Author: Angel the Part-time Succubus (Angelia Sparrow)

Email: valarltd@hotmail.com

Rating: NC-17, X/F, X/A, X/B, W/A

Summary:  Post-Consequences, Xander has a disturbing new fetish

Spoilers: Zeppo, Consequences, Enemies

Disclaimer: These are not my characters.  They belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and WB.
I receive no monetary gain for these stories.

Distribution: Any and all.  You want it, you got it.

Feedback: Please, yes.  I'm not entirely happy with it.

Author's note: Breath control play is like driving your car without oil in it.  Don't do it, OK?
I've already lost one person I know to autoerotic asphyxiation.  Please don't make it two. This got
darker than expected.

Dedication: For Darren, Charles and Charles.  They know why.
 

"It's just skin," she says rubbing against me.  I'm pinned, and she's right on top.  I know she can
feel me getting hard through the jeans.  She rubs herself against me a little more.

Then her hands are on my throat.  "I could do anything to you and you'd let me.  I could kill
you."  They're closing.  Strong slayer fingers cutting off my air.  And she hasn't stopped rubbing
against me.

My ears pop.  And I am so hard I could cut diamonds.  She's right, she could kill me.  I'd let her
too.  I just want to bury myself inside her warmth and she can do anything she wants to me.

My lips are tingling.  My ears pop again.  She still hasn't stopped rubbing.  If she didn't have my
hands pinned with her arms, I'd...there go my ears again.  One of those is going to rupture, I
know.  I can't see her anymore.  Her face is obscured by shimmers of pain.

Large dark flowers are filling my vision.  Faith, please rub a little harder.  I'm so close...

And she's gone.  I see Angel with a baseball bat and lose consciousness, taking back the burning
air.

My head pounds as I wake up.  I'm furious.  I'm angry at my own stupidity.  I'm angry at Angel
for stopping her.  But I can't be mad at Faith for some reason.  It seems what she did was right.  I
return to the library, pausing in the boys' room to look at the bruises she left.  I want them to
last, the symbol of my idiocy and her wildness.

I tell the others, leaving out the arousal part.  But I catch myself staring at Giles' tie and
wondering if he ever takes that full windsor knot just a little tighter than he should.  And I
wonder, if I told them the whole story, would they hate me?  Would they look at me with pity
or disgust?  I can't risk it.

"I just want to go home," I tell them.  And I do.  I walk slowly, it still hurts to breathe and my
head is still throbbing, although down to a dull roar.  No attack, thank goodness.

In my bed, I lie on my back and think of Faith, stroking myself slowly.  The first night, after the
Jhe demons.  The other nights I spent in her bed, only two before she banished me.  And tonight.
Why did she try to kill me?  And why was I going to let her?

As I ponder, one hand slips up to stroke the bruises.  The memory of her fingers is stronger than
the thought of making love.  Quickly, I rummage in the drawers and find it.  Pulling the belt tight
around my neck, welcoming the scrape of leather against the bruises, I get back to business.

Yes, this feels right.  Tighten just enough, just until the lips tingle and the ears pop, no black
flowers.  Oh, yes.  I shoot into my hand.  I won't think about why.

I wipe off on a tissue, and unwind the belt.  I put it back in the drawer, resolving never to use it
again in this way.  Even as I know that it will be around my neck tomorrow.

****

I watch him as I do every night since lovely Faith freed me of my soul.  Buffy is at the mansion,
chained to the wall, ironically in the same chains she used to bind me after my return,  She's
sleeping, well-weakened.  While every day, in every way, I'm getting stronger and stronger.  All
the rich Slayer blood in my diet.  The dribs and drabs from Faith when we screw, the nightly bite
to keep Buffy weak.  She's getting a little anemic, Slayer healing or no.  I need to put a little
more iron in her blood.  I wonder idly if driving nails through the pulse points in her wrists
would count....

Here it comes now, the evening floor show.  He has it down to a ritual now.  He comes to his
room and shuts the door carefully.  The night stand goes in front of it.  He takes off his clothing,
slowly, one piece at a time.  Naked, he stands in front of the mirror and scratches.  This I could
skip, but it does make him jiggle enticingly.  He examines himself for obvious marks.  Now, he
takes the belt from the drawer like something holy, and drapes it over his neck like a priest
donning a stole.  It is a 5' latigo strip with a d-ring, not a typical belt.    He threads the end
through the d-ring.

