B/A Kink Ficathon :: When She Was Bad by Chloe Sarai

Title: When She Was Bad

Author: Chloe_Sarai (email: msjsjellybean@aol.com)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Set in Season 2 when Buffy first comes home from Los Angeles. What if it was Angel who followed Buffy out of the Bronze that night, instead of Cordelia, to check her about the way she had been acting? This is what I call a ‘Mirror-Canon’ fic.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, but one time, at band camp… I made David Boreanaz my bitch. :P

Written for MARKEYISAPUNK for the B/A Kinkathon.

Requirements: Bloodplay. Buffy drinking Angel. What that means for them or repercussions fine. No mushiness. Dark is good. I like aggressive Buffy and cryptic/slightly reserved/focused on Buffy (circa s1 and s2) Angel. I like smut with plot, even if the plot is just there to get the smut on. I'm not such a fan of the on the kitchen floor or in the shower genre of PWP. Did I mention that dark is nice?

Restrictions: No mushiness. Dark is good. Whiny is bad. S & M is fine, but no bondage or Dom/Sub or toys or spanking or role-playing or humiliation please. I don't love threesomes but a little bit of voyeurism is okay as foreplay. Please no alpha or uber macho Angel. Spoilers: “When She Was Bad”. Read on.

A.N.: Thanks to Kyria, Jen, and Chris for being my little audience.

It flows in me- the darkness. I can feel it rushing through my blood, humming a sensual song in attempts to seduce me with the need to taste a morsel of what it has to offer. For two months, the song has been the same, a constant replay running through my head.

Turn to me. Delight in me. Use me.

Tonight, is the strongest it’s ever been. I can feel my body tingling with its energy, alerting me of its presence within. I wonder, at times, if maybe it’s always been in me.

Did I not hear it? Stamp it down like an elephant does a bushfire?

Am I the only slayer who has felt the need to explore the evil I fight nightly? I’m sure I am not the only one, though Giles would never tell me in fear of alerting me to some big, dark Watcher-secret.

I do know I am not fully human. The slayer half is something entirely dark. Nothing that kills can be made from something good. Just my purpose, but not my build. I feel the darkness every time I kill a creature of the night with my hands. When I hold a sword, stake, or crossbow.

But I feel it most of all when I see Angel. Angelus. The one with the angelic face. His description didn’t lie. He is angelic, but his demon is pure sin. I can’t say how many gruesome stories I have heard about Angelus, but the ones I remember are gory to the bone.

He came to me last night, but I acted ornery toward him. I wanted to test him, see if he would respond with a vengeance. But he didn’t feed into me. Just once, I want him to let go and show me what his demon can do.

My mother calling me breaks my reverie. I don’t want to deal with her tonight, nor tomorrow for that matter. She probably thinks I'm on drugs or burning down churches. As soon as I'm not talking, she thinks the worst.

I can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs, and I quickly grab my jacket, silently climbing out my bedroom window.

“Not tonight, mom,” I say, laughing to myself. “Mother-daughter bonding will have to wait.”

I ignore my neighbor’s catcalls, the dirty old man, and slowly make my way toward the Bronze.
*****

I can feel him a few miles before I hit the club. A couple of months ago I would say his soul was singing to me, calling to me, but I know its something entirely different.

It’s the evil in him. Beckoning me to dance to its tune. And I'm going to. Ill move my body to any beat it wants me to.

I walk in the club, tossing my jacket on the chair next to the entrance. The bouncer looks me up and down, caressing my curves with his eyes.

“Like what you see?” I ask him flirtily, running my hands down my stomach.

“Oh yeah…” he groans, stepping toward me.

I put a hand on his chest, firmly blocking him from going any further.

“Well, its all you’ll ever do,” I tell him, flashing him a smile before walking away, sensing out Angel.

I spot him, standing just beneath the stairs, and walk to meet him halfway.

“Hi,” I say, my voice sounding dry to my own ears.

“Hi,” he responds, a little shyly.

That angers me. I don’t want shy.

“So, is there danger at the Bronze? Should I beware?” I ask, snippily.

“I can't help thinking I've done something to make you angry. And that bothers me more than I'd like,” he says, and the hurt sound in his voice is almost enough to make me want to be a little nicer. Almost.

“I'm not angry. I don't know where that comes from,” I reply nonchalantly.

