FIC: Strange Fascination, 8/??, Willow/Angelus, NC-17/FRAO
Title: Strange Fascination
Author: kallie_kat (a.k.a. KallieRose or just plain Kat)
Pairing: Willow/Angelus
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Summary: Set vaguely in late S1 or early S2, before Buffy and Angel have declared themselves "soulmates," although they're definitely interested in each other.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and claim no responsibility for anything other than this story, from which no profit is made.
Author's Notes: Although I am posting this for joss10k, this story is dedicated to Lisa Kelley. Thank you so much for all of your help, beta work, and most of all, your friendship. I hope you like this. Thanks also to dragonydreams for the beta (and all the other stuff, too!).
Chapter 8
It had been a long and relatively fruitless day, spent mostly trying to convince Xander that meeting the vampire version of himself was *not* one of the signs of the apocalypse. Well, maybe it was a sign of *an* apocalypse, they had conceded, but not *the* apocalypse.
After they spent a couple of hours going over and over the details of the confrontation, Giles had finally let them go. Buffy needed to patrol, and it was obvious that Xander would be of little help in the research department. In direct contrast to Xander’s over-the-top behavior, Willow had seemed subdued and perhaps a bit preoccupied, so Giles had advised them to get a good night’s sleep; they could start fresh tomorrow.
Xander had been dropped off first, and Buffy and Willow had made a quick sweep of the area, just to make sure that there were no unwanted doppelgangers in the neighborhood. Now they were heading down Jackson Street, just a couple of blocks away from Willow’s house.
“Did you like the red miniskirt better than the brown leather one?” Buffy asked, trying to decide which outfit to wear tomorrow evening. Angel had promised Giles he would drop by with some books, and Buffy was already planning her wardrobe for the meeting. “I think the red one is kind of brazen. But, on the other hand, maybe he’d like brazen.”
Willow considered what she knew about Angel, and was about to suggest the brown leather miniskirt. Before she could speak, they heard the sounds of a scuffle, and then a muffled cry.
The two exchanged a look. “Jensen’s Cemetery,” Buffy said, cutting her eyes to the right as she tried to narrow down the location of the commotion. Another cry, and Buffy was off, sprinting across the street and through the cemetery gates, Willow following behind as quickly as she could.
Jensen’s was one of the oldest cemeteries in town, named for one of the city founders. As a result, the grounds were in a terrible state of decay, with crumbling tombstones and crypts that looked like they were close to falling down from neglect. The trees tended towards large and overgrown, as did the bushes, and it was often hard to keep from stumbling over a rock, or an exposed root.
Buffy seemed to have no such problems tonight, Willow thought ruefully, as she stumbled along behind her friend. Fortunately for both of them, they didn’t have far to go.
A clearing appeared up ahead, and Willow was able to watch Buffy as she announced her presence.
“Sorry, it’s closing time. Please pick up your belongings and move towards the exits.”
The vampires just stared at her, their eyes as empty as their brains. Their intended victim, a young woman who had obviously had more than a few too many, gave Buffy a drunken smile and a finger-wave, and then weaved her way towards the exit.
Leaving Buffy to deal with the four vampires, who were now eyeing her hungrily.
“Slayer,” one growled, apparently the self-appointed leader. The other vampires didn’t seem to mind. They surrounded Buffy, testing her, feigning this way and that in an attempt to catch her off guard.
Willow stood and watched the show; there was a bench next to her that had seemed tempting, but she decided that being on her feet gave her more options. At this point the vampires seemed happy to concentrate on Buffy, but who knew when that might change.
The odds might have looked off-putting to anyone else, but Willow had no doubt that Buffy could finish these four off without any problem. Her friend had faced more impressive opponents than these dozens of times.
Willow wondered what it was in vampire psychology that made them engage the Slayer, their natural enemy. After all, you didn’t see many sheep deliberately attacking the wolf that hid among them. But every time a fledgling saw the Slayer, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
She was still pondering that mystery when she felt arms snake around her abdomen, pulling her hard against a cold chest. An even colder voice whispered in her ear.
“Hello, lover.”
It was the voice from her nightmares, smooth and cool and dangerous as a tiger. Suddenly she felt like she was back at the Bronze, his body pressing hers to the wall, his fangs in her throat.
“Angelus!” she yelped, attempting to twist away from him without success. His arms relaxed enough that she was able to turn to face him, but Willow wasn’t quite sure that was necessarily an improvement.
She saw Buffy turn and take a couple of steps towards her, but the vampires she fought forced her back in the other direction. Willow suspected that it was deliberate: they were Angelus’ minions, and he had probably instructed them to keep Buffy away from him.
He looked exactly the same as he had the night they met. Black shirt, black leather pants, truly angelic face, and a lazy grin that made something in the pit of her stomach clench. She stared at him intently, trying to gauge his intentions.