Carefully, he tightens it just to where his face is flushed, and his lips faintly purple.  His cock
twitches and begin to stiffen.  Then he masturbates.  Slowly, deliberately, roughly.  The wringing
strokes speak more of loathing and addiction than of teen hormones.  I can see small abrasions
on the corona where he's rubbed himself raw doing this.

I watch him gasp for breath and decide I will have him.  Visions of it fill my mind: dragging him
after me on a leash; shoving him to his knees and forcing him to suck me off while I wrap that
belt in my fist and take him into unconsciousness at the moment of my orgasm; fucking him in
that virgin ass, the belt pulling ever tighter, consuming him in both the little death and the big
one.  And most of all, doing all this in front of Buffy.

That would kill her.  Well, not literally.  I don't want her dead, yet.  But it would be better than
doing Faith and watching the pain wash over Buffy's face at every orgasm I gave the other
Slayer.  Besides, that maneuver is getting old.  Faith is hot enough, but I am ready for something
fresh.  And I have other plans for sweet Willow.

He finally climaxes, shooting into a tiny silver ashtray.  I wonder what he smokes or if it has
sentimental value.  He loosens the belt, letting it hang around his neck.  I know he can't see me
in the mirror.

He turns and stares straight at me.  I forgot about the damnable "I'm being watched" sense all
the Slayerettes have developed.  Makes them difficult to sneak up on.  I feel as exposed as he is,
sitting on a limb of a tree.

He comes to the window, forgetting his nakedness.  He throws it open and demands "What do
you want, Deadboy?  Where's Buffy?"  His voice is hoarse.  A few more years of this and he
wouldn't be talking much above a whisper.

"I watched you," I leer.  "Faith really messed you up.  I can take you to Buffy if you really want."

"And I should trust you, why?  Pervert."

"Because I'm not going to kill you.  And because I know where your Slayer is.  What will you do
to get her back, Harris?"

He leans forward a bit and I have him.  By the belt of course.  I drag him onto the limb beside
me.  "You're coming with me."

"I can't go out like this.  I'm naked.  I'll get arrested."

"Should have thought of that sooner," I grin.  Then I drape my coat around him.  The Sunnydale
police are deeply stupid, ignoring the more monstrous crimes perpetrated by the night-folk, but
they would dearly love to get an adolescent for indecent exposure.  I hold him tightly and leap
out of the tree, 15 feet to the ground, landing us both on our feet.

I wrap the belt around my fist, the moment I've dreamed of since I saw him with it around his
neck.  I pull it tight, nearly jerking him off his feet.  The coat falls open and I see him hardening,
despite having just spent himself.  I tug him close and fondle him to hardness

"Shall I make you cum, boy?  Just the two of us, like a chicken hawk and chicken in the alley?"

I tug the belt tighter.  He struggles, fingers clawing at the belt as I stroke him.  Abruptly, I loosen
both holds.  He staggers back a step gasping for breath.

"Why?" he rasps

"Why what? Why am I doing this or why did I stop?"  I moved so close I could feel his breath on
my lips.  "I did it for the same reason I'm doing this."  I kiss him, pulling the belt very tight.  I
feel the blood rush to his lips and tingle there.  I can hear the pulse pounding.  I will not take him
into the darkness, not yet.  He doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't try to bite my tongue either.

He is rock hard when I release his lips.  I loosen the belt and let him gasp for air.    Then I lead
him, stumbling on the end of the leash to Crawford Street.

***

Buffy sobbed as she watched her friend dragged in at the end of a belt.  Xander was only half-
conscious, his lips were blue.

Angelus shoved him to his knees in front of Buffy and ripped the leather coat from him.  "Like
my new toy, Slayer?  I thought about giving him the death he's been flirting with, but what fun
would that be?"  He undid the belt.  "Lick her.  Bring her off."

Xander hesitated a fraction of a second, and the belt cracked across his back.  He crawled
forward to where Buffy was chained.  Without pause, he buried his face between her legs.

"And, Slayer," Angelus leaned against the wall, looming over her, idly rubbing the belt across
her breasts, "don't fake it.  Don't make it easy for him.  I know what you really sound like.  If
you try to fake me out, I'll kill him in front of you.  You can coach him though," he added
magnanimously.  "I'm sure he needs it."  He cracked the belt across her nipples, just to watch
her jump.

