My first Angel fanfic. Set sometime in season 2, Reprise never happened. You should listen to 'My Skin' by Natalie Merchant. Sums up the way Darla's feeling perfectly. Seriously. Go Youtube it.

Rating: M for language and sex.

Goodbye, my Darling Boy

Oh, I need the darkness,
The sweetness
The sadness
The weakness
I need this

I need a lullaby,
A kiss goodnight,
Angel, sweet love of my life,
Oh, I need this

You're not going to lie and say that the whole brooding man of mystery thing isn't a big turn on, but you miss the delicious confidence that used to emanate from him. You miss the fierce desire that constantly burned in his eyes. You miss the way he'd slam you against the wall and ravage you until you couldn't think straight. You miss the heat of his gaze, the gaze that could set your body on fire and reduce your normally cocky self into a whimpering, incoherent mess. You miss him.

Angel's changed. You know that better than anyone. He's not Angelus anymore, he's not the man you worshipped anymore. Just the smell of that filthy soul sets your body in a raging fury, the unfairness of it all weighing you down.

But you never were one for fairness. For years you killed without mercy or remorse, without a care in the world. You sat back and watched with a smile on your face as everyone's worlds fell apart. After all the heartache you've caused, surely you deserve some back. But that's not how you see it. That's not justice in your eyes.

Everyone knows that Angel's pain is eternal - but what no one knows is that yours is too. Although you were never capable of love, he was your knight in shining armour, your dark angel. For a short time he was even your soul mate. And the reality of losing him is almost too much to bear.

You may not be his, but Angel's the love of your life. There's a reason you've never sired anyone else - the bastard's left a hole in your dead heart, a void no other creature can fill. And you hate him for that.

You gave him everything. You surrended and gave yourself fully to him. And no matter how it angers you, he can play with you all he likes, it won't matter. He can dispose of you how he likes, you'll come back every time - as long as some part of him - minuscule as that may be - wants you, you'll stay whether he knows it or not. Just hiding in the shadows... waiting in the wings. Waiting for your boy to return to you.

The memory of his chocolate eyes shining with intense desire only for you makes you feel weak in the knees but then there's always the nagging feeling of knowing you're no longer the one who plagues his thoughts that makes you feel sick.

Maybe it's because you don't have a soul and you're evil and everything, but you just can't understand what it is about Buffy Summers that makes him act like a silly little school boy in love. What does she have that you don't? What's so special about her? She even looks like you, for God's sake!

Ugh, the thoughts you're feeling are starting to disgust you. You never cared before. You never were the bitter one.

The gypsies were right. They really did conjure up the perfect punishment. Angel will suffer forever. And because of the deep connection you feel to him, you will too.

In your eyes, he was so perfect before. Your perfect, sadistic, evil genius. And now he's gone. And that reality makes your cold, dead heart ache. He's become a part of you and you need him.... just like you've always needed him.

Suddenly you're overwhelmed by an uncontrollable wave of anger and you just want these feelings to stop. The pain, the longing, the nagging feeling that you were never really good enough and that one year with that cheerleader meant more to him than 150 with you. You just want it to all go away. You want it to end.

You want answers.

~~-~~

You probably look like a crazy stalker woman watching him from his window, but you can't look away.

As he lifts his head from his book, his expression changes from one of serenity to one of suspicion. He can sense you, he always knows when you're near... and that thought thrills you like no other.

Standing up - rather abruptly - he looks around, his eyebrows furrowed, a light scowl on his lips.

"Darla?" His voice is slightly husky and you have to close your eyes at the way his lips form around your name so perfectly. As if he's devouring it. Devouring you.

Busted. You figure it's time you made an appearance. Stepping around the back, you open the door and walk inside, letting a gush of cool wind in with you. Angel's head snaps to the side and he stares at you, his expression completely blank.

"What?" Your melodic voice fills his ears, "No kiss?" Your patronizing voice is lined with mockery.

Angel's expression doesn't falter, his emotionless eyes cutting through to what should be your soul. He's not impressed.

"What do you want, Darla?" His voice is tired and he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You narrow your ice blue eyes slightly, "What I've always wanted..." Your voice is quiet and for the first time in your life, you're feeling insecure, "A reason. I want answers, Angel."

Your former lover raises one eyebrow in question, "Answers?" He shakes his head, "First you need to know the questions, Darla." He chuckles incredulously.