Because it was clear to her that he was a creature who did nothing without a good reason.
Her continued silence annoyed him, so he thought he’d push her. Just a bit. “What kind of a welcome is this?” His smile became mocking, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you treat all of your lovers this way?”
“You’re not my lover,” she hissed.
He smirked, his eyes taking a visual inventory of her body in a way that made her face flame.
“Oh, that wasn’t you that I fucked?” he asked, with a gleam of humor in his eyes.
“I thought you were Angel,” she insisted angrily, beginning to struggle against him again.
“And exactly what does that say about your taste in men?” he wondered aloud, his smirk widening to a grin when her eyes fixed on him with sullen anger.
“Buffy’s going to be here any minute, and she’ll kill you. So you’d better leave right now.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You see, I’ve asked my...associates to keep her busy,” Angelus said. “Besides, we both know she has strict instructions *not* to kill me.”
He let go of her, but kept hold of her hand. Willow thought about trying to make a break for it, but knew her attempt would be futile. He could move far faster than she could without even trying. Instead, she allowed him to pull her onto the bench, sitting down next to him and then scooting as far away as she possibly could.
“More like, you *ordered* your associates to keep her busy,” Willow argued. “And she’ll kill them-she always does.” She tried to inject some bravado into the words, but with little success.
“Potato, potahto,” Angelus murmured. “The dust all ends up in the same place, either way. Although she *is* killing them a bit more quickly than I’d intended. She’s quite a fighter, your Slayer.”
Willow was surprised to note a hint of respect in his voice, but she knew better than to make too much of it. He might respect Buffy’s abilities, but he’d kill her without hesitation if it suited his plans.
“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly, a frown playing at the corners of his lips.
The question took her by surprise. She felt suddenly reluctant to part with such personal information, so she stared at him hard, trying to figure out if this was part of some trick of his, or merely idle curiosity.
“I could always ask around if you don’t tell me. I’m sure someone here knows all the Slayer’s little friends.” He was mocking her, as if to prove that her hesitation was nothing more than a childish whim.
“Willow,” she said with a clenched jaw. “My name is Willow.”
“Willow,” he repeated the name thoughtfully, as if hoping that it would provide some clue to her, some way to reveal her secrets. “It fits.” He nodded, seeming satisfied.
“My parents thought so,” she agreed stiffly.
“But parents so often get it wrong,” he reminded her. “Take my name, for example. Liam-that’s what they named me.” He held his hands out and shrugged as he asked her, “Do I look like a ‘Liam’ to you?”
She looked at him; not one of the sidelong half-glances she had been taking as they spoke, but a real thorough examination without fear of being caught and ridiculed. His face was set into lines of casual mischievousness, and good humor twinkled in his eyes. She suspected that it was all very carefully calculated, however, and that his expression had little to do with any of the thoughts going on inside his head.
He looked so much like Angel in a lot of ways, but Angel had never worn such a carefree expression in all the time she had known him. Even during the best of times, when there was no upcoming apocalypse to stop or demon attack to fend off, he always appeared sad and lonely.
He certainly didn’t look like a ‘Liam,’ either, she had to admit. The name Liam brought up images of sun-drenched green hills and four-leaf clovers. This dark, lean predator had nothing in common with any of those images.
“Angelus suits you,” she agreed reluctantly.
They sat in silence for a moment as they watched Buffy dust another of his minions. Then Willow groaned in dismay as she saw two more come out of the darkness to take the other’s place.
“I had a talk with your Angel the other night,” he said, engaging her attention again. “Quite an interesting little chat, as a matter of fact.”
She nodded, having heard the bare bones of the story from Giles earlier. “He said you wouldn’t tell him how you got here.”
Angelus smirked down at her, watching as she met his eyes briefly and then looked away. “No point in giving the information away without getting something for it. He ought to know that.”
Willow was shocked by his casual dismissal. “But your being here is dangerous. We need to get you back to where you came from, and each hour we delay might mean-well, something really bad.”
Instead of responding to her sense of urgency, Angelus merely gave her a lazy smile. “So he says. I’ve learned not to take people at their word. Not even myself,” he added with a chuckle.
Besides,” he said, jumping to his feet again, and then grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet as well, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell the story; I’m just not going to tell it to him.”
Willow frowned, trying to pull her hands away from him, but with little luck. His grip loosened a bit, but she had no illusions that it was the result of anything she had done. His thumbs began caressing her slender wrists, feather-light touches that left her skin cool and tingling. “Aren’t you a little curious about who I’d tell my secrets to, Willow?” he asked, letting go of her hands completely, only to pull her into the circle of his arms.
She looked up at him, a mixture of fear and curiosity filling her eyes.
He bent down, his lips brushing against hers in a light caress.
“I’d tell you,” he whispered, and then turned and melted into the darkness, leaving Willow alone, her head spinning and her lips tingling from his cold caress.