 She tried not to flinch too hard.  Xander, absorbed in the task at hand, never noticed.  The bitter
irony of the situation struck him.  Here he was between his lust-object of two years' legs and he
wasn't even hard.  He was grateful for all of Cordelia's lessons.  Buffy was getting nicely wet
and rubbing against his face almost unconsciously.

He concentrated on the task.  All he wanted was sleep, and he wouldn't get it until he finished.
He found her clitoris, and sucked it hard, flicking his tongue over it until he felt her soak his
chin.  She tensed in her bonds, and let out a small cry, tightening her thighs around his ears, and
rubbing against him for more.

A strong hand in the back of his hair pulled Xander from his work and dragged him to kneel up.
Buffy almost cried in frustration.  Angelus looked him all over, and smirked.

"Look at him, Buff.  Twenty minutes between your thighs and he's still soft.  Your slime is all
over his face and he's not turned on."  He turned to Xander.  "The technical term is a paraphilia.
The short form is, I keep the belt and it only goes around your neck when I think you've earned
it.  I'm going hunting.  And if both of your aren't here when I come back, everyone is going to
be very sorry."  He tossed the boy aside, his head hitting the floor with a sickening thud, and left,
locking the door behind him.

"Xander, go!  Get out, get help!"

He didn't hear her.  He merely lay, semi conscious on the marble floor.  She kicked at him, but
her legs were too short to reach.  His breathing rasped through his damaged vocal cords.   His
eyes fluttered and he finally sat up.

"Go for help, now!  Before Angelus or Faith comes back."

He struggled to his feet and staggered toward the door.  His eyes fell on the keys to Buffy's
chains and he stared at them blankly for a moment before changing course and stumbling over to
get them.  Angelus, being several inches taller had hung the keys just out of his reach, He made a
clumsy leap, and landed sprawling.

Buffy chafed at his slow progress, watching impatiently as he dragged the coffee table over and
stood on it.  She expected any moment to hear Faith at the door or be frozen by Angelus'
soulless laughter at their futility.  Xander got the keys and fumbled them into the lock on her
right wrist.  She took down her freed wrist, unlocked the other and helped Xander out the door.

They fled the mansion, making for the library.  Giles would be there, coordinating the
Slayerettes on their hunt for Buffy.  Half way across the park, Buffy was knocked flat.  Xander
found himself shoved against a tree with a knife at his throat.

"You failed the test, Slayer," Angelus snarled.  "I told you everyone would be very sorry.  Now,
you get to watch as I kill your little friends, one by one, in the most painful ways I know.  And,
thanks to you, I've been to Hell and have a much wider range of ideas.  Let's go home, Faith.  I
think we'll start with the one we have in hand."

"You blew it B," Faith commented, prodding Xander along with the knife.

"He's going to kill us all anyway.  Does it make a difference?" Xander asked, wincing as Faith
poked him more sharply with the knife.

"Makes a big difference, stupe.  You were going to get a quick, neat death, maybe even with
some pleasure thrown in.  I think it's gonna get a lot more painful and drawn out now.  And I
don't think he had plans for your witch and the wolf.  My boss did, and so Angelus was hands
off.  Now they're gonna get it, and the tweed twins as well.  Oh, and the Prom Queen.  We're
gonna mess up her face first, and you may get to watch."  Xander quit listening concentrating on
trying to avoid the knife in his back.

His head had almost quit pounding and he could think straight, but his thoughts were a panicky
whirl of escape plans, horrible deaths and other chaos.  At the mansion, Faith tied him into a
chair, while Buffy was returned to her chains.  The renegade Slayer left, and Angelus began
setting out a terrifying variety of implements.

Above the door, he rigged a huge net.  "Gee, cartooning much these days?  I mean I know there's
nothing good on after midnight," Buffy laughed at him.  He paused briefly to backhand her and
returned to his planning.

Faith burst into the library.  "I found her!" she announced.  Giles and Wesley looked up from
their research.  Willow appeared out of the stacks.  Cordelia shut the card catalogue. Oz bounced
against the cage door with a snarl.   "Come on.  She was alone when I left, but the demons could
come back at any time.  Xander's there trying to get her untied.  Hurry.  It's not far!"

