I was in the mood while writing other stuff. As always, I own nothing.
It was a late Thursday afternoon and Angelus was feeling murderous. Granted, that was not an unusual state for him to be in, but for once, the feeling was not accompanied by a sense of anticipation, but rather, one of rage.
Things had seemed so simple a month ago. He was free, and the world along with everyone in it, was going to pay. Particularly Buffy.
Her tears went a long way to sooth his rage, and he had happily devoted himself to the task of breaking her into a million little pieces. The judge was a fiasco, but in retrospect, a fortunate one. Once he had calmed down he realized that ridding the world of humanity spelled his own destruction. Drusilla was crazy, but he was not supposed to be. So he would focus his efforts on Buffy.
Angelus' problem was that he couldn't seem to get back to his old ways. He hunted, stalked, murdered, and tortured, but he was feeling empty. And when he slept, all he dreamt about was Buffy. He was not overly disturbed by that fact that he wanted her body, after all, she was a beautiful girl and he a vampire with a legendary appetite. The problem was that he wanted more. He wanted her with the exclusion of all others, and it infuriated him.
Drusilla had bored him decades before he got his soul. There was no way she could keep his interest now, not when there was a beguiling girl who was softer and sweeter than any Angelus had taken before.
His passions were often violent, harsh. He was not gentle or sweet or tender, the way Angel had been with Buffy. And while she might physically lust for him, she had made her disgust for him abundantly clear soon after their fight with the Judge. She didn't want him, and for once, it mattered. He wanted her to come to him, his name on her lips. But he remembered her hatred all too well.
Angelus scowled. He longed to pay her back for the kick she had delivered to his manhood. She'd look so pretty with her back dripping blood, hands fisted in chains.
He couldn't bring himself to do it. He planned on ending it the night when she was ill; it would have been so easy to spirit her away and make her pay. Her little friends and oblivious mother wouldn't miss her until sunrise, and he could have her out of the state by then. Or dead.
But just as she was unable to bring herself to kill him, the Scourge of Europe, the killer of her classmates, so to was he unable to seriously harm her. Every time they fought he would hold back, his aim not to seriously harm her, unconscious though it was at first.
It was insanity.
It was not safe for him to be obsessed with the slayer. She was deadly to his kind, and in the past he had never bothered to toy with one. He'd either left town, or, later on when his notoriety lead them to hunt him down, he had killed them. There was nothing like the blood of a slayer after all, and the council woefully underprepared their girls.
He could probably kill Buffy. It was already abundantly clear that in battle they were, at least for the time being, evenly matched. But her friends were good for little more than research, while he had minions and Drusilla. And an annoying cripple. He could send them all against her, tire her out, and kill her. He had seriously considered it for one ludicrous moment.
But Angelus couldn't tolerate the thought of a world without Buffy.
It wasn't love, he swore to himself. But it went further than any obsession he had ever felt before. And he didn't know what to do about it.