"Don't patronize me, Angel." A low snarl erupts in your chest, "I'm not in the mood."

Your behaviour doesn't surprise him. You've always been quite the firecracker... in fact your amusing temper tantrums were the only thing that kept him remotely interested. Well.. that and the sex. The sex was pretty amazing, "Fine." He sighs, "You want answers? Give me questions."

"What happened?" Your voice is so small and vulnerable and that surprises him, "When did it go so wrong?" You frown deeply, shaking your head.

"Darla.." God, how you love the way he whispers your name, "You're speaking in riddles." He lets out an incredulous chuckle, running an agitated hand through his black locks, "This isn't you."

"Me..." A patronizing chuckle comes from the back of your throat, "What is me, exactly?" You shrug your shoulders, the frown still in place, "What am I, Angel? A woman? A vampire? An evil creature? I- I don't understand!"

His mouth falls open slightly and you can see him struggling internally, wondering if this is all just a ploy. But judging by the way your eyes are filling with unshed tears and by the way your body is trembling with frustration, he knows you well enough to see that you're broken. Maybe beyond repair.

"Darla... I..."

"Angel, I've been through this with Lindsey, but he can't help me. You're the only one... the only one who can help me... the only one left..." Your ramblings slowly dwindle to whispers as your eyes flicker around the room - looking anywhere but at him.

Angel's looking at you as if you're crazy, "Darla, what's happening to you?" He squints in that annoyingly adorable way, "You've never questioned yourself before. God, you don't have a soul! You shouldn't even be thinking about this! In-fact, you shouldn't be here. I should stake you right now..."

"...But you won't." Your response is quick and you don't hesitate, "You can't kill me, Angel. Not again. You don't have it in you."

He's slightly stunned. You know him better than he knows himself, and although he resents it, he's starting to realise it.

"We were together 150 years. You cannot tell me that that means nothing! I don't accept that. We shared everything! You were my light, my everything, my eternity! We were perfect together!" The frown is becoming deeper as your hurt bubbles to the surface.

"Perfect?" Angel shakes his head at you, "Maiming, torturing, killing innocents - all for fun. You call that perfect?" His ever evident frown grows deeper as he shakes his head, "We were not perfect, Darla. We were a plague, a disease... we were the worst things to ever walk this Earth. So yeah, Darla, we meant nothing. Nothing but pain and fear and suffering."

If your heart was beating, you're pretty sure those words would have shattered it into a million pieces.

"Well," Your melodic voice is even raspier than usual, "At least I know the answer now, right?" A fake smile graces your lips and as he opens his mouth to say something, you continue: "I guess that's always been my problem, huh Angel? Thinking that 150 years together meant something, thinking that I meant something. I've been a fool, but now I see. It's you. You were the problem and the solution at the same time. Now I know that I mean absolutely nothing to you, I'm free. I don't feel any anger anymore... I don't feel anything anymore. I always thought that as long as some part of you wanted me, It'd be worth hanging on, worth fighting for. But now I know that you don't... It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. God, Angel, I don't feel anything! It's just a great big nothing!" Your voice is almost dream-like.

Your revelation leaves him aching and he wonders what happened to you. Suddenly memories of your time together flash through his mind and he takes this time to look at you - really look at you. You're so much thinner than he remembers, but the prominent curves are still there, the perfect breasts and wide set hips. The long, smooth legs that used to wrap around his waist so tightly. The big, blue eyes that used to sparkle with cheeky seduction are now dull and lifeless, but the full, red lips that he used to love to kiss are still the same.

"See something you like?" Your voice envelops him in a blanket of dark serenity and he wonders how you can go from so broken to so sexy in a matter of moments.

Angel chuckles incredulously, turning away from you and taking a deep sigh.

Walking up to him, you run your fingers down his back slowly - sensually - feeling the muscles tighten and flex under your nails. As you wrap your arms around his back and lean your head against him, you feel his breath hitch and quicken slightly and you close your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips.

"You've been craving this for years, haven't you, Angelus?" You whisper, leaning up and brushing your lips agaisnt his ear.

"No," His voice is insistent but you can sense his desire, "No Darla, this can't happen... I don't want..." His voice trails off and he closes his eyes.