Spurred into action, and Faith's urgency leaving no time to think, the two girls and the older
watcher grabbed what weapons came to hand, over Wesley's protests.  "Have any of you a real
plan?" he asked.  "Or are we merely 'Charge of the Light Brigading' into trouble?"

"Shut up, boy, and come.  Or stay, and we'll tell her you got cold feet," Giles snarled over his
shoulder.

Not wishing to be thought a coward, Wesley picked up a large rosewood cross, and a couple of
stakes.  He followed the others out the door, with a last glance at where Oz was having
conniptions in his cage.  The werewolf had been quiet until Faith walked in.  Shrugging, he
continued.  Faith had given Cordelia the address, and now turned her attention to Oz.  A quick
shot from the tranq gun put the captive wolf down for a time, and she bound him quickly with a
rope containing silver.  Angelus could come back and get him, after she delivered the others.

The Slayerettes spread out, Willow and Giles preparing for a frontal assault with magic and
Faith with Wesley and Cordelia coming in the rear door.  The first spells never got out when a
large net dropped on the pair.  Struggling in the tangle, they watched in horror as Faith knocked
Wesley and Cordelia's heads together, sending them to the floor.

"Left the wolf behind, hon," she said, kissing Angelus.  "He's tranqed and tied.  Shall we get on
with the fun part?"

In less time than it takes to tell, the whole group was secured and awaiting new developments.
The rather smug, I-told-you-so look on Wesley's face made the rest want to kick him, but even
he could not gloat long.  Giles began applying himself to escape plans.

Angelus left, and returned with Oz, leaving him tied, and putting a muzzle on him for good
measure.  "Now, where to begin?" he asked, pacing the line of captives.  "Tweed is such fun as I
recall.  Or maybe the new one.  I doubt he's ever been tortured.  You did tell him _all_ about it,
didn't you, Rupert?"  Giles threw himself against his chains, and Wesley paled visibly at the
idea.  "Ah, I see you did."

"Or maybe the pretty one first," he paused in front of Cordelia.  "She means something to you,
but the rest of you don't mean a thing to her.

"Buffy, you're last.  You'll always be last.  I want you to watch and know your incompetence,
your stupidity, your failure as a slayer, caused all their deaths.

"No, I think we'll start with Willow first.  Hers will take the longest.  In fact, hers will take
forever."  In full game face, he unchained the witch, and slowly began shredding her clothes
away.  He sniffed her audibly and smiled a slow evil smile.  "She's still a virgin," he said to
Giles in a stage whisper that everyone heard, thrusting the underwear-clad girl at him..  Xander
struggled hard enough to thump his chair.  "Oh, did you want that for yourself?  Or should the
three of us draw straws?  Too bad wolf-boy is out for the night.  Maybe he'd like a go at her too.

"No, I think I'll have the pleasure of the droit du seigneur."  He flicked his talons through the
thin straps of her lacy bra and ripped the hooks from their moorings.  Giles shut his eyes, and
Wesley caught his breath before looking away.  Xander, lacking the self control of the two older
men, stared frankly.  Willow's breasts were perfect.  Larger than he had expected, than her
clothes had let him believe, and beautifully pale.  The California sun never reached them.  The
petal pink tips came erect in the cool air of the mansion.

"Very pretty.  Let's see the rest."  He tore away her panties, exposing her completely.  His hand
forced her thighs apart and slid between them.  He rubbed her gently, with all the experience of
200 years, arousing her despite her mental efforts.

*Bad Willow.  Bad.  You're letting a demon have what is Oz's!*  But the inner monologue was
losing to his fingers.  Suddenly they were gone, and he was wiping her own juices on her face
and lips.

He pulled her head back and caressed her throat with his fangs.  "I want you to go over and kiss
each of the men.  Do it right, little girl, and maybe you'll come out alive.  I want all three of
them hard and wanting you when you come back."

He let go of Willow and shoved her toward Xander's chair.  She made a quick bolt for the door,
but Faith was blocking her way.  "Stupid, Sabrina.  Now you have to kiss me too," she leered.

Willow fled to Xander's chair and sat down on his lap.  She wrapped her arms around his neck
and kissed him long and slow.  She had learned a great deal in the last few months and showed
him everything she knew.  The slow, steady grind of her against his lap was beginning to arouse
him, and he could taste and smell her arousal on her face.

"Oh Will, I want you," he whispered,  "but not like this.  Please don't."

