Love's Gift - Part 5
By Jill
He rolled away from her, and through the pounding of her own blood she
could still hear the roar of pleasure from his mouth when his cold semen
had spilled into her.
She felt like floating, like not being part of this earth, like having
just died a little bit. She thought about a novel she'd once read about
the petit mort, the little death, how the French called it, and she knew
what it meant. She'd experienced it before, on the rainy night of her
seventeenth birthday.
Nothing seemed real. She was only half aware of the half-naked body lying
beside her, his breathing as ragged as hers, which was weird as he didn't
need to breathe in the first place. She felt sore in secret places, but
it was a good feeling, a feeling of being whole, after feeling so empty
for so many weeks.
She knew the emptiness would come again, knew it like she knew the sun
would rise the next morning. She hadn't made love to Angel, the Angel who
had once carried her to heaven. She'd slept with a demon, a demon who
wore her lover's face. But not her lover's eyes. Never his eyes.
The eyes of the demon were cold, like a deep, bottomless sea during
wintertime, frozen on the surface, the life drained from it, the warmth,
the love. And she wanted to weep in the aftermath, wanted to weep for
losing what had brought her so far, for losing what had been the most
important thing in her life.
And she wanted to gag. The nausea in her stomach came sudden, disgust
filling her at what she'd done, at what she'd allowed to happen. She was
a human being, and she'd let a demon use her. Had even agreed. He hadn't
raped her, and that was hard to accept. It had been consensual, and she
hated it, loathed herself for it. She was not a demon, she had a soul.
She wanted to roll out of her bed, run to the bathroom, slam the door
and never open it again, when he suddenly groaned beside her. It wasn't
a quiet groan, but a noise of agony and her head snapped around.
His face was contorted, his eyes flashing amber, than turned back to the
familiar brown. The next moment his fangs showed and a growl erupted from
his throat, hatred burning from his usually lifeless eyes, a hatred so
strong it made her feel instantly cold inside. It was more than she could
bear. Lifeless was one thing. She could deal with that, because she knew
it was the demon's nature. But she couldn't accept hatred, not from those
eyes that once had shown her nothing but love.
Yet, survival instincts, as old as the world, kicked to life inside of
her, and with a swift movement she rolled away, grabbing for a stake in
the process, her body instinctively alert and ready to fight, her mind
focussed on the enemy. The enemy she'd given herself so willingly to.
Fighting down another wave of nausea she stared at him, watched the change
in his face, again and again, watched the demon growl, then the human
facade return. He clutched his stomach, howled in pain, then became quiet
again. And then, without warning, it was over. And it was almost more
shocking than before.
He was completely lifeless, just lying there, not breathing, not moving.
Dead. A dead body, lying on her bed.
The image hit her full force and forgetting all about caution, forgetting
that it wasn't Angel on her bed, she rushed forward, the stake clattering
to the ground, she sat down at his side, tentatively reaching out, touching
his face, feeling his cool, smooth skin, the texture she remembered so well,
would never forget it as long as she lived.
Which, she realised all of a sudden, wouldn't be long if she wasn't
careful. Jumping from the bed, she went to her box with her hidden Slayer
stuff, found what she had been looking for and went back to the bed.
She didn't pause, didn't think, never even contemplated ending it that
very moment, the stake on the ground long forgotten, and snapped the
handcuffs over his wrist, then slinging the chain through the bars of
her headboard, she secured the second wrist as well.
He looked so peaceful, his eyes shut, his features relaxed. There was
nothing in him of the cruel demon, there was the face of the man she
loved, the man who was lost to her. How could she explain to her friends
that she wasn't able to kill him? That she couldn't look at him and end
his life, ending any chance to get Angel back, at the same time.
She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't.
She braced herself for the moment he'd wake up. For those eyes to open,
to shatter all her dreams. For the cruelty she knew he was capable of,
for the hatred, for the pain.
She had lost the time in sitting here, watching him, didn't know how late
it was, didn't realise the sky was already turning light, didn't hear
the noises of the birds singing for the first rays of sun. Her gaze was
locked onto his, was lost in a dream that would be shattered when
unconsciousness faded. But until then, she could believe in it, could
still hope.
Buffy didn't know when it happened, but obviously sleep had overpowered
her at last and when she came to herself again, and opened her eyes she
found him looking at her.
And thought she might dream after all.
Those weren't the eyes of a demon, of a soulless monster. The eyes looking
at her were soft and warm, were full of love.