"You don't want what?" You raise a seductive eyebrow, "Me?" You laugh slightly, walking around his still body, dragging your fingers along his shoulders as you do so. Soon you're standing face to face with him and you wrap your arms around his neck as he tries to look anywhere but at you, "Your body betrays you..." Your eyes flicker to his pants that are becoming increasingly uncomfortable and he shifts slightly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and readjusting himself with an awkward cough.

"Do you remember how it feels?" He notices a pitch change in your voice and tries to not let it affect him, "Remember how it feels to just... get lost? To surrender to the darkness... the intensity... the lust...." You glance up at him through fluttering eyelids, waiting for his eyes to darken the way they used to.

"Wolfram and Hart's plan may have been pretty stupid, but it worked, didn't it Angelus?" The way you breathe his name still sends a shiver down his spine and your voice is like a raspy, familiar welcome home. "You can feel yourself slipping... that filthy soul is lifting... You want it gone as much as I do... Think of the peace, Angel! You'll never have to feel guilty or lonely again. All you have to do is let go... let it happen, baby. Come back to me..." You whisper the last few words and you can see the internal struggle your former lover is trying to contain.

Angelus slammed her against the wall, both of their bodies in a passion fuelled frenzy. Darla's eyes rolled to the back of her head as he practically ripped the corset from her body, his raging black eyes piercing through her as his lips, tongue and teeth lapped at her golden skin...

You so badly wish he'd do that again. Your body is tingling just at the memory of it. You're done with mindless games and endless teasing... you don't want him to save you. You want him to fuck you. The way he used to. God knows, he still has the talent. The dreams had proved that.

"Or are you not man enough?" You bite your bottom lip seductively, playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck, "Come on, Angel! I want you... You obviously want me..." Your eyes flicker to the prominent bulge in his pants, "Do it like you used to... fuck me." You practically growl the last two words in his ear and he grabs your hips, almost as though he needs to steady himself.

You're acutely aware that he hasn't spoken a word since you started to seduce him and you're rather disappointed. Angelus was so vocal. He used to have no problem with expressing what he wanted. You remember how his voice used to practically drip with passion as he growled all the nasty things he was going to do to you... all the feelings he was going to evoke. And he was 100 percent right every time. He could bring you to such heights of pleasure no human could possibly understand.

"Is that what you want?" His voice suddenly brings you out of your Angelus fantasy and back to reality. His eyes have darkened a shade as he leans closer, "You want me to make love to you right here?" He dips his head down and kisses your shoulder gently.

You close your eyes, "No..." You breathe, "I don't want you to make love to me..." He lifts his head up as you open your eyes and are met by his slightly confused gaze.

"I want you to fuck me. Hard." His eyes darken intensely and you can feel his body harden, "I want you to ram me against this wall and fuck me until I can't think - or walk - straight. I want you to take me, show me who I belong to, I want you to help me feel something."

"Oh, I'll make you feel something, alright." He growls and throws you onto the desk, sending various objects hurling through the air. But neither of you even notice. All you can see is each other. All you want is each other. And in the moment, everything is right.

As he climbs on top of you and starts tugging at the hem of your shirt, you smile triumphantly, knowing you've won. His lips come crashing down on yours brutally, his mouth twisting and slanting over yours, forcing you to admit his tongue.

You're struggling to keep up with his forceful kisses and insistent hands as he rips open your shirt, apparently not bothering with just lifting it over your head. He throws the scraps of fabric to the floor and returns to your body, caressing the newly exposed flesh with rough bites and licks.

You try your hardest to keep under control as you push that annoyingly heavy trench coat from his shoulders, lifting his shirt over his head at an inhuman speed.

As his mouth returns to your neck, lapping and biting at the golden skin, you run your fingers down his rippling chest, feeling the muscles tighten under your touch. You always thought he'd been sculptured by a God. You pull the belt out from his pants and pull them down his muscular legs, discarding both items quickly as he does the same with your skirt.

As he trails hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck, his talented fingers unclasp your bra effortlessly and he hastily discards it, adding it to the increasing pile of clothes strewn around the room.

In the real world, you know good ol' soul boy wouldn't touch you. You wonder what's gotten into him but quite honestly you don't ponder that thought because you simply don't care. All you care about are the strong hands currently caressing your stomach and the wonderfully warm tongue entwining with your own.

His mouth trails south, biting and nibbling at your enticed nipples, massaging your breasts in the palm of his hands. Your head bangs against the wood of the desk, so hard that if you were a human, there'd be a bruise or bump there in the morning.