“What are you afraid of? Me? Us?”

He sounds like an injured puppy, his brown eyes wounded and sincere.

“Could you contemplate getting over yourself for a second? There's no 'us'. Look, Angel, I'm sorry if I was supposed to spend the summer mooning over you, but I didn't. I moved on. To the living.”

Walking past him, I see Cordelia looking at me strangely. What, Queen C, afraid I'm stealing your Bitch of the Year title?

I walk to where Willow and Xander are sitting, putting an extra sway in my hips because I know Angel is watching.

“Hey!” I shout, attempting to be heard over Cibo Mato.

“Hi!” they both respond.

Willow smiles at me, one of those too-friendly smiles that irk me more and more everyday. At one point, I thought I wanted to be her. Her life was so easy. Smart and kind to everyone she met. But being smart and kind got you nowhere in a cemetery.

I grin back at her, but the light in her eyes dims when she studies me. She can tell it was a false smile. Serves her right for trying to be so observant. She doesn’t falter though, and sits there, playing her own role.

“What’s wrong with Angel?” she asks, her usual nosiness coming to surface.

I look back at my wounded puppy, then back to her.

“Beats me,” I shrug, halting any further questions from her with a careless attitude.

I look at Xander, who is looking at me as if he could devour me in one whole. He isn’t dressed half bad tonight. Pulling on his shirt, I urge him closer to me.

“Let’s dance,” I tell him, leaving no room for discussion as I pull him to the dance floor.

“Ooo-kay,” he mutters, as he follows behind me.

We stop in the middle of the dance floor, where I know we can be seen, and I begin to dance slowly against him. He staggers at first, but soon catches on and moves in time with me.

I know Angel is watching. I can almost feel his anger toward me. Good. Maybe he’ll show his true colors a little more.

I wrap Xander’s arms around my waist, grinding against his already hardening cock. Boys are so easy. I’ve barely moved and he is already keening for me. I turn in his arms, facing him, reaching a hand up to stroke his face.

He leans in to me, and I grind against him further. I tilt my head up toward him, my mouth mere inches away from his.

“Xander,” I whisper, my warm breath hitting his chin. “Did I ever thank you for saving my life?”

“N-no,” he sputters, visibly gulping. He looks like a cross between being turned on and afraid.

Slithering around him, I run my hands across his body, making sure never to lose contact. I look at Angel, the jealously clearly written on his face, quickly turning my attention back to Xander.

“Don’t you wish I would?” I ask, pulling away and leaving him standing in the middle of the floor.

I don’t look at Willow. I know what Ill see. She’ll look like the female version of Angel. Jealous, angry, disappointed in me, and hurt.

I don’t care what they think. This is my time.

I walk past Cordelia, grabbing my jacket, and making my way outside. The night air hits my heated skin, but instead of it being chilly, it’s soothing. I feel like I have so much pent up energy inside, but no release for it.

The Bronze door opens behind me, but I continue walking, even knowing who just exited.

“Buffy, what’s wrong with you?” he asks, his voice showing none of his previous hurt.

“What ever do you mean?” I mock.

My little patronizing has pissed him off. He walks up quickly behind me, grabbing me by my elbow and spinning me around.

“Ooh! Someone has their 18th century knickers in a bunch,” I laugh, rubbing my hand against his hip.

He pushes me away from him, a look of disbelief etched on his face. I am almost ashamed, but I don’t show it.

“What are you playing at, Buffy?” he questions me, his eyes looking deep into mines, as if he were trying to read me. “This isn’t you.”

“I'm not playing anything. Do you see a board game lying around?” I ask him, spreading my arms out in invitation for him to look around. “Nope. I see nothing that resembles Monopoly.”

He stares at me, but says nothing. His silence unnerves me more than anything. I can’t handle his silence right now because then I think too much. I don’t want to think about how he is looking at me as if he never knew me. As if he doesn’t want to know me.

“What’s the matter, Angel? Kitty got your tongue?”

I walk closer to him, my breasts pressing into him. He doesn’t move, and I take it a step further by sliding my hands up his arm.

“And if it doesn’t…do you want the kitty to have your tongue?”

His eyes widen in surprise at my hidden innuendo, then narrow as he smells the air surrounding us. Besides feeling my hard nipples through the fabric of his shirt, he can smell my arousal.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, Buffy,” he says, he voice grave. “I'm only half a man. Quit whatever you're trying to do and go home. Now.”