Not able to believe, not daring to hope, she continued to stare at him,
not
understanding. She saw one of his hands twitch and realised he had been
about to reach out for her, then realised he was bound.
"Buffy."
The one word shattered the silence, and Buffy felt suddenly raw, like
being sliced open right in front of him. She felt a sob rising in her
throat, felt her heart constricting, pressed a hand to cover her lips,
afraid to lose it, desperately fighting to get a grip on her emotions.
His eyes were watching her, never wavering, never blinking, steadily
focussed on her face, taking in every detail, loving her with it, like
a lover's caress.
She blinked rapidly, the tears falling nevertheless, and slowly she
eased the pressure on her mouth. She felt her lips trembling under her
fingers, her tongue like lead in her mouth, she only managed to say his
name. "A-Angel?"
He didn't respond, but she saw his pupils widen for a moment. Then his
lids slid shut for a moment, and he groaned. Instantly afraid she
reached out, not contemplating her spontaneous movement. He groaned
again, then came his voice like a whisper, loathed with such guilt and
shame, she wanted to weep. "I would really like to hold you, but I
realise I've lost any right to do it."
And like this her world shifted back into focus. She didn't even think
about, she uncuffed him so fast, and threw herself in his arms, the only
thing he could do was react and close them around her, holding her,
stroking her while she wept, while the misery of the last weeks poured
out of her.
*
Buffy woke with a start, her eyes snapping open, not at all surprised
to find tears running down her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever
think about the last weeks and not feel like bawling her soul out. Maybe
one day, when this was just a bad nightmare, and when they found the
reason for Angel's soul being returned to him.
It was so good to have him back, she wanted to crawl onto the roof and
sing it to the world - just not literally. Not even the disapproval on
her mother's face could disturb the feeling of happiness she felt whenever
she thought of Angel. The only thing that would make her even happier was
if she could be there next to him, lying in his arms, without being afraid
to lose him again.
Wouldn't it be the final irony if he came back only to be lost to her
forever? If she wasn't allowed to touch him, always afraid to go too
far, always scared to cause a moment of perfect happiness, and set his
demon free again. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand it. Angel,
she was sure of that, wouldn't. She knew that he would rather leave
before allowing this to happen.
She would never forget how he'd cried in her arms, remembering all the
things he'd done while his soul hadn't been there, remembering the
things he'd said to her, the way he'd hurt and taunted her. Clinging
to her, he'd finally fallen asleep around noon, completely drained -
emotionally and physically - but holding her close to him, his arms
around her tightening from time to time, even in his sleep, to assure
himself she was there, wouldn't leave.
After having been forced to watch him while he tried to struggle through
the onslaught of memories, she didn't even want to contemplate what it
had been for him the first time, hundred years ago, when his soul had
been returned to him. The Romanis certainly knew about vengeance and
torture. Buffy didn't wish this for her worst enemy.
She remembered how disturbed Giles had been after reading over the
curse. Her watcher had seen many things in his life, surely read a lot
more. He wasn't shocked easily. But he had been white as a sheet last
night in the library.
A pity those gypsies were dead and long gone. Buffy didn't see herself
as an overly violent person, at least not where humans were concerned.
But right this moment she wanted to beat all of them into bloody pulps,
and she wasn't the slightest bit disturbed by her thoughts.
Suddenly feeling unsettled, she left the bed, walked over to the window.
Looking at the rising sun, she felt a chill, and rubbing her arms, she
felt goose-bumps all over them. She didn't know why. Maybe because she
felt a longing for the man she loved, the man who was sleeping in
another bed, not far away, but equally alone.
She'd spent the last two nights with him. Wrapped up in his arms,
listening to his voice, lulled into sleep by it. He had no body warmth,
couldn't give her heat, and yet she'd never been cold when he was with
her. She had felt safe and protected and like finally, truly, coming
home.
Having been deep in thought, she almost jumped out of her skin when a
knock sounded at her door, and her mother appeared. "Morning, honey,"
she greeted her daughter with a slight smile. Realising Buffy was already
wide awake, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
She watched her daughter, standing at the window, for a long moment,
then sat down at the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap.
"You're up early."
"Uh-huh." Buffy combed her messy hair from her face, turning towards
her mother. "I didn't sleep well."
Joyce tilted her head, "History getting to you at last?"
"Not really, no," her daughter frowned slightly. "There's just a lot
going on at school."