"Very nice, little one.  Now the baby watcher.  He looks like he wouldn't know what to do with
a woman kissing him.  See if you can teach him."

Taking a last instant of comfort from Xander, Willow stood up and walked to Wesley.  The
watcher turned his face away from her nakedness, but she gently tipped it back.  "Let me kiss
you," she whispered.  "Or he's going to kill me."    She tugged his glasses off and tucked them
into the breast pocket of his suit coat.  She lifted her face to him and kissed him thoroughly.
Cordelia protested inaudibly from beside them.  His lips were warm and full, but he remained
unmoved by her.  Her tongue slid between his lips and teeth, trying to coax him into the kiss.  At
length, intoxicated by the smell of her, the warmth of her body pressed to his, he gave in.  She
pressed harder, one hand sliding to his crotch to rub him to fullness.

"Next!" came the command from behind her, and Willow released Wesley.  She stepped in front
of Giles, and stretched up to put her arms around him.  He bent his head, trying to help as much
as he could.  She found that this kiss was the best of the three.  Her only sorrow was she was
unlikely ever to have a second.  Her lips nibbled at his, her tongue slipped into his mouth with
no resistance, only to be met by his own.  Wordlessly, he told her of his admiration, affection,
and even desire for her.  She felt his hardness against her stomach and smiled into the kiss.

"Love you," she mouthed against his lips as Angelus pulled her away.  He had missed nothing,
from Xander's lack of erection despite arousal, to Wesley's reluctance to Giles' desire.

"My turn," he announced, lowering his lips to devour hers.  He had remained in game-face, just
for the psychological value, and now felt a rumble of hunger.  She offered no resistance, but no
participation either in the rape of her mouth.  His hands roamed possessively over her body.  One
left to tug down the zipper of his pants, and with no preliminaries, he lifted her up and impaled
her on himself.

Willow screamed from the suddenness and the invasion of her body.  He grasped her perfect
bottom and shoved himself deeper.  Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around him, and cried.
The violation was complete.  She rested flush with the sharp metal of the zipper, not daring
move for fear of pain, or scraping herself.  He held her in place with one hand, and used the
other to tip her head back so the others could see her tear-streaked face.

"I'm rather fond of Willow, so she's getting off lightly," he announced, lifting her off a bit
before slamming into her.  She screamed again, but not as loudly as when he buried his fangs in
her neck, and drank.

"No!"  Xander yelled, struggling so hard he nearly tipped his chair over.  The ropes had been
tied well.  He couldn't loosen them.  Buffy cried into her upraised arm, and Giles turned his face
away from the sight.  Wesley, distressed, but always the watcher, watched.  He was the only one
who saw Angelus open his own shoulder and press Willow's mouth to it as he pounded into her.

"Dear lord, no," he whispered, remembering his encounter with the vampiric Willow.  Giles,
stunned by the outburst looked back to the scene before him.  The pair was locked in unholy
consummation, and after a couple moments, Angelus dropped the limp body of the redhead to
the ground.  He licked away the last drop of her blood from his mouth.

"So, Buffy, one friend down, and all your fault.  Will you be able to stake Willow?"  He moved
in closer to her and kissed her thoroughly, letting her taste the blood that still lingered in his
mouth.  She gagged under the assault.  He bit her, taking only enough to leave her weak. "I think
I've done enough for one night.  It's nearly dawn.  And you have all day to think about failing
Willow."

He moved to Giles.  Drawing from the Watcher's arm, he weakened the man about two pints.  "I
saw the way you kissed her, old man.  Maybe tomorrow night she'll have something for you.
But for today, I'll let you dream about that kiss."  He pressed sharply behind Giles' ear sending
the Englishman into unconsciousness.

Wesley came next.  Just the draining and unconsciousness.  Cordelia struggled as Angelus kissed
her.  "Your turn tomorrow, bitch queen.  You and the idiot," he snarled into her lips.  He bit her
harder than necessary, and took about a pint.  She cried.

Xander was last.  "Enjoying yourself, boy?"  Angelus' hands slid around his neck.  "Or do you
want good-night kiss too?  I have a lot planned for you tomorrow night.  Your friend gets to live
forever, but you won't see a second sunrise."  The fangs teased his neck, slid over his shoulder
and buried themselves in his chest.  He felt his life flow away, and merely prayed Angelus would
take it all.  He didn't want to see Willow in game-fame, yellow eyes gleaming.  But the demon
withdrew, leaving him alive.