“Come on, Angel,” I whisper, grabbing his hand and running it underneath my dress. I hear his gasp as he realizes I am naked beneath this small scrap of fabric. I glide his hand between my thighs, and into my wetness, moaning as I accidentally brush my clit. “You know you wanna.”

“Fine. You want to continue to play at being a big girl. Do it on your own time.”

Snatching his hand from underneath my skirt, he gently, but forcefully pushes me away from him. I swagger a bit, finally gaining my balance.

“Always running aren’t you, Angel!” I yell after him, angry that he denied me. “First you want me. Then you don’t. Then you do. Now you want to run again!!”

He ignores me, disappearing around the bend of the building, the tails of his coat flapping in the wind.

Fuck that!

I'm tired of him always leaving me behind. It isn’t going to work that way anymore. I begin to follow him, my anger building at each step.
*****

I followed him to his apartment. No noise is coming from the inside, but I can feel him as if we were standing next to each other. I twist the doorknob, opening the door to find him sitting in the dark, his eyes glowing a dangerous yellow.

“What are you afraid of, Angel? Me? Us?” I ask, patronizing him with his earlier words.

He remains quiet, and I walk inside, flipping on the light switch and closing the door with my heel. His eyes are on me, and I make a little dance of taking off my coat, throwing it to the ground.

His eyes never leave mines. Walking to where he is sitting, I slowly drop to my knees, crawling to sit a couple of feet away from him. Facing his direction, I draw my legs up until my knees touch my chest, giving further evidence of my panty-less adventures.

“Meow,” I purr, laughing as he visibly flinches. I take off my shoes, throwing them over my shoulder.

There is silence as we stare at each other. His chocolate colored orbs digging through my layers to find the solution to what he thinks may be my problem. And my eyes full with anger hiding behind false merriment.

It seems hours, when in truth it was only a couple of minutes, before he makes a move.

“I've figured it out,” he tells me, leaning forward, his face a mask of concentration. “You’ve knocked on death’s door, and now you don’t know how to handle it. Instead of talking to someone, telling them how you feel, you're acting out your anger in the only way you know how. You think you want the darkness. Crave it. You think you know what it is. You haven’t even begun to scratch the surface.”

I can tell that my expression of pure control falters a bit, but I quickly cover it up. I rise to my feet, reaching behind me to unzip my dress.

“I'm not a little girl, Angel. I know what I want. I know what I'm doing,” I say with more confidence than I'm feeling at the moment. I let the dress fall to a puddle at my feet, halting all movement as I allow him to soak in my actions. “Let Angelus out to play.”

“This what you want, Buffy?” he asks harshly, his voice almost strained. “You want to see my demon?”

“Yeah, I do. Show me a real man, Angel,” I challenge, stepping closer to him.

He stares at my body with furious eyes, trying hard to prevent from admiring my flesh. But he can’t turn away. His eyes rake over my perky breasts, the cold waft of air in the room hitting my nipples and making them stand out. They travel down my flat stomach, to the hips that are thin, but full, smoothly blending into my slender thighs.

His eyes take on a dangerous glint as travel back up my body to meet mines, letting me know that he is no longer playing my games.

“Fine. Ill give you what you want.”

Rising out of his chair, he comes to stand in front of me, running a cold forefinger along my inner thigh. I involuntarily tremble, but my mind is made up. Without breaking eye contact, I begin to unbuckle his belt, but he snatches my hand away.

I look up at him, question in my eyes, but there is no answer in his. He swiftly undresses in front of me, stripping down to marble flesh, and walking past me toward his bed.

I turn around, stalking after him, positioning myself between his legs. His hands slide over my hips, and I rock with him, before he lifts me and gently tosses me behind him.

I am ready to hit him, but then again, this is what I asked for. I don’t want to be made love to. I don’t want cherry kisses and a dulcet choir. He apparently notices too because he doesn’t lavish my skin with gentle pecks. Instead, he nips at me with the tips of his fangs.

My heart is pounding so hard I think it may explode out my chest. I arch into his touch as he works his way up from ankle to thigh, subtly biting me until he reaches the junction between my thighs. I raise up to look at him, and in the shallow light, I can see a hint of blood on his fang.

