He can hear them now through the walls of the mansion
Rutting about like pigs or some other depraved animal
It tears at the very spot where his souls should be
Slices through his heart with more pain than any stake could ever do
The woman that should be the love of his unlife
And the man that has always been the bane of his existence
She will always be daddy's faithful little girl
It makes the bile and acid raise to his throat and his teeth clench
Even more so because he knows
Angelus is getting more satisfaction from this by making him miserable
Than he is from actually fucking her
His princess is Angel's warm washcloth
And his emotions are Angel's dirty magazine
Sometimes when the nights are long and cold
And he tires of the empty bed his Drusilla has run from
His thoughts turn to the battle
To the slayer and the fluid moves that make up her fight
The taste of his own blood makes him smile
But the smell of hers seems to drive him wild
And as his hand drifts down his cold hard body he wonders
How thin the line between loathing and lust can become
If that hard hand that cracked his jaw just nights before
Became a hand with warm fingertips that could almost melt his icy skin
Warm lips that whispered sweet nothings instead of witty barbs
A warm breath that dances across the nape of her neck
His ministrations increase as his mind wages a war on what would be better
His fangs devouring her life blood completely with a passion beyond compare
Or his hips plunging between hers , trying to consume all the heat that radiates around him
He reaches his climax while thinking of a decision he can never seem to make
Does he want to kill her or does he want to kiss her ?
She tells him he tastes like ashes and he knows its true
He loves what she once was to him but cannot get over her dalliances
The funny thing is she feels like the one that was wronged
His alliance to save her was the ultimate act of betrayal
And the shadow of the slayer looms over them both
She cuts him deeply with both her claws and her words
And as the Desoto slices through the night air
He ignores the feeling in his gut
The longing for golden hair across warm shoulders
Instead of brunette carved in ice
He blocks out the brain who remembers every last fight with the slayer
More fondly than any other moment in the last hundred years with Dru
He pushes down as far as it can go that little man where his soul used to be
The bloody awful poet writing of hope and love and redemption
Of enemies turned into something more
Of the Big Bad becoming the Champion in the eyes of someone he'd die for