AUTHOR: Lexa
EMAIL: Goddesslex@aol.com
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: B/A plotlessness. Obviously after S/I but before Passion because Angelus still has Cart Blanche into Buffy's house.
DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel belong to Joss Whedon and Crew. No copyright infringement intended.
Buffy was trembling when she stepped into her kitchen. She crossed the floor to the fridge and glanced at the clock. 2:43 She had at least five hours to catch some sleep, but for right now all she wanted was orange juice. Actually, she would have settled for something stronger to settle her rattled nerves but this was going to have to do. She said a silent prayer of thanks that her mother was out of town on yet another art- buying spree. Oj in hand she relaxed against the counter still shaking and reviewed the events of the night. It had been rough...
Angelus had ambushed her in the cemetary and while the fighting had been intense the sexual tension had been worse. When he finally pinned her, he had pressed his full length against her so that she could feel every inch of his body along hers.
"Now lover," he had whispered licking at her ear. "Now what do you want me to do?"
It had taken every reserve of strength she had not to just wrap her legs around him and pull him to her. To let her skirt ride up and to let him feel her hot, wet core through her already soaked panties. His erection had been pressing into her inner thigh, and she hadn't been able to surpress the squirm that had brought it just that much closer to where she really wanted it.
"You like that lover?" he had asked.
Buffy had tossed her headback in an agonizing groan borne partially of physical need and partially of her knowledge that she couldn't have it.
With that she wrapped her legs around his waist and positioned herself in a way that if the scraps of fabric between them hadn't existed he would have easily slipped into her. This time it was his turn to groan.
She had wiggled a little, just to make sure he was completely off guard she had told herself; but now, from the safety of her kitchen, she could admit that it had been more for her own pleasure. Angelus hadn't really been expecting her next move anyway.
After allowing herself a moment to enjoy the feel of him nestled between her legs, she had reversed their positions, flipping him onto his back so that she was now straddling him.
The look of surprise that had played across his features had been pure Angel. She was reminded of the night they had met and how she had wanted him even then. Then he had just been a sexy stranger in a dark alley. <Also flipped on his back,> she reminded herself.
She had reached down to run her fingers through his hair and along the side of his face. She closed her eyes and let herself have a few cursory dry thrusts against him. She opened her eyes to meet his now yellow ones. He reached up with a hand to pull her into a savage kiss. Nipping at her lips and tongue with sharpened incisors, but never breaking the skin, he had claimed her as his and was now thrusting from beneath her.
The sensory overload had been too much. Knocking him onto his back was supposed to have made *her* dominant, but it seemed she couldn't control her desires for him regardless of her position. He still had over 200 years of sexual experience and even from across a room he could control her body's response to him. She had been a fool to believe that she could have the upper hand in close proximity to him let alone while his erection was grinding so close to her clit.
So she ran. For a hair's bredth of a second she had had the presence of mind to realize that this man, the one between her legs, the one she wanted to fuck her until she screamed for mercy was not a man. He was a killer. And he was only toying with her...
She had clung to that last thought out of desperation. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of moving on the the next one because her next thought would have been that she didn't care. She would take him any way she could get him. And if she died for it -- well then what a way to go.
She barely remembered pushing him against the ground with both hands. She barely remembered swinging her leg from around his waist to between his legs to make sure that he stayed down long enough for her to escape his grasp. She barely remembered the way home when she had run as if the hounds of hell were after her.
She hadn't been able to stand the thought that he hadn't been as affected as she had been. Sure he had been hot and bothered and wouldn't have minded a quickie before he snapped her neck. And that's what really hurt. She couldn't kill him, but he could kill her. The only reason she was still alive was that he got a thrill out of messing with her mind. He was going to destroy her mentally before he disposed of her physically and using her sexual responses to him were just a means to an end.
But what a way to go she thought to herself again as she polished off the last of her orange juice and went to rinse the glass in the sink. The trembling had almost subsided she realized happily. As she turned to the dishwasher the glass slipped from her hand and shattered across the floor.
Standing in the doorway was the rumpled figure of Angelus, and he didn't look too happy.
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