It doesn’t faze me. It only makes me crave him more. I spread my legs, offering him the chance to sample further. A golden haze quickly glows in his eyes, before turning a dark, Hershey brown.

I know he can smell me. Hell, I can smell me. I smell like musky arousal and premature sex. But he makes no move to touch me- only stares at me with those penetrating, know-it-all eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask him, my voice sounding like a throaty grunt.

I think he was waiting for me to back down. Maybe change my mind. But I wont, and he knows this. He doesn’t respond to me. Just slowly, and sensually, sticks his tongue out to send that first bolt of electric shock through my body.

I vault off the bed, scooting upward toward the headboard, hoping to escape the pleasure. I know, sounds weird, but too much pleasure can be like pain. No way of controlling it, and it feels like its coming in hordes, like and overload to the senses.

His large hands grasp onto my hips, pulling me back down on his mouth. His tongue darts places I never knew existed until now, his fingers stretching and twisting in me, creating sensations that should be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac.

I can feel myself about to come, my body contorting in ecstasy, the stars behind my eyes forming its own galaxy. Then he stops, and it seems as if I am falling so fast, so hard back to earth.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I nearly scream, once I have regained my senses. I rise to my elbows, looking down at him between my thighs.

“This doesn’t work on your terms, Buffy,” he says, no feeling behind his words.

Its like he is a robot, moving mechanically to a set routine. No emotion in his eyes, in his voice, or in his touch. Not evil, but not completely good either. He is just there.

“So you intend on doing this all night?” I ask. “Gonna teach me a lesson by not letting me come?”

He slides up my body, and his cold to my hot is like a ying and a yang. Complete opposites, but so perfect together. He cools me, and I warm him. I'm soft. He is hard.

I spread my legs a little wider, allowing him a comfortable breach.

“Buffy,” he starts, reaching between our bodies to position himself at my wet entrance. “You wont be here all night.”

I don’t have time to make a comeback because inch by glorious inch, his fully erect cock stretches and fills me until he is completely sheathed inside my walls. He doesn’t take time to savor the moment, he just begins to thrust against me.

It isn’t gentle. It isn’t full of love. Its rough, demanding, and simply put, its fucking. There is no continuous foreplay. No soothing whispers or declarations. No tongues dueling in passion.

There is only the sound of my flesh smacking against his flesh, as my hips rise to meet his powerful thrusts. Our eyes are locked, but there is no emotion behind his, and none behind mines. I look at him with eyes full of lust and greed. He looks at me and he sees a stranger beneath him.

But he doesn’t stop. He braces his arms on either side of my head, his bent legs sliding beneath mines as he lifts me a little, allowing him a deeper position. I can feel him hitting every corner, every wall, and every cavern inside of me.

My hands grasp at his forearms, urging him closer, urging him to take me.

“Bite me…” I moan, grunting as he slams into me with force.

I can feel the intensity building, the stars and the galaxy reforming, the walls crumbling as he keeps our rhythm flowing. I can feel his body tensing beneath my fingertips, but he doesn’t move to bite me.

I raise my arms, wrapping them around his neck, pulling myself up to be face-to-face with him. I begin to ride him, sliding up his length, before sliding back down. Hard and urgent, remaining eye contact with him as I squeeze his cock within me.

“Bite me,” I say again, this time more of a command. “I can handle it.”

His arms go around me, holding me up, wrapping around my shoulders. His mouth nuzzles at my neck, and I am ready for it. I want to feel the slide of fangs through my skin, the rush of my blood as it leaves my body and goes into his.

He licks me, bending me backward, and still slamming into me at a superhuman speed. I feel the first flick of his tongue against my nipple, and just as I am about to come, I feel the glide of fangs cut through the meat of my breast.

I scream, the pleasure and pain of him biting me, combined with driving his shaft into me brings me over the edge. He doesn’t drink from me for long, but the act was intense enough for the seconds it did last.

I spasm around him, leaning forward to grasp his jugular between my blunt teeth. I grunt out my orgasm in his neck, still biting him hard enough to draw blood. There is a copper taste in my mouth, but I don’t spit it out. I revel in it, suckling him as if I were a babe sucking my mother’s breast.

