Broken Interlude: between parts 8 and 9
don't get excited - this isn't a whole chapter. it's an interlude, which means it is short and fits in between chapters. it exists because this bit didn't go with chapter 9, but i can't go back and add it to the end of chapter 8. so, interlude. i'm dedicating it to marie72, who requested something specific in her comment on the last chapter, not knowing that this was coming up. :)
Title: Broken Interlude: Not the Same
Author: girlpire
Rating: I'm calling it NC17.
Pairing: Fred/Angelus
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Fred deals with the consequences of her decision to release Angelus from his cage.
Warnings: Well, it's kind of dark. There's some hitting and other sorts of abuse. I mean, it's Angelus, right?
Author's Notes: This WIP takes place during season four of "Angel" and season seven of "Buffy." All art, awards, and previous chapters can be found in this post.
banner by the lovely frimfram
*
Fred lay curled on the grass on the baseball field, somewhere between the mound and first base. Wrapped warmly in the vampire's long black coat and still quite a bit tipsy, she had watched Angelus smash the rest of the glass orbs one after another, listening to him whoop happily at the sound the glass made when it shattered against his bat. It made her smile to see him having such a good time, although she didn't really know why he'd want to break all of the pretty glass balls.
She held her own cracked orb in both hands, rolling it around between her palms. It occurred to her that several magic shops probably wouldn't all sell the same kind of paperweight, and even if they did, Angelus wouldn't suddenly decide that he needed to destroy all of them. She suspected that the orbs were a little more significant than office supplies, but figuring out what they really were could wait until she was sober. She slipped the ball into one of the coat's deep pockets, alongside Angelus' handkerchief, and took a deep, cold breath, let it out slowly.
"That was fun, wasn't it?"
Fred watched Angelus walk up and come to a stop near her, a grin on his face and his shoulders glittering with tiny pieces of glass.
"I've always wanted to do that," he said.
She smiled back at him. "You got glass on your shirt." She pointed.
Angelus glanced down at one shoulder, then started unbuttoning his shirt. When he looked back at Fred, she was staring at the end of her finger, which was still pointed more or less in his direction. "Still intoxidrunk, huh?" he said.
"You made me drink whiskey," she accused, her arm slumping back to the ground.
Angelus shrugged. "You could have said no." He slid his shirt down his arms and stepped away from Fred, shaking it out over the grass. Then he leaned over and ran his fingers through his hair several times, knocking out any glass that might have landed there.
Fred watched him, wondering when the last time was that anyone had told Angelus no.
He slipped the shirt back on but didn't button it. "Better?" he asked.
Fred nodded. Any time his chest was showing, it was better. She let her gaze slide slowly down his abs and bit her lip. The back of her neck felt hot.
"You're getting my coat dirty," he pointed out, not sounding thrilled. A chilly breeze blew his shirt back while he frowned down at her, and it suddenly struck her how pale he was, his smooth skin fairly glowing under the moon.
The sight of him that way was unexpectedly revelatory. Fred watched him looking down at her, and it was as if she had never seen him before in her life. Standing still in a field that glistened with dew, his black shirt billowing back in the wind, cold moonlight shining down on his white muscled chest, Angelus looked like a ghost to her, or a god, like some kind of powerful, supernatural thing. For a brief moment, she didn't believe in him.
Fred got up off of the ground, her eyes not leaving his body. The wind picked up, blowing her hair around her face, but she didn't blink. She had this weird feeling that he'd disappear if she looked away. She came toward him slowly and reached out, laid her hand against his chest. She felt him there, cold and solid, and was almost surprised. He glanced down at her hand and then back up at her face, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you not feel the cold?" she asked softly. She stared at her hand touching him.
Dark eyes watched her. "Not the same way you do," he said.
She felt him. He was there, flat muscle beneath her palm, no heartbeat because he wasn’t this body, not the way she was her body. He was real, she knew, but he wasn't like her; he wasn't a person. She imagined her warm hand burning a hole straight through his chest, through the place where his heart would be. She told herself that she needed to remember this, that the man she wanted wasn't a man, that he wasn't a person in the world at all, but something that lived in dark places and didn't feel cold, even while his skin froze her fingers. It felt like an important discovery; it was as if she had known what he was but never really believed it or understood what it meant. She told herself she needed to remember this, but somewhere deep she hoped she would forget, so that the next time she looked at her vampire in the moonlight, she could discover him again.
Her palm slid up his chest as she took a small step closer to him, and she watched her hand as it moved over his body. Her fingers slid beneath the open collar of his shirt, curving around the back of his neck until she felt the short, soft hairs there brushing her fingertips. Her other hand came up to rest on his chest as well. He was cold, still as a stone angel, just watching her.
She slowly tilted her face up to his. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then she leaned forward, closing her eyes, and just barely brushed her lips across his lips before pulling back again to see his reaction.
His expression hadn't changed.
She couldn't read him. His eyes weren't Angel's eyes, and they frustrated her. "Why don't you kiss me?" she asked him.
He finally moved. A large, cold hand came up to her face, brushing her cheek gently before tucking a strand of wind-blown hair behind her ear. Then he leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, and murmured, "You don't mean anything to me."