His fingers danced along her naked torso, making her squirm with pleasure. A smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She knew that there was nothing besides torture that Angelus enjoyed more than to watch her writhe underneath him. He plunged two fingers into her suddenly and she cried out loudly, arching her back unnaturally. Her mouth fell open and she screwed her eyes shut as he moved his fingers painfully slowly, loving how his teasing angered her. Head thrashing wildly side to side, she begged desperately and along with some curse words, his name became her mantra.

He wants you begging again. He wants to hear how much you want him, need him. He hasn't heard it from anyone in so long. He wants to pour himself into you, surrender himself as you so eloquently put it before. Because yeah, in the midst of all the pain, heartache and unbearable guilt, he's kind of lost the mission. You don't know what he expected, but it sure as hell isn't this. He's saved the world numerous times, he's repented for his sins over and over by saving countless numbers of lives. And what does he get in return? Nothing. Absolutely nothing but more pain and more guilt.

Fucking soul. It's destroying him.

You're not sure how it happened, but in the midst of your daydreaming, he's got rid of both your ridiculous excuse for underwear and his boxers. And you're naked.

How many times have you dreamt of this moment? Okay, so he's not the carefree, evil sadistic genius you adored and it's not exactly the same as your fantasies but it's still him. Under that gorgeous exterior, your boy's in there and he wants out.

"Please..." You hate how small and pathetic your voice sounds, but you can't help it. You've wanted him for so long and now he's here. He's right here and you can reach out and touch him. It just doesn't seem real.

He nibbles on your ear, "Please what?" He mumbles, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

He finds your soft spot and focuses on it, small kisses soon turning into ferocious bites, you gasp: "Take me."

And he does. He rams into you so hard you're stunned that the shuddering wooden desk doesn't collapse into two. You cry out loudly, wrapping your legs around his lean waist like you used to. The balls of your feet dig into his back and your toes curl - like they used to. Your fingers tense and your nails dig into his back, making delicious moon-shaped marks on his skin.

It's been so long but the feeling of him moving inside you feels so familiar. An unintentional whimper escapes your throat - one so erotic, mixed with ache and pleasure - that you have to squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate on not losing control completely. He buries his face in the side of your neck as you beg for him to go harder. His tongue lightly sponges the kisses he leaves behind, tasting the unique delicacy of your glowing skin. His dewy lips nuzzle the softness and your eyes roll to the back of your head, your eyelids fluttering.

Oh God.

He refuses to say anything. Trailing his hands tantalizingly - seductively - lower to where you are joined as one, he lets them do the talking. You let out a low hiss, your eyelids slamming shut as he plays with your clit. You're overcome with heat, as if you're being caressed by the devil himself.

The tension's building and by the look of frustration gracing his face, you know he's close. You're both so close. And with one last blissful moan from you and a pleasured grunt from him, you both fall off the edge.

He pulls out of you with a sigh and you run your fingers through your hair, a satisfied groan falling from your lips. And through the exhaustion of the day's activities, you both fall sound asleep atop the nearly-destroyed desk.

...

Morning light streams through the window and you pop open one tired eye, gasping as you quickly scramble out of the beam of sunshine. Crouched in the darkness of the secluded corner, you remember last night. But no smile graces your face. In-fact, no emotion comes at all.

You realise you're alone and raise an eyebrow. The room's a mess and it'll take you forever to find the clothes that were thrown across the room in blind passion. Suddenly a piece of paper catches your eye and you snatch it quickly when you see that the word 'Darla' is written in neat handwriting.

Unfolding the paper, you start to read:


I've gone out. I know last night happened and I don't regret it. We both needed it. But this doesn't change anything. When I get back, I expect you to be gone. Leave L.A and do not come back. Because the next time I see you, I will have to kill you.

You shake your head and chuckle uncontrollably. Your boy never was one for romantic morning-afters.

So you do as he says, because you're tired of fighting him. You leave town silently, more satisfied but also more broken than before. And although you don't love him - you're not capable of such an emotion - you know that your dead heart will ache for him. Maybe if you leave, you can start to heal. Afterall, he doesn't need you anymore - he doesn't want you. So this is your off-ramp. A new start with the new life - if you can call it that - you've been given. Now all you have are bittersweet memories of you and your boy to carry you through the winter nights.

And that's kinda okay with you.

Is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Then I'm leaving.