I shake out the last leg of my orgasm, my body going slack in his arms. He allows me to fall back to the bed. But he still remains inside of me, quickly pumping in and out of me as his orgasm nears. I can feel his body go still as his pleasure overwhelms him, looking at me with flashing yellow eyes. He groans, a deep growl in his throat, before collapsing on top of me.

We lie there for a minute- me attempting to catch my breath, and Angel attempting to gain self-control. I knew he wouldn’t let loose for long. He is too into denying every part that makes him who he is.

“You gonna tell me you didn’t enjoy that?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He looks down at me, and I can see remorse in his eyes. He is no longer uncaring toward me, or distant. He is Angel.

“I never wanted it to be like this,” he whispers, pulling away from me. “You think I brought out my demon. That was nothing compared to what the real Angelus is like. I didn’t even touch base with him.”

“Why didn’t you? Afraid, Angel?” I ask, my voice strained as I hold back the tears.

“Yes! Yes, I'm afraid, Buffy!” he shouts, rising out of the bed. “You should be afraid too!”

“Well, I'm not afraid anymore, Angel!” I shout back equally loud, sitting up in bed. “My fraidy-cat days are over. I'm through letting death get the best of me! I refuse to run away from it any longer.”

“How is being careful running away?” he asks, turning around to face me. “How is being careful with your life running away?”

“Because it is! Because I don’t want to die again! I don’t want to die!” I yell, tears falling from my eyes. “I played it by book last time, and look where it got me! Face down in a puddle of water!”

“Baby…” he starts, moving to comfort me.

“Don’t, Angel. I don’t want your sympathy,” I say, quickly swiping at my tears.

He stands in his place, not moving, but reaching out to me nonetheless. I toss the covers off of me, rushing past him to grab my dress off the floor. I don’t look at him as I toss on the wrinkled garment, scurrying to retrieve my shoes.

“Buffy…” he calls out behind me.

I don’t look back at him, but halt what I am doing.

“I wanted to make love to you. Show you my soul. Not my demon,” he whispers, tears clearly ingrained in his voice. “Maybe one day you’ll let me.”

I don’t respond, but the pain is there, residing in the hollow of my heart. I look at my jacket resting by the door, but decide to leave it. The time it would take to bend down and get it would keep me here longer. I can’t be close to him right now.

I nearly break the knob in my hurry to get out of here, running into the night. Maybe I can keep on running, that way, I wont have to cry.
*****

His bones are lying there. The bones of the monster that killed my spirit. So many emotions fly through me.

Terror, anger, hurt, pain, suffering, sadness…so many that I can’t control. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I don’t care. They don’t know what it was like to be dead, and even though I am alive, still feel as if I were dead.

I have never truly hated anyone before. Lothos killed my first watcher in front of my eyes, but I never wholeheartedly hated him. My dad left mom and I for anytime-romps with his younger-than-I secretary, but I never hated him.

The Master made plans to take my life, and succeeded. I despise him from the bottom of my gut. He made me weak- showed me that my life was expendable. He made me afraid, petrified even, that someone else can do what he did.

He took away my free will. And for that, I hate him.

I look down at the sledgehammer in my hands, back to the Masters bones. I don’t hesitate in swinging it with all my might, crashing it down upon him.

First hit was my will. I have it back. He can’t have that. Second hit was for weakness. I am strong again, and I won’t be back brought down. Third, fourth, fifth hit was for terror, my pain, my loneliness.

Smashing his skull was for my life. The life he took for those few precious minutes. The sound of it cracking brought back every fear that I would never see my friends again. Giles. My mom. Angel. I’d never shop, eat, laugh, or talk. He took that away from me, and I'm taking it back.

I don’t know how long I swung that hammer. Until my arms hurt. Until his bones were dust. Until I was numb and relieved at the same time. But I swung until I was covered in the fine sheen of powder his bones left.

Dropping the hammer, my senses reached out for comfort. I knew who would be there without having to turn around, but I turned anyway. And he was there, his arms open, his embrace accepting.

I stepped into it, allowing him to envelope me, and hold me close. My tears wet the front of his jacket, but he didn’t let me go. I burrowed further into his chest, crying with everything I wouldn’t allow to come out before.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothes me, rubbing my back.

“I don’t want the darkness, Angel. I don’t want it,” I cry, grasping onto the lapels of his coat.

He says nothing. Just holds me. But the love in his touch told me all I needed to know.

Fin~