Fred felt his hands close around her wrists and pull them carefully away from his body. Then she was being pushed back. He was smiling a little. "No one is ever more wrong," he said, "than when they think a vampire gives a damn about them." As he let go of her arms, she thought they felt too heavy; her whole self suddenly felt so heavy, like she might sink down through the ground.
"I do mean something to you," she said quietly. She watched him start to button his shirt. It infuriated her that he was so nonchalant. She wanted to slap him, or scream at him, get some kind of reaction. Her jaw clenched, but she just stood there and watched him do up the buttons. "If I didn't, you'd have killed me already." She said it, but she wasn't sure anymore.
"That has nothing to do with you," he said. "Even if I felt something for you, it would have nothing to do with you. Don't pretend you have any influence over what I do. You're human. You're nothing."
"Then tell me why you're keeping me here!" She had to fight to keep tears from coming. She felt her fists clench, nails digging into her palms. "Fuck me, or kill me, but at least let me know where I stand!"
"I can't remember why I always thought you were so smart," he told her. "I'm obviously using you."
"So use me," Fred demanded. She took a step toward him again, but he stopped her with his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back.
"Slow down, tiger," he said, chuckling. "I know you want my cock, but that's not what I'm using you for." When he let her go this time, she stumbled forward a bit before righting herself. "And no more whiskey for you," he lectured, shaking a finger at her.
She blinked, and tears spilled over both her cheeks. "You don't even care," she murmured defeatedly. "You just don't care." She sniffed hard, rubbing at her eyes. "I hate you," she whispered.
He nodded, looking thoughtful. "But if I wanted you on your knees right now, sucking my dick, you'd do it, wouldn't you Fred? You'd do it if I told you to."
She swallowed. More tears fell. She didn't look at him, but she still murmured, "Yes."
Angelus smiled. "Hopeless and desperate. God, I love that." Without warning, he reached for her and pulled her close, crushing his lips against hers, one hand tangled in her long hair and the other at the small of her back, holding her against him. He kissed her hard, so unexpected that she barely had time to register what was going on and enjoy it before he pulled away, leaning back in quickly to lick a fresh tear from her cheek. Then he smiled at her again, dark eyes shining as he whispered, "You smell delicious."
She just stared at him, her head spinning, her heart beating fast. She could see her breath rising in short puffs between them.
Then, as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he pushed her off and began walking away, back toward the fence at the far end of the field. She swayed a little, staring after him with a hand to her lips. Then she found herself following him again, the cracked orb in the pocket of the coat bouncing against her leg as she walked.
*
tbc
Title: Broken Interlude: Not the Same
Author: girlpire
Rating: I'm calling it NC17.
Pairing: Fred/Angelus
Disclaimer: This story is based on the "Angel" and "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" series, with which I am not affiliated in any way. Joss Whedon is my master, etc.
Distribution: Please no. kthnxbye. :)
Summary: Fred deals with the consequences of her decision to release Angelus from his cage.
Warnings: Well, it's kind of dark. There's some hitting and other sorts of abuse. I mean, it's Angelus, right?
Author's Notes: This WIP takes place during season four of "Angel" and season seven of "Buffy." All art, awards, and previous chapters can be found in this post.
banner by the lovely frimfram
*
Fred lay curled on the grass on the baseball field, somewhere between the mound and first base. Wrapped warmly in the vampire's long black coat and still quite a bit tipsy, she had watched Angelus smash the rest of the glass orbs one after another, listening to him whoop happily at the sound the glass made when it shattered against his bat. It made her smile to see him having such a good time, although she didn't really know why he'd want to break all of the pretty glass balls.
She held her own cracked orb in both hands, rolling it around between her palms. It occurred to her that several magic shops probably wouldn't all sell the same kind of paperweight, and even if they did, Angelus wouldn't suddenly decide that he needed to destroy all of them. She suspected that the orbs were a little more significant than office supplies, but figuring out what they really were could wait until she was sober. She slipped the ball into one of the coat's deep pockets, alongside Angelus' handkerchief, and took a deep, cold breath, let it out slowly.
"That was fun, wasn't it?"
Fred watched Angelus walk up and come to a stop near her, a grin on his face and his shoulders glittering with tiny pieces of glass.
"I've always wanted to do that," he said.
She smiled back at him. "You got glass on your shirt." She pointed.
Angelus glanced down at one shoulder, then started unbuttoning his shirt. When he looked back at Fred, she was staring at the end of her finger, which was still pointed more or less in his direction. "Still intoxidrunk, huh?" he said.
"You made me drink whiskey," she accused, her arm slumping back to the ground.
Angelus shrugged. "You could have said no." He slid his shirt down his arms and stepped away from Fred, shaking it out over the grass. Then he leaned over and ran his fingers through his hair several times, knocking out any glass that might have landed there.
Fred watched him, wondering when the last time was that anyone had told Angelus no.
He slipped the shirt back on but didn't button it. "Better?" he asked.
Fred nodded. Any time his chest was showing, it was better. She let her gaze slide slowly down his abs and bit her lip. The back of her neck felt hot.