"Good night, sweet Faith.  You need to go home.  And do report to the boss that there won't be
any more trouble from this little group."  She kissed him softly, enjoying the human face he had
put on only for her.

"I'll stake your little red-haired witch myself if you try to replace me," she threatened.

He laughed and kissed her again.  "Go, or you won't be leaving at all."  She left, secure in the
knowledge she was desired, and had the upper hand on her former friends.

Angelus scooped up Willow's body and carried her to the darkened bedroom as the first
sunbeams picked their way over the horizon.  Oz awoke in human form to find himself bound
naked on the floor, in bonds that were far too tight.  They had been tight on his wolf-limbs, but
on the thicker human limbs, he could feel bones being crushed.  Faith had tied all four paws
together, and now his knees were bent into his chest and his ankles tied to his wrists.  The
muzzle, made for the contours of a wolf-head fell off the human one.

"Oz!"  Xander hissed.  The guitarist looked up from his rapidly purpling hands.  "Can you get
over here?"

The older boy squirmed, gaining painful inches.  "That's it," Xander encouraged.  "Maybe we
can untie each other."

"Doubtful.  Hands, numb," Oz groaned, squirming a few more inches toward Xander.
Conserving his strength for locomotion, he worked his way to the chair.  Giles had just begun to
stir in his chains, coming out of unconsciousness.  At length, Oz lay panting on the floor at
Xander's feet.

"Can you roll into a sitting position?"  Xander asked.  "Maybe we can chew through some ropes
or something."

Oz tried, and Xander helped with his feet, and they got him into a sitting pose.  "'Bout ready to
chew off my arm," Oz joked.  "My ropes have silver in them.  I can't chew metal and it's
burning."  He leaned forward and applied his teeth to the rope that bound Xander's right wrist to
the arm of the chair.  He gnawed briefly and spat.  "Tastes terrible."

"Why can't you have wolf teeth when we need them?"

Oz chewed on the rope, making slow headway.  About halfway, he backed off, and flexed his
mouth.  "Jaw hurts, man."

"Please, keep trying," Giles urged.  Xander stretched out his hand and massaged the other boy's
jaw as best he could.  Oz resumed chewing.  Eventually, Xander's hand was free.   The sunlight
coming in from the curtains had changed angles, and Giles glanced at his watch.  "Nearly ten,
boys.  Please hurry."

With his right hand free, Xander managed to free himself from the chair.  He untied Oz quickly,
only to find the other boy could not stand.  His blood starved feet would not support him and his
blue hands hung useless at his sides.  Ugly welts marked his wrists and ankles, burns from the
silver.

Knowing Angelus would not leave the keys in an obvious spot as he had during the test, Xander
prowled the mansion, ransacking it, searching for anything, keys, hacksaw, sledge hammer, that
might be useful.  His eyes fell on Wesley's dropped stake.  Lost during the fracas, and kicked
half under a chair, it whispered to him of multiple possibilities.  He picked it up and stalked to
the master bedroom.

Angelus lay stretched on the bed, Willow's corpse in his arms.  Both looked equally dead.  He
searched the vampire's pant pockets, and found the key.    Remembering a picture he'd seen on a
really evil website, he shoved the stake through both bodies, fear and anger lending him the
strength.  Willow's eyes flew open as the stake penetrated her heart, a brief second before she
was dust.

"I love you, Will.  I'm sorry," he said softly.  He spied a tiny round box on the dresser.  He
dumped out the loose change it contained and scooped a handful of Willow's dust into it.
"You'll stay with me, always," he told her.

Keys in hand, he returned to the main room to free the others.  Buffy took a look at the dust on
his hands and cried as he took her down.  The blood flowed back into her pale hands, and she
shook as she looked at him.  "Both?" she asked, softly.

"Both," he told her, and kissed a tear from her face.  "I'm sorry, Buff, it seemed wisest."

He unchained the others and then went in search of clothes for himself and Oz.  Oz was
beginning to regain feeling in his limbs when a pair of pants and a t-shirt landed in his lap.
Buffy merely went to a closet without a word and pulled out some of her own things, dressing
quickly.  She helped Oz into the too-large clothes.