Her mother gazed at her folded hands for a moment, then looking back up,
her eyes were intent. "Between you and Angel, is it serious?"
Completely taken by surprise, Buffy stared at her. "W-what?"
Joyce chuckled slightly, "I might be an old woman in your eyes, honey,
but I'm not dead. Even I can see how attractive he is. And I've seen the
way he looks at you. And of course I've seen the way *you* look at him."
"You have, huh?" Her daughter took a deep breath, walked back to the bed,
sat down on top of the covers. "Yeah. We're ... uh ... kind of dating."
"I see." Mrs. Summers sighed. "And since when is this going on?"
"Several months," Buffy replied honestly. "But it's not what you think,"
she was quick to add.
"It isn't?" Joyce raised a brow. "That would really disappoint me," she
said slowly, "because I thought you two were in love with each other."
Buffy stared at her mother. Who was that person in front of her? Her
mother was the most oblivious person she'd ever met. But it seemed, as
far as boys were concerned, things were slightly different. "We are,"
she blurted out. "We ... I love him very much. And Angel ..."
"He's wonderful, I know." Her mother chuckled again, then reached out
and took her daughter's hand. "Just one thing. Please be careful. I
don't want you to end up a pregnant teenage mother."
"Mom!," Buffy exclaimed, clearly shocked. But of course, her mother was
right. Joyce couldn't know that there was absolutely no danger for her
getting pregnant. Even if they solved the mystery of Angel's curse.
Angel was a vampire, so technically he was dead. Which meant his sperm
was, too.
"Just promise me, Buffy. I don't want to hear details about your
relationship. But I can see he's older than you. It's also no secret
that I'd be happier if he wasn't. But it seems, the relationship is long
past the time where any interference might have done good. So, will you
promise me?"
"I will," her daughter smiled, "I promise. You don't have to worry."
Patting her daughter's hand, Joyce sighed. "I will always worry, honey."
She stood, walked towards the door. "Comes with the territory," she
said before she left. "Get into the shower. I'll have breakfast ready in
twenty minutes."
Before she closed the door completely, Buffy called, "I love you, mom."
"I know," Joyce replied, not coming back in. "Don't take my earrings again."
There was a grin on Buffy's face when she reached for her clothes.
... to be continued
Feedback?
By Jill
He rolled away from her, and through the pounding of her own blood she
could still hear the roar of pleasure from his mouth when his cold semen
had spilled into her.
She felt like floating, like not being part of this earth, like having
just died a little bit. She thought about a novel she'd once read about
the petit mort, the little death, how the French called it, and she knew
what it meant. She'd experienced it before, on the rainy night of her
seventeenth birthday.
Nothing seemed real. She was only half aware of the half-naked body lying
beside her, his breathing as ragged as hers, which was weird as he didn't
need to breathe in the first place. She felt sore in secret places, but
it was a good feeling, a feeling of being whole, after feeling so empty
for so many weeks.
She knew the emptiness would come again, knew it like she knew the sun
would rise the next morning. She hadn't made love to Angel, the Angel who
had once carried her to heaven. She'd slept with a demon, a demon who
wore her lover's face. But not her lover's eyes. Never his eyes.
The eyes of the demon were cold, like a deep, bottomless sea during
wintertime, frozen on the surface, the life drained from it, the warmth,
the love. And she wanted to weep in the aftermath, wanted to weep for
losing what had brought her so far, for losing what had been the most
important thing in her life.
And she wanted to gag. The nausea in her stomach came sudden, disgust
filling her at what she'd done, at what she'd allowed to happen. She was
a human being, and she'd let a demon use her. Had even agreed. He hadn't
raped her, and that was hard to accept. It had been consensual, and she
hated it, loathed herself for it. She was not a demon, she had a soul.
She wanted to roll out of her bed, run to the bathroom, slam the door
and never open it again, when he suddenly groaned beside her. It wasn't
a quiet groan, but a noise of agony and her head snapped around.
His face was contorted, his eyes flashing amber, than turned back to the
familiar brown. The next moment his fangs showed and a growl erupted from
his throat, hatred burning from his usually lifeless eyes, a hatred so
strong it made her feel instantly cold inside. It was more than she could
bear. Lifeless was one thing. She could deal with that, because she knew
it was the demon's nature. But she couldn't accept hatred, not from those
eyes that once had shown her nothing but love.
