This time I am scared.

I can't put my finger on why. Really, it's not noticeably different than the other times I have been fucked by these two vampires.

Spike is inside me and Angelus is watching, and I'm sweating and hot, my hair sticking to my forehead. Maybe it is the way Angelus stares at me. With malice, not lust. He looks as if he hates me, and I know he does. But he is able to ignore it when he is buried deep within me. Now, without that, he is cold, removed…and I am dreading the kisses he will give me tonight.

They won't be sweet.

There is a desperation in the way Spike drives into me, and I want to weep at the look in his eyes. He knows something I do not. As he grinds and grunts, his moans heavy in the otherwise still room, I lie motionless on the cold stone of the coffin, my gaze never leaving that of Angelus'.

How can this be happening? I am Buffy, not some whore off the street. Perhaps it is in my basic nature to be animalistic. To want to spread my legs and open my mouth for vampires. After all, I am the Slayer. I wonder if in the past, other Slayers did what I'm doing now. Fucked vampires, let them feed off of them…let the blood run thick and hot. Maybe I just want to believe they did. Then I wouldn't feel so strange.

This is ancient evil. This is ancient lust. I'm no longer Buffy. Someone else is inhabiting my flesh. Making me sweat and move and dance…making me into this blonde vixen with hungry eyes and a hot mouth. I haven't ever been like this.

I was always the Princess, the saviour. I helped people. Am I helping myself, right now? Am I giving my skin something it needs? Darkness? Death? Sweat?

Angel?


As Spike thrusts harder, I wonder why I still think of Angel. He is of the past. His demon side sits by me now, watches as another man fucks me, and his stare is cold. Not hot. He is the monster with my love's face, and I wish it was he who was inside me right now.

Sometimes late at night I imagine he never left. But that never works. Even in my fantasies, I wonder where he would be living. Would we be happy? Would he have ever stopped brooding? What would life be like if I still had him to go to every night.

I know I wouldn't be here, that's for sure.

Or would I?

Angel never fed the darkness within me. Except for that one moment. Two years ago. When I saved his life. When I let him open my veins and suck the marrow, the blood, the sweat from my bones. When I let him literally eat me. How bare I felt afterwards. How empty.

I was Angel's good girl. He didn't want someone bad.

But that seemed to change.

He wanted Faith. He wanted to help her. He wanted to let her learn from him.


Did he want to drink her?

That question taunted me for so long after that fateful trip to LA. Did he yearn to rip Faith open and suck her blood? Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. But he certainly didn't want mine anymore. He was so angry. So…dead. It was silent.

Angelus grabs me away from Spike and suddenly I am on the floor underneath him.

His fingers grip my arms and he is inside me. I feel the bruises welling underneath my skin, but I don't care. Throwing back my head, I feel his body move and want to shout. This is the only time of day I feel alive. I can't help thinking that can't be good.

God I want Angel.

No. Concentrate.

Angelus is writhing, his face a mask of desire. He bends, and neatly sinks his fangs deep into my throat. Blood spurts messily, and he drinks, his savage mouth cool, his teeth sharp. I reach up and touch his neck, feeling my blood pumping, as he swallows it.

My stomach feels sick. I feel sick. Like I swallowed gallons of syrup, sweet and hot. Woozily, I glance up at the ceiling and see it shimmer. Angelus bites me again, deeper, tearing at my flesh with anger and hatred, his fangs glinting.

Finally I am frightened.

Kill me…I want to scream. Take me away from this emptiness.

Take me away from a world where I can't have Angel. Where I can't have a normal existence.

Take me.

Own me.

Drown me.

end