End of Chapter 8
Author: kallie_kat (a.k.a. KallieRose or just plain Kat)
Pairing: Willow/Angelus
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Summary: Set vaguely in late S1 or early S2, before Buffy and Angel have declared themselves "soulmates," although they're definitely interested in each other.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and claim no responsibility for anything other than this story, from which no profit is made.
Author's Notes: Although I am posting this for joss10k, this story is dedicated to Lisa Kelley. Thank you so much for all of your help, beta work, and most of all, your friendship. I hope you like this. Thanks also to dragonydreams for the beta (and all the other stuff, too!).
Chapter 8
It had been a long and relatively fruitless day, spent mostly trying to convince Xander that meeting the vampire version of himself was *not* one of the signs of the apocalypse. Well, maybe it was a sign of *an* apocalypse, they had conceded, but not *the* apocalypse.
After they spent a couple of hours going over and over the details of the confrontation, Giles had finally let them go. Buffy needed to patrol, and it was obvious that Xander would be of little help in the research department. In direct contrast to Xander’s over-the-top behavior, Willow had seemed subdued and perhaps a bit preoccupied, so Giles had advised them to get a good night’s sleep; they could start fresh tomorrow.
Xander had been dropped off first, and Buffy and Willow had made a quick sweep of the area, just to make sure that there were no unwanted doppelgangers in the neighborhood. Now they were heading down Jackson Street, just a couple of blocks away from Willow’s house.
“Did you like the red miniskirt better than the brown leather one?” Buffy asked, trying to decide which outfit to wear tomorrow evening. Angel had promised Giles he would drop by with some books, and Buffy was already planning her wardrobe for the meeting. “I think the red one is kind of brazen. But, on the other hand, maybe he’d like brazen.”
Willow considered what she knew about Angel, and was about to suggest the brown leather miniskirt. Before she could speak, they heard the sounds of a scuffle, and then a muffled cry.
The two exchanged a look. “Jensen’s Cemetery,” Buffy said, cutting her eyes to the right as she tried to narrow down the location of the commotion. Another cry, and Buffy was off, sprinting across the street and through the cemetery gates, Willow following behind as quickly as she could.
Jensen’s was one of the oldest cemeteries in town, named for one of the city founders. As a result, the grounds were in a terrible state of decay, with crumbling tombstones and crypts that looked like they were close to falling down from neglect. The trees tended towards large and overgrown, as did the bushes, and it was often hard to keep from stumbling over a rock, or an exposed root.
Buffy seemed to have no such problems tonight, Willow thought ruefully, as she stumbled along behind her friend. Fortunately for both of them, they didn’t have far to go.
A clearing appeared up ahead, and Willow was able to watch Buffy as she announced her presence.
“Sorry, it’s closing time. Please pick up your belongings and move towards the exits.”
The vampires just stared at her, their eyes as empty as their brains. Their intended victim, a young woman who had obviously had more than a few too many, gave Buffy a drunken smile and a finger-wave, and then weaved her way towards the exit.
Leaving Buffy to deal with the four vampires, who were now eyeing her hungrily.
“Slayer,” one growled, apparently the self-appointed leader. The other vampires didn’t seem to mind. They surrounded Buffy, testing her, feigning this way and that in an attempt to catch her off guard.
Willow stood and watched the show; there was a bench next to her that had seemed tempting, but she decided that being on her feet gave her more options. At this point the vampires seemed happy to concentrate on Buffy, but who knew when that might change.
The odds might have looked off-putting to anyone else, but Willow had no doubt that Buffy could finish these four off without any problem. Her friend had faced more impressive opponents than these dozens of times.
Willow wondered what it was in vampire psychology that made them engage the Slayer, their natural enemy. After all, you didn’t see many sheep deliberately attacking the wolf that hid among them. But every time a fledgling saw the Slayer, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
She was still pondering that mystery when she felt arms snake around her abdomen, pulling her hard against a cold chest. An even colder voice whispered in her ear.
“Hello, lover.”
It was the voice from her nightmares, smooth and cool and dangerous as a tiger. Suddenly she felt like she was back at the Bronze, his body pressing hers to the wall, his fangs in her throat.
“Angelus!” she yelped, attempting to twist away from him without success. His arms relaxed enough that she was able to turn to face him, but Willow wasn’t quite sure that was necessarily an improvement.
She saw Buffy turn and take a couple of steps towards her, but the vampires she fought forced her back in the other direction. Willow suspected that it was deliberate: they were Angelus’ minions, and he had probably instructed them to keep Buffy away from him.
He looked exactly the same as he had the night they met. Black shirt, black leather pants, truly angelic face, and a lazy grin that made something in the pit of her stomach clench. She stared at him intently, trying to gauge his intentions.
Because it was clear to her that he was a creature who did nothing without a good reason.
