herself_nyc (herself_nyc) wrote in herself_nyc_fic, @ 2008-02-28 09:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | s/b fic, the proper slayer |
THE PROPER SLAYER (pt 22 of ?)
Previously
She worked one more shift at the diner, because it was payday. She'd had no sleep at all, but it didn't matter; she floated through it. Her tips were never better. At quitting time she went out the back, and there was Angel waiting for her in an idling Chevy with North Dakota license plates and a rusted undercarriage.
They kissed until the windows were thoroughly fogged. She wiped them down with her gloves as Angel put the car in drive. They left Vermilion Chutes, heading south.
He thought she'd be able to do it for them right there and thena witch with the power to force souls into vampires should be capable of that. But Willow claimed that she needed to do research, that she'd need ingredients. She couldn't do anything until after school, and then it might take her a few evenings to figure it out. Joyce listened to this with surprising patience; Spike had to jam his hands in his pockets to keep from chucking the ornaments about. He didn't realize he was pacing like a caged panther until Joyce got in his way.
"Would you sit? You're making the child nervous."
"Child's got nothin' to be nervous about."
Joyce's look made him smile. She was a wonder, this woman. Not the least bit afraid of him, and coping beautifully with a crazy situation. If her daughter could grow up like herif she could grow upshe'd be just fine.
Joyce said, "What?"
"Just thinkin' what a good mum you are," Spike murmured, so Willow wouldn't hear.
She made a futile gesture. "How would you know?"
"Had a mum once myself, didn't I?"
At this, Joyce's eyes widened. Then she turned back to Willow, who was gathering her things up to go to school. The girl gave him a furtive glance, and he did his best to look mild for her. It passed his understanding, how she could think of Buffy as a friend and not want to be moving heaven and earth to help her.
When the girl was gone, Joyce sagged against the door. "I have to get to the gallery."
"Kept you up all night."
"Do you think it's the first time I've sat up all night over Buffy? At least now I have half an idea I might see her again." She swept the hair from her eyes. "You're welcome to stay here. You can sleep on the sofa, orI suppose you can use Buffy's room. She probably wouldn't mind."
Spike's heart cracked. He'd have liked to take her in his arms again. She was a little too good for this world, or at any rate, for the hellmouth, this Mrs Summers. And he was half in love with her as well. "You've got your dark little slayer for a guest" He could smell Faith asleep upstairsshe'd come in during the night, up the drainpipe directly into her room, "don't want a vamp for another. I'll be at the Hi-Vue Motor Lodge. We'll keep in touch."
"Well, all right. But you should come back tonight ... for supper."
"I'm a blood-drinker, missus," he said gently. "You know that."
Joyce looked stalwart. "Faith never sits down to a meal with me anymore. You come at seven-thirty, I'll feed you."
"All right then. Be glad to."
"You're not scared?" Angel ran a fingera warm fingeralong the line of her bra strap, from the back of her shoulder down to the front, brushing the top of her breast. "Nothing bad will happen this time, Buffy. I'm not going to change afterwards."
"I ... I know." She couldn't believe she was this nervous. To calm herself, she sought his mouth, engaged him in kisses to postpone the moment when his hands went into her clothes, when her clothes came off.
She'd thought she was completely comfortable with sex, but right here in his motel room outside Calgary, she felt like a virgin. Even more of a virgin than she'd been when she really was, that first time in Angel's basement room. Then she'd been so certain of him. He was her love, and he'd been given back to her after they both thought he'd have to leave her for years. It was her birthday, and she was ready to be his, ready to be her own, a woman with a woman's desires.
And it was so good, and she'd been so happy. They'd both been so happy, and his happiness made Angel back into a monster. Even sensible of his pulse as he held her, she couldn't help thinking of him that way. Even though the last time she'd seen himright before she'd run him through with her swordhe'd been her sweetheart again. Trusting her. Closing his eyes.
How did he remember that moment? Did he remember it at all?
She wasn't going to ask.
Angel eased her back. The bedspread gave off a smell of chemical cleanliness. She willed herself not to think. The thing to do was to rush this along, to get to the part that she was irrationally dreading, and then once that was done, she could slow it all down again, and enjoy him.
And not think about Spike. Who was the last person she wanted to think about even as he was inextricably tied up with her experience of lovemaking in sterile motel roomshe knew how to make the most featureless little box into a hothouse jungle of adventure and satiety. Spike who had been the willing, elastic object of all her sexual fancies. Fancy was his wordwhat d'you fancy, Miss Anne?, he'd say, offering himself to her, following her lead. God, he was amazing, how he'd look at her while she plundered his body. How he'd handle her like he owned her, and at the same time make her feel like she owned him, like he was hers to do with whatever she wanted. That noise he'd make sometimes when he came, and how he'd throw his head back, baring his throat.
A shot of lust blasted through her. She tugged at Angel, coaxing him, wriggling free of her jeans. "I need you to fuck me. Fuck me right now."
It took her a moment to catch up with the surprise in his eyes, the little hitch as he stared at her.
"What? C'mon."
He said nothing, but he got busy. She'd forgotten how big he was in every dimension, how heavy. She fell silent too, as a weird sense of the sacramental came over her. This was Angel. He'd been given back to her, and this was ... this ... she struggled to be adequate to the meaning of this, their reunion, their resumption. He took her with a churchy solemn slowness. It was like the first time, reverent and careful. Except that she wasn't the same girl as she was then. She struggled to concentrate, to stay present. She couldn't close her eyes, needed to stay conscious every second of who this was. Who it wasn't.
She took deep breathsthis Angel gave off a heavy sweat, he smelled like a man. She'd never fucked a live man before; the realization made her heart speed up; she quivered all over.
He paused. "You all right?"
"Yes, are you?"
"Sure."
"You're so quiet."
He buried his face in her neck. She flexed hard around him, bringing on her own climax, a light skimming one she barely noticed, so intent was she on wanting him to come quick, so this would stop. She wanted to get to the next part, to get past the next part, to get on to the long time ahead when they'd be a couple and she wouldn't be thinking about the pasthis, hers, anyone'sanymore.
Angel came in long shudders, groaning in a way more suggestive of pain and its release than of pleasure. He went soft in her, on her, still closed in heavy, his flesh slick beneath her hands.
"You okay?" she said.
"I'd forgotten. I'd forgotten what this was like."
"What was it like?" She didn't know if he was referring to sex, or to being alive again.
"Good."
He'd never been Mr Words. Not like ... he who she wasn't thinking about. Angel smiled, that particular sweet boyish smile that had astonished her the first time it dawned on his monolithic face, and astonished her again now; it was so tender and clear-eyed. She used to daydream by the hour of sharing a pillow with him just as they were now, of him looking at her just this way. She was wary nowhow happy was too happy?but at the same time, it was irresistible, the sweetness of it.
"I was thinking, Buffy. In the car."
They'd driven most of the night. It was early morning.
"What were you thinking?"
"I could look after you better if we were husband and wife. That would be the right thing. When we get to Vegas, we should do that, right off ... I mean, if you agree."
"Do ... "
He got up on one elbow. "I'm saying this all wrong. Buffy, I'd like you to be my wife. Will you marry me tomorrow?"
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