Irony and Elvis
By Maquis Leader
Author’s note: Set three years after Chosen
The Powers That Be have a sense of humor; don’t think that they don’t. Irony has to be considered a fine art with them. Probably have competitions. The award for the best ironic screwing over of a supposedly favored being goes to…
Angel called. Happy and excited. Shanshu was real – he was real – a real boy, he kept saying.
He wanted to come see me. Fine by me. I was already back in the States. Already on my way to see him. To let him see that I was real now too.
Cookies, I told him. Time for cookies.
I was in NY and he was in LA. Let’s meet in the middle, he said. What’s in the middle? Missouri – nothing in Missouri to see.
Vegas, I told him. I always wanted to go to Vegas. Lots of lights and music and fun. And Elvis. What can I say, I like a guy in leather.
Wedding chapels, Angel said. Lots of wedding chapels there too. There’s even one with Elvis.
Angel was already there when I got to the hotel. The honeymoon suite, of course. Roses and candles. He was waiting with open arms.
I made him wait – I wanted to see him – see how beautiful he was. Seven years since he’d left me in Sunnydale. Three years since I’d left him in LA to go bake.
Seven years of fighting had left him lean and fit. He was bigger and bulkier than he’d been back in Sunnydale. And so beautiful that it hurt to look at him.
He pulled me into his arms. Big strong arms. Asked if it was cold outside. Poor baby, he realized too late why I felt so cool.
My fangs were in his throat as it dawned on him. He fought me – as much as he could before that awesome sexual rush took him.
Holding Angel, feeding from his sweet, delicious blood, I wondered if this was how he’d felt the day he’d fed from me. Powerful and possessive, aroused by the scent of fear and lust and blood.
I wasn’t sure exactly how to turn him. I’d read about it and had it done to me, but I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. I kept listening and hoping he wouldn’t die on me before I figured it out.
Finally, Angel’s knees buckled and his head fell back, and his heart slowed and hesitated. I bit into my wrist and fed him my blood. Clumsy and messy. Blood splattered over both of us.
But he grabbed my wrist and drank from it as if it was going to save him. Guess it was.
The chocolate eyes stared up at me, and I saw the questions and the anguish even as he suckled greedily.
There were too many, I told him. I couldn’t fight them all. They – did this to me.
Tears trickled down his cheeks, and he reached up to touch my face. I made it human for him. I knew that was the face he loved, not the demon I was now.
Now he’s still and cold beside me. Day is passing slowly, and I’ve spent my time washing the blood from his face and throat and putting a clean silk shirt on him. Good thing he won’t scar now, otherwise Angel would have a scar to rival the one he gave me. He fought me, and I didn’t know how to keep from hurting him as I bit deeper into the soft, warm skin.
I like him cool.
I leave him for a while, hang the do not disturb sign on the doorknob and tip the maid fifty bucks to let him rest and get his strength back.
In the casino, I find a horny young gambler and let him convince me to take him up to my room. Then I convince him to take a nap in the closet.
Will I get Angel or Angelus? Will Angelus return to the body he was forced out of? Or will a new demon move in?
Combing my fingers through Angel’s wonderfully thick, soft hair, I give up trying to figure it out. I’m still me. Still Buffy, only free. Angel will still be Angel.
Memories form the new vampire, or so Giles said once. I still remember my first day of ice skating lessons and kissing Randy behind the easel in art back in seventh grade. And making love to Angel on my seventeenth birthday. I spend a lot of time remembering that night.
When I asked Angel if he still had Angelus’ memories – remembered what he’d done – I could feel the hurt in his voice over the phone line. They’d told him Angelus’ memories would fade in time. I eased the hurt by reminding him that Angelus had been a part of our lives. And might be again, though I didn’t say that part.
He’ll have both their memories. Angel and Angelus. Both of them wanted me. Hopefully he still would. Who do I want him to be? Plenty of time to think it over and plenty of cool, pale skin to kiss and touch.
Someone not so hardcore evil as Angelus, but definitely not so broody and gloomy as Angel. A nice middle of the road fun guy is what I want.
The sun going down makes me feel sharper, more alert. Alive. More than when I was alive. Angel moves finally, grunts and growls, and his face shifts to game face. He looks the same – here’s hoping he feels the same. If he’s more Angel than Angelus – and angry because I turned him – this could be a short, violent reunion.
He grabs me and snuffles at me, then snarls and pushes me away. Before I can get up, Angel has lifted his head and sniffed out the scent of fear coming from the closet.
Mr. I’m-so-lucky-I’m-going-to-screw-the-blond-bimbo screams loud enough that I can hear him through the washcloth I gagged him with. He kicks and struggles, but Angel drags him out of the closet.
One fluid move, pulling back his victim’s head to expose the throat and plunging his fangs in to drink. I’m jealous. Angel’s an artist – not a single drop spilled. A neat, tidy kill. My first feedings were messy and bloody. Lucky for me, practice makes perfect.
I wait until he’s finished before taking his arm and turning him to face me. “Who am I?” I ask him. I take his face in my hands and make him look me in the eye. “Who am I?”