"I say we all go home, get some food and sleep, and meet back at the library by sunset," Wesley
announced.  Cordelia clung to him, speechless after the events of the night.

"I want to say good-bye," Oz said.  Leaning on Buffy and Xander, he walked to the bedroom,
and looked at the heap of dust.  Buffy twisted off the claddaugh ring Angel had given her, and
set it in the dust.  Oz merely traced a symbol neither of them recognized in what had been
Willow.  Seeing their looks, he said "Spell diagram for a love-spell.  Let's go."

The two watchers were waiting in the noon sun.  "Until tonight.  Do take care," Giles said.

The group went their ways, weakened in body and spirit.  Some ate, some merely slept.  Things
were going to be very different now.  No one noticed that Xander had buckled a belt around the
pants he had taken.

Nightfall found him sitting on a park bench, turning the box with Willow's dust in it over and
over in his hands.  He knew what lurked in Sunnydale, and right now he didn't care.  He'd been
assaulted by a vampire, forced into partial sex with the two women he loved more than life,
faced death, and killed his best friend.  Somehow death seemed like a treat after all that.

A strong hand tightened in his hair and pulled his head back.  He shut his eyes and prepared for
the fangs.  To his surprise, he found his lips pressed to a set of very warm human ones.  He
opened one eye.

"Faith," he managed when she let him up for air.

"Hey, big guy.  Saw what you and the others did.  So, who staked the witch?"

"I did," he mumbled.

"You got more balls than I gave you credit for.  And I should know," she leered.  "So, I've
dusted a couple, and caught a burger.  You want to help with the rest?"

"Faith, you helped Angelus try to kill us.  You let him turn Willow.  What makes you think I'd
sleep with you?"

She dangled a noose in front of his face, and let his eyes track it as swung, back and forth, back
and forth.  "I know what you like.  I can give you what you want.  I still know how to make you
hard.  Even Willow couldn't get you hard last night.  I can."

Reason and desire fought a hard battle.  Sanity threw in its hand.  Silently he rose and faced her.
She took his hand and led him across town to the penthouse.  He waited, still silent as she
punched the security code and took him up the elevator.

He removed his clothing and stood naked in front of her.  Faith took in the ligatures around his
neck and fresh marks.  "You didn't look that bad last night.  What did you do today?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about them.  About Willow kissing me.  About Angelus raping her.
She looked at me just before she turned to dust.  There was nothing human or sane in her eyes,
and then she was gone.  And I did the only thing I could think of.  I hung myself, promising I'd
only cut the rope if I came before I passed out.  It got harder every time.  I went totally black
after coming down from the last one.  I was unconscious for a couple hours."

"How many?"  He didn't look at her.  "How many?" she demanded again.

"Four.  And no hands."

"Xander," she said.   She took him in her arms, kissed him.  He looked at her with something
like hope, the first since the nightmare began.  "Let's try for five."  He nodded.  "And you know,
I'm not cutting you down alive."  He nodded again and kissed her.  She slid the noose around his
throat, and pulled it tight.

They kissed as she slid it tighter, and then she shoved him to his knees.  "Eat me.  And do it
right."  She released some of the tension, and he went to work.  After her third orgasm,
Faith pulled him back to his feet.

She threw the loose end of the rope over and exposed beam and had him step onto the ottoman.
She secured the rope, just so it was tight, and then wrapped her legs around his waist, burying
him inside her wetness.  He held her up, kissing her, loving the feel of her.  And, then, he knew it
was time.  Holding Faith carefully, Xander stepped off the ottoman.

All of their combined weight centered on the noose.  He couldn't breathe, couldn't think.  She
rode him like a wild thing, squirming and pounding herself onto him.  His head was exploding.
The dark flowers were blooming again, and this time, Faith meant to make sure he had a whole
bouquet.  Blackness engulfed him.

Faith pounded her way through half a dozen more orgasms.  He had climaxed, but was still stiff.
After she came down for a breather, she noticed how cold the boy's body was.  Ignoring it, she
worked her way through a couple more, and finally slid to the floor, tired.

She wondered how long he'd been dead.  Probably since about the time he climaxed she
decided.  But hell, Buffy's boyfriend had been dead for over 200 years.  Who was she to be
picky?  Faith called for one of the more discreet vamps in her bodyguard.  He disposed of the
body, and the Slayer slept peacefully.

*end*