Her continued silence annoyed him, so he thought he’d push her. Just a bit. “What kind of a welcome is this?” His smile became mocking, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you treat all of your lovers this way?”
“You’re not my lover,” she hissed.
He smirked, his eyes taking a visual inventory of her body in a way that made her face flame.
“Oh, that wasn’t you that I fucked?” he asked, with a gleam of humor in his eyes.
“I thought you were Angel,” she insisted angrily, beginning to struggle against him again.
“And exactly what does that say about your taste in men?” he wondered aloud, his smirk widening to a grin when her eyes fixed on him with sullen anger.
“Buffy’s going to be here any minute, and she’ll kill you. So you’d better leave right now.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You see, I’ve asked my...associates to keep her busy,” Angelus said. “Besides, we both know she has strict instructions *not* to kill me.”
He let go of her, but kept hold of her hand. Willow thought about trying to make a break for it, but knew her attempt would be futile. He could move far faster than she could without even trying. Instead, she allowed him to pull her onto the bench, sitting down next to him and then scooting as far away as she possibly could.
“More like, you *ordered* your associates to keep her busy,” Willow argued. “And she’ll kill them-she always does.” She tried to inject some bravado into the words, but with little success.
“Potato, potahto,” Angelus murmured. “The dust all ends up in the same place, either way. Although she *is* killing them a bit more quickly than I’d intended. She’s quite a fighter, your Slayer.”
Willow was surprised to note a hint of respect in his voice, but she knew better than to make too much of it. He might respect Buffy’s abilities, but he’d kill her without hesitation if it suited his plans.
“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly, a frown playing at the corners of his lips.
The question took her by surprise. She felt suddenly reluctant to part with such personal information, so she stared at him hard, trying to figure out if this was part of some trick of his, or merely idle curiosity.
“I could always ask around if you don’t tell me. I’m sure someone here knows all the Slayer’s little friends.” He was mocking her, as if to prove that her hesitation was nothing more than a childish whim.
“Willow,” she said with a clenched jaw. “My name is Willow.”
“Willow,” he repeated the name thoughtfully, as if hoping that it would provide some clue to her, some way to reveal her secrets. “It fits.” He nodded, seeming satisfied.
“My parents thought so,” she agreed stiffly.
“But parents so often get it wrong,” he reminded her. “Take my name, for example. Liam-that’s what they named me.” He held his hands out and shrugged as he asked her, “Do I look like a ‘Liam’ to you?”
She looked at him; not one of the sidelong half-glances she had been taking as they spoke, but a real thorough examination without fear of being caught and ridiculed. His face was set into lines of casual mischievousness, and good humor twinkled in his eyes. She suspected that it was all very carefully calculated, however, and that his expression had little to do with any of the thoughts going on inside his head.
He looked so much like Angel in a lot of ways, but Angel had never worn such a carefree expression in all the time she had known him. Even during the best of times, when there was no upcoming apocalypse to stop or demon attack to fend off, he always appeared sad and lonely.
He certainly didn’t look like a ‘Liam,’ either, she had to admit. The name Liam brought up images of sun-drenched green hills and four-leaf clovers. This dark, lean predator had nothing in common with any of those images.
“Angelus suits you,” she agreed reluctantly.
They sat in silence for a moment as they watched Buffy dust another of his minions. Then Willow groaned in dismay as she saw two more come out of the darkness to take the other’s place.
“I had a talk with your Angel the other night,” he said, engaging her attention again. “Quite an interesting little chat, as a matter of fact.”
She nodded, having heard the bare bones of the story from Giles earlier. “He said you wouldn’t tell him how you got here.”
Angelus smirked down at her, watching as she met his eyes briefly and then looked away. “No point in giving the information away without getting something for it. He ought to know that.”
Willow was shocked by his casual dismissal. “But your being here is dangerous. We need to get you back to where you came from, and each hour we delay might mean-well, something really bad.”
Instead of responding to her sense of urgency, Angelus merely gave her a lazy smile. “So he says. I’ve learned not to take people at their word. Not even myself,” he added with a chuckle.
Besides,” he said, jumping to his feet again, and then grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet as well, “I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell the story; I’m just not going to tell it to him.”
Willow frowned, trying to pull her hands away from him, but with little luck. His grip loosened a bit, but she had no illusions that it was the result of anything she had done. His thumbs began caressing her slender wrists, feather-light touches that left her skin cool and tingling. “Aren’t you a little curious about who I’d tell my secrets to, Willow?” he asked, letting go of her hands completely, only to pull her into the circle of his arms.
She looked up at him, a mixture of fear and curiosity filling her eyes.
He bent down, his lips brushing against hers in a light caress.
“I’d tell you,” he whispered, and then turned and melted into the darkness, leaving Willow alone, her head spinning and her lips tingling from his cold caress.
End of Chapter 8