A frown. Then a smile. “Buffy.”
“And who are you?” The sixty-four million dollar question.
Now he looks confused. Angel sits down on the bed. I sit down next to him. After staring at his hands for what seems like freaking forever, he looks at me again, his face human and beautiful. “Not Angelus. Not Angel. Not exactly.”
This is the part that’s had me worried. I want – need – Angel with me. But what if I’ve created someone who doesn’t want me? Might have been better to leave him alive and try to be a good little vampire for him.
“I was human.”
Uh oh. This is the other part that's had me worried. What if he’s seriously pissed off that I turned him after he’d finally gotten his Shanshu?
“I – two hundred and fifty years – you – “ He grabs me and shakes me hard, his eyes all ugly yellow. “I worked for two hundred and fifty years! And you made me a fledgling again?”
“Sorry.” I didn't think about how Angel would feel about being turned again without the advantages two hundred plus years gives a vamp. “I wanted you with me.”
The vamp slides away, leaving Angel. My Angel. A slight smile tugs at his lips – not quite the Angelus smirk. “They screwed us.”
All I can do is nod. He knows the story.
“The day before you called me.”
“I’m becoming human – and you’re becoming a vampire.” He touches me with those wonderfully cool fingers. “Sounds like somebody’s idea of a trade off.”
Kinda my thought. Reward one champion, kill another. Screw them both. “Fuck ‘em.”
“No…” A full fledged sexual turn my ass on smirk now. “Fuck me.”
I let him push me back on the bed and climb on top of me. Angel’s eager and I’m several years past ready, and only the clothes in the way come off.
Angel gets his pants unbuttoned just as I jerk my panties off and his cock is shoved inside of me before I can get my legs up and around his waist.
Wet not being an issue, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hang on for the ride. It’s rough and violent and too damn quick. Angel’s growling and grunting into my mouth while he fucks me, and I’m doing my damnedest to keep up.
He bites me, hard, snarling as he drinks from me. This is what I wanted that rainy night. To be filled with Angel’s fangs and cock – to be taken, as my romance novels always say.
There’s a mirror on the ceiling. I blink my eyes open again. Sure enough, there’s a mirror peeping from over Angel’s rocking shoulders. The bedspread rumples and shifts. But we’re not there.
A harsh growl, almost a roar, in my ear and I feel Angel come inside of me. Cool spurts. I wiggle against him, not wanting to miss a drop of him.
“Good – damn good – “ He rolls off of me and lays there, panting.
Angel isn’t supposed to do that. I’ve had enough of being climbed on, fucked, and climbed off like I’m one of those ponies you put a quarter into.
“Come here, lass.” A big, cool hand pats my thigh. “Come here and kiss me.”
Well… he was the one doing most of the work. So I roll over and cuddle up to him, pressing my lips to his. Angel’s a hell of a kisser. I have yet to have anybody – human or vamp – kiss like he does. And I don’t think I’ll be doing anymore taste comparisons.
“You’re my sire now.” He tickles my lips with a laugh. “I always figured it would be the other way around.”
“Me too.” Being sired by Angelus would have been a thousand times less humiliating. Fucking ironic when you think about it. Sure The Powers That Be loved that touch.
“Who do I need to kill?” Angel tucks my head under his chin. Well hello and welcome home, Buffy!
“He’s dead. I dusted them.” I say into the soft spot under his jaw.
“Them?” He tips my head up and looks me in the eye.
“There were – too many – “ I don’t want to look at him but he holds my chin and makes me. “Come on, Angel. It was a beating, a little torture, everybody played a few rounds of stake the slayer. Standard stuff.”
There’s a flash of gold deep in the chocolate eyes and a hint of fang as he growls.
“When I woke up – rose? Raised?” Not up on my vamp terms. “They thought the fun was gonna keep on.”
“You killed them all?” A frown makes him look mean.
“Disappointed?” I crawl up to kiss the frown away.
Before, when I was still human, I was ashamed. Humiliated. Dirty. When I woke up a vamp, I was just pissed off. But… would Angel hold it against me that they’d put me through my paces?
I don’t get a chance to ask. Angel gets up and buttons his pants. “The way I look at it, Good just screwed up. They’ve lost two champions and Evil’s gained two.”
“Serves them right. Assholes.”
“Let’s go, baby.”
“Go where?” I slither back into my panties. I’d like a shower but…
There’s a big grin on his gorgeous face, and he’s holding his hand out to me. “I made an appointment for us to see the King.”
I’d follow him anywhere. I can shower later.
So now Elvis is asking me if I do.
The chick in the retro mini and bouffant hair is sniffling and dabbing at her overly mascaraed eyes.
Angel’s holding my hands, squishing the bouquet that bouffant chick gave me. There’s a smile on his face, and it’s a good thing I don’t have to breathe anymore.
Sickness and heath? Been there.
Better or worse? Don’t even get me started.
Until death do us part? Brought us together actually.
“Well, little lady?” A curl of the lip and a wink from Elvis. “Are you gonna be his girl?”
Only one answer to that.
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