What it takes
title | What it takes
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG Very dark
characters/pairings | Angelus/Buffy
summary | “Killing is very far down the list.”
notes | This is set somewhere in late early season 2 I want to say. So I been on that angst train lately this is just another stop.
Bunches of Thanks To Linara Philipps for betaing this and getting it back to me so quickly!
*********************
The cold night air flows in and out of her and every breath feels more important than the last; she wants to remember not to stop.
“What are you doing here, Slayer?” His voice echoes across the barren walls of the mansion. In this place that makes her feel like a mouse trapped in a maze, she feels lost already.
“I-“ The witty answer she had practiced on the way over gets stuck at the back of her throat. “You want to kill me?” It comes out as a question when she meant a statement. He turns to look at her, moon shining down on him through the window, and his eyes are bright when they meet hers. His body is large, it takes up so much space - just like the memory of him down inside Buffy, so much that she thinks her heart will break from him crushing it.
“I want a lot of things, little girl.” His hand latches on her arm, the tight grip ensuring that there will be bruises, and she closes her eyes. She promises herself that she won’t cry; but she feels the wetness on her cheeks. Somewhere in the jumble of her thoughts, she knows that she can stop this - but she won’t. Not when he finishes his statement with a soft voice: “Killing is very far down the list.”
When he kisses her something breaks; it hurts everything inside her and she has to choke down a sob. He smells of cold rain and blood, and when he pulls back his grin is wide and his eyes shine with happiness.
*
*
*
*
*
The next morning she hugs the sheets tightly to her, thinking of Angel for the first time since she stepped inside the large mansion. How could she forgive herself? Of course she cannot. Then she sees him out of the corner of her eye; there's a towel wrapped around his muscled body and a satisfied smirk on his face.
If she leaves, he won’t stop her.
But she doesn’t leave.
She stays and lets herself be less, used, and broken - and she hopes that in the end it will be enough to make her hate him.
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG Very dark
characters/pairings | Angelus/Buffy
summary | “Killing is very far down the list.”
notes | This is set somewhere in late early season 2 I want to say. So I been on that angst train lately this is just another stop.
Bunches of Thanks To Linara Philipps for betaing this and getting it back to me so quickly!
*********************
The cold night air flows in and out of her and every breath feels more important than the last; she wants to remember not to stop.
“What are you doing here, Slayer?” His voice echoes across the barren walls of the mansion. In this place that makes her feel like a mouse trapped in a maze, she feels lost already.
“I-“ The witty answer she had practiced on the way over gets stuck at the back of her throat. “You want to kill me?” It comes out as a question when she meant a statement. He turns to look at her, moon shining down on him through the window, and his eyes are bright when they meet hers. His body is large, it takes up so much space - just like the memory of him down inside Buffy, so much that she thinks her heart will break from him crushing it.
“I want a lot of things, little girl.” His hand latches on her arm, the tight grip ensuring that there will be bruises, and she closes her eyes. She promises herself that she won’t cry; but she feels the wetness on her cheeks. Somewhere in the jumble of her thoughts, she knows that she can stop this - but she won’t. Not when he finishes his statement with a soft voice: “Killing is very far down the list.”
When he kisses her something breaks; it hurts everything inside her and she has to choke down a sob. He smells of cold rain and blood, and when he pulls back his grin is wide and his eyes shine with happiness.
*
*
*
*
*
The next morning she hugs the sheets tightly to her, thinking of Angel for the first time since she stepped inside the large mansion. How could she forgive herself? Of course she cannot. Then she sees him out of the corner of her eye; there's a towel wrapped around his muscled body and a satisfied smirk on his face.
If she leaves, he won’t stop her.
But she doesn’t leave.
She stays and lets herself be less, used, and broken - and she hopes that in the end it will be enough to make her hate him.