Yet, survival instincts, as old as the world, kicked to life inside of
her, and with a swift movement she rolled away, grabbing for a stake in
the process, her body instinctively alert and ready to fight, her mind
focussed on the enemy. The enemy she'd given herself so willingly to.
Fighting down another wave of nausea she stared at him, watched the change
in his face, again and again, watched the demon growl, then the human
facade return. He clutched his stomach, howled in pain, then became quiet
again. And then, without warning, it was over. And it was almost more
shocking than before.
He was completely lifeless, just lying there, not breathing, not moving.
Dead. A dead body, lying on her bed.
The image hit her full force and forgetting all about caution, forgetting
that it wasn't Angel on her bed, she rushed forward, the stake clattering
to the ground, she sat down at his side, tentatively reaching out, touching
his face, feeling his cool, smooth skin, the texture she remembered so well,
would never forget it as long as she lived.
Which, she realised all of a sudden, wouldn't be long if she wasn't
careful. Jumping from the bed, she went to her box with her hidden Slayer
stuff, found what she had been looking for and went back to the bed.
She didn't pause, didn't think, never even contemplated ending it that
very moment, the stake on the ground long forgotten, and snapped the
handcuffs over his wrist, then slinging the chain through the bars of
her headboard, she secured the second wrist as well.
He looked so peaceful, his eyes shut, his features relaxed. There was
nothing in him of the cruel demon, there was the face of the man she
loved, the man who was lost to her. How could she explain to her friends
that she wasn't able to kill him? That she couldn't look at him and end
his life, ending any chance to get Angel back, at the same time.
She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't.
She braced herself for the moment he'd wake up. For those eyes to open,
to shatter all her dreams. For the cruelty she knew he was capable of,
for the hatred, for the pain.
She had lost the time in sitting here, watching him, didn't know how late
it was, didn't realise the sky was already turning light, didn't hear
the noises of the birds singing for the first rays of sun. Her gaze was
locked onto his, was lost in a dream that would be shattered when
unconsciousness faded. But until then, she could believe in it, could
still hope.
Buffy didn't know when it happened, but obviously sleep had overpowered
her at last and when she came to herself again, and opened her eyes she
found him looking at her.
And thought she might dream after all.
Those weren't the eyes of a demon, of a soulless monster. The eyes looking
at her were soft and warm, were full of love.
Not able to believe, not daring to hope, she continued to stare at him,
not
understanding. She saw one of his hands twitch and realised he had been
about to reach out for her, then realised he was bound.
"Buffy."
The one word shattered the silence, and Buffy felt suddenly raw, like
being sliced open right in front of him. She felt a sob rising in her
throat, felt her heart constricting, pressed a hand to cover her lips,
afraid to lose it, desperately fighting to get a grip on her emotions.
His eyes were watching her, never wavering, never blinking, steadily
focussed on her face, taking in every detail, loving her with it, like
a lover's caress.
She blinked rapidly, the tears falling nevertheless, and slowly she
eased the pressure on her mouth. She felt her lips trembling under her
fingers, her tongue like lead in her mouth, she only managed to say his
name. "A-Angel?"
He didn't respond, but she saw his pupils widen for a moment. Then his
lids slid shut for a moment, and he groaned. Instantly afraid she
reached out, not contemplating her spontaneous movement. He groaned
again, then came his voice like a whisper, loathed with such guilt and
shame, she wanted to weep. "I would really like to hold you, but I
realise I've lost any right to do it."
And like this her world shifted back into focus. She didn't even think
about, she uncuffed him so fast, and threw herself in his arms, the only
thing he could do was react and close them around her, holding her,
stroking her while she wept, while the misery of the last weeks poured
out of her.
*
Buffy woke with a start, her eyes snapping open, not at all surprised
to find tears running down her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever
think about the last weeks and not feel like bawling her soul out. Maybe
one day, when this was just a bad nightmare, and when they found the
reason for Angel's soul being returned to him.
It was so good to have him back, she wanted to crawl onto the roof and
sing it to the world - just not literally. Not even the disapproval on
her mother's face could disturb the feeling of happiness she felt whenever
she thought of Angel. The only thing that would make her even happier was
if she could be there next to him, lying in his arms, without being afraid
to lose him again.
Wouldn't it be the final irony if he came back only to be lost to her
forever? If she wasn't allowed to touch him, always afraid to go too
far, always scared to cause a moment of perfect happiness, and set his
demon free again. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand it. Angel,
she was sure of that, wouldn't. She knew that he would rather leave
before allowing this to happen.