"You're getting my coat dirty," he pointed out, not sounding thrilled. A chilly breeze blew his shirt back while he frowned down at her, and it suddenly struck her how pale he was, his smooth skin fairly glowing under the moon.
The sight of him that way was unexpectedly revelatory. Fred watched him looking down at her, and it was as if she had never seen him before in her life. Standing still in a field that glistened with dew, his black shirt billowing back in the wind, cold moonlight shining down on his white muscled chest, Angelus looked like a ghost to her, or a god, like some kind of powerful, supernatural thing. For a brief moment, she didn't believe in him.
Fred got up off of the ground, her eyes not leaving his body. The wind picked up, blowing her hair around her face, but she didn't blink. She had this weird feeling that he'd disappear if she looked away. She came toward him slowly and reached out, laid her hand against his chest. She felt him there, cold and solid, and was almost surprised. He glanced down at her hand and then back up at her face, raising an eyebrow.
"Do you not feel the cold?" she asked softly. She stared at her hand touching him.
Dark eyes watched her. "Not the same way you do," he said.
She felt him. He was there, flat muscle beneath her palm, no heartbeat because he wasn’t this body, not the way she was her body. He was real, she knew, but he wasn't like her; he wasn't a person. She imagined her warm hand burning a hole straight through his chest, through the place where his heart would be. She told herself that she needed to remember this, that the man she wanted wasn't a man, that he wasn't a person in the world at all, but something that lived in dark places and didn't feel cold, even while his skin froze her fingers. It felt like an important discovery; it was as if she had known what he was but never really believed it or understood what it meant. She told herself she needed to remember this, but somewhere deep she hoped she would forget, so that the next time she looked at her vampire in the moonlight, she could discover him again.
Her palm slid up his chest as she took a small step closer to him, and she watched her hand as it moved over his body. Her fingers slid beneath the open collar of his shirt, curving around the back of his neck until she felt the short, soft hairs there brushing her fingertips. Her other hand came up to rest on his chest as well. He was cold, still as a stone angel, just watching her.
She slowly tilted her face up to his. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then she leaned forward, closing her eyes, and just barely brushed her lips across his lips before pulling back again to see his reaction.
His expression hadn't changed.
She couldn't read him. His eyes weren't Angel's eyes, and they frustrated her. "Why don't you kiss me?" she asked him.
He finally moved. A large, cold hand came up to her face, brushing her cheek gently before tucking a strand of wind-blown hair behind her ear. Then he leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, and murmured, "You don't mean anything to me."
Fred felt his hands close around her wrists and pull them carefully away from his body. Then she was being pushed back. He was smiling a little. "No one is ever more wrong," he said, "than when they think a vampire gives a damn about them." As he let go of her arms, she thought they felt too heavy; her whole self suddenly felt so heavy, like she might sink down through the ground.
"I do mean something to you," she said quietly. She watched him start to button his shirt. It infuriated her that he was so nonchalant. She wanted to slap him, or scream at him, get some kind of reaction. Her jaw clenched, but she just stood there and watched him do up the buttons. "If I didn't, you'd have killed me already." She said it, but she wasn't sure anymore.
"That has nothing to do with you," he said. "Even if I felt something for you, it would have nothing to do with you. Don't pretend you have any influence over what I do. You're human. You're nothing."
"Then tell me why you're keeping me here!" She had to fight to keep tears from coming. She felt her fists clench, nails digging into her palms. "Fuck me, or kill me, but at least let me know where I stand!"
"I can't remember why I always thought you were so smart," he told her. "I'm obviously using you."
"So use me," Fred demanded. She took a step toward him again, but he stopped her with his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back.
"Slow down, tiger," he said, chuckling. "I know you want my cock, but that's not what I'm using you for." When he let her go this time, she stumbled forward a bit before righting herself. "And no more whiskey for you," he lectured, shaking a finger at her.
She blinked, and tears spilled over both her cheeks. "You don't even care," she murmured defeatedly. "You just don't care." She sniffed hard, rubbing at her eyes. "I hate you," she whispered.
He nodded, looking thoughtful. "But if I wanted you on your knees right now, sucking my dick, you'd do it, wouldn't you Fred? You'd do it if I told you to."
She swallowed. More tears fell. She didn't look at him, but she still murmured, "Yes."
Angelus smiled. "Hopeless and desperate. God, I love that." Without warning, he reached for her and pulled her close, crushing his lips against hers, one hand tangled in her long hair and the other at the small of her back, holding her against him. He kissed her hard, so unexpected that she barely had time to register what was going on and enjoy it before he pulled away, leaning back in quickly to lick a fresh tear from her cheek. Then he smiled at her again, dark eyes shining as he whispered, "You smell delicious."
She just stared at him, her head spinning, her heart beating fast. She could see her breath rising in short puffs between them.
Then, as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he pushed her off and began walking away, back toward the fence at the far end of the field. She swayed a little, staring after him with a hand to her lips. Then she found herself following him again, the cracked orb in the pocket of the coat bouncing against her leg as she walked.
*
tbc