I’ve done the impossible and won a Slayer’s heart, I’ll not lose her to destiny or time.”
Her tears trickled down his chest and slowly she allowed him to calm her. She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes wet and searching his intently, seeing within him a distant fire that reassured her that this demon was different from all others. “I can’t lose you, Angelus.”
“You won’t,” he promised, cradling her head in his palms. “I swear you won’t. And I won’t lose you. I’ll find a way.”
She rocked up on her tiptoes and twined her arms around his neck, taking his lips in a soft kiss.
He could taste the salt of her tears and feel the soft puffs of breath she blew against his mouth. No more tears. She was not alone any more; there was the two of them now. There would always be the two of them. He deepened the kiss, nibbling on her lips and pulled her tightly to him, pressing her hips firmly to his groin.
The Slayer sighed and her belly gave a long loud protest of neglect.
Buffy and Angelus froze in shock.
Embarrassed at her body’s inopportune complaint, Buffy pulled away as Angelus’ gaze slipped down to the taut muscles of her slender waist.
“Hungry?” he asked with a smile.
Flushing, the delicate blond nodded.
“Crawl back into bed, baby,” he murmured with a soft laugh. “I’ll order something in for you.”
“Chinese?” she asked hopefully.
“Anything you want,” he promised her softly, stroking his thumb over her bottom lip.
~
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rehatha's journal