She would never forget how he'd cried in her arms, remembering all the
things he'd done while his soul hadn't been there, remembering the
things he'd said to her, the way he'd hurt and taunted her. Clinging
to her, he'd finally fallen asleep around noon, completely drained -
emotionally and physically - but holding her close to him, his arms
around her tightening from time to time, even in his sleep, to assure
himself she was there, wouldn't leave.
After having been forced to watch him while he tried to struggle through
the onslaught of memories, she didn't even want to contemplate what it
had been for him the first time, hundred years ago, when his soul had
been returned to him. The Romanis certainly knew about vengeance and
torture. Buffy didn't wish this for her worst enemy.
She remembered how disturbed Giles had been after reading over the
curse. Her watcher had seen many things in his life, surely read a lot
more. He wasn't shocked easily. But he had been white as a sheet last
night in the library.
A pity those gypsies were dead and long gone. Buffy didn't see herself
as an overly violent person, at least not where humans were concerned.
But right this moment she wanted to beat all of them into bloody pulps,
and she wasn't the slightest bit disturbed by her thoughts.
Suddenly feeling unsettled, she left the bed, walked over to the window.
Looking at the rising sun, she felt a chill, and rubbing her arms, she
felt goose-bumps all over them. She didn't know why. Maybe because she
felt a longing for the man she loved, the man who was sleeping in
another bed, not far away, but equally alone.
She'd spent the last two nights with him. Wrapped up in his arms,
listening to his voice, lulled into sleep by it. He had no body warmth,
couldn't give her heat, and yet she'd never been cold when he was with
her. She had felt safe and protected and like finally, truly, coming
home.
Having been deep in thought, she almost jumped out of her skin when a
knock sounded at her door, and her mother appeared. "Morning, honey,"
she greeted her daughter with a slight smile. Realising Buffy was already
wide awake, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
She watched her daughter, standing at the window, for a long moment,
then sat down at the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap.
"You're up early."
"Uh-huh." Buffy combed her messy hair from her face, turning towards
her mother. "I didn't sleep well."
Joyce tilted her head, "History getting to you at last?"
"Not really, no," her daughter frowned slightly. "There's just a lot
going on at school."
Her mother gazed at her folded hands for a moment, then looking back up,
her eyes were intent. "Between you and Angel, is it serious?"
Completely taken by surprise, Buffy stared at her. "W-what?"
Joyce chuckled slightly, "I might be an old woman in your eyes, honey,
but I'm not dead. Even I can see how attractive he is. And I've seen the
way he looks at you. And of course I've seen the way *you* look at him."
"You have, huh?" Her daughter took a deep breath, walked back to the bed,
sat down on top of the covers. "Yeah. We're ... uh ... kind of dating."
"I see." Mrs. Summers sighed. "And since when is this going on?"
"Several months," Buffy replied honestly. "But it's not what you think,"
she was quick to add.
"It isn't?" Joyce raised a brow. "That would really disappoint me," she
said slowly, "because I thought you two were in love with each other."
Buffy stared at her mother. Who was that person in front of her? Her
mother was the most oblivious person she'd ever met. But it seemed, as
far as boys were concerned, things were slightly different. "We are,"
she blurted out. "We ... I love him very much. And Angel ..."
"He's wonderful, I know." Her mother chuckled again, then reached out
and took her daughter's hand. "Just one thing. Please be careful. I
don't want you to end up a pregnant teenage mother."
"Mom!," Buffy exclaimed, clearly shocked. But of course, her mother was
right. Joyce couldn't know that there was absolutely no danger for her
getting pregnant. Even if they solved the mystery of Angel's curse.
Angel was a vampire, so technically he was dead. Which meant his sperm
was, too.
"Just promise me, Buffy. I don't want to hear details about your
relationship. But I can see he's older than you. It's also no secret
that I'd be happier if he wasn't. But it seems, the relationship is long
past the time where any interference might have done good. So, will you
promise me?"
"I will," her daughter smiled, "I promise. You don't have to worry."
Patting her daughter's hand, Joyce sighed. "I will always worry, honey."
She stood, walked towards the door. "Comes with the territory," she
said before she left. "Get into the shower. I'll have breakfast ready in
twenty minutes."
Before she closed the door completely, Buffy called, "I love you, mom."
"I know," Joyce replied, not coming back in. "Don't take my earrings again."
There was a grin on Buffy's face when she reached for her clothes.
... to be continued
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