Chains Of Love
By Maquis Leader
Author’s note: Immediately following I Only Have Eyes For You.
Well it's three o'clock in the mornin',
The moon is shinin' bright
Yes it's three o'clock in the mornin',
The moon is shinin' bright
I just sit and wonder
Where can you be tonight?
~ Big Joe Turner, Chains of Love
The woman on the bed whimpered. A sound of pain and fear.
Angelus turned to look at her, considered going to the bed and punishing her, then turned his attention back out the window. Moonlight painted everything sliver and bright and beautiful. But he didn’t see it.
He saw her.
He could still feel her body against his, her lips soft and wet just below his own, lips swollen from his kisses.
Her breath had been warm, fanning his lips, and he’d breathed it in as if it were the sweetest wine.
He had held her tenderly, gently, cradling her to his body. Her heart had beat so hard that he had felt the echo within his own dead heart. Fancied he could feel it even now.
Eyes closed, lips parted, breathing in her scent. Tender, content, filled with gentleness and caring. Consumed with love for her.
He had been about to lower his lips that infinitesimal distance to hers, about to press sweet kisses on her pink lips. Then she had whispered his name.
The woman in the bed whimpered.
Angelus shot another look at her, clenching his fists.
He growled softly. Angel, she’d whispered. Her voice breathy and passionate. Full of love and tenderness. Angel – not Angelus. Angel – his name. HIS NAME!
That had snapped him out of the spell – a bitter laugh burst from him – he couldn’t blame the damn ghosts. He had continued to hold her and kiss her even after the spirits had left their bodies. Held and kissed her with a tenderness he’d never shown a woman.
A tenderness he didn’t have! Couldn’t have! He was a demon, not some damn lovesick boy! That fucking soul had tainted him!
She had breathed his name – HIS NAME – and he had wanted to kill her. Rip her throat out – the cheating little bitch! Angelus slapped his hand on the window frame, making the windowpanes rattle.
The woman in the bed whimpered.
“Shut up!” Angelus snarled. The sound ceased immediately.
He hadn’t been able to raise a hand to her. He’d pushed her away instead. Fought the urge to pull her back into his arms to kiss her and make love to her. Make love? He sneered. He’d never wanted to make love. Fuck. Bang. Screw. That was what he did.
She had looked at him, eyes wide and green, confused at his rejection. He’d run from her. Ran! Angelus, the Scourge of Europe! Ran like a frightened pathetic child!
He had run blindly through the streets and graveyards of Sunnydale – trying to escape her. His skin insisted it could still feel her. His lips throbbed as if just kissed. And his heart ached with the echo of her heartbeat.
He’d run until he’d reached the end of his stamina. Then he’d crouched on the ground, tormented by what had happened.
Endlessly he had relived the kiss, the feel of her body pressed tightly to his, her warm fingers in his hair. Her whispering his name. Angel… HIS NAME! Damn it!
Growling, Angelus got up and stalked around the room. How many times had he mocked men who had a woman say another man’s name in their bed? How many times had he tormented Spike after hearing Dru chant Angel – Angel – Angel – while the blonde humped to get her off? No woman he’d ever fucked had called for another man.
And now here he was. Second best to a weepy, broody, spineless – Angelus picked up the lamp and hurled it across the room. Cuckolded by a miserable rat eating coward! Two faced – cheating – lying little bitch!
When he’d tried to scrub the feel of her – the need for her – from his skin, Spike had been able to dig and gouge at the wound. Taunt him for his reluctance to kill her.
Reluctance? Angelus snorted in disgust. Reluctance, hell. Inability. He just couldn’t do it.
A smirk curled Angelus’ lips. He’d gotten a small measure of revenge by all but seducing Dru in front of Wheel Boy. Had her whimpering and crooning while the boy fumed. Then threw his helplessness in his face and skipped off with his crazy chylde to hunt.
The smirk faded. He’d set off to find a victim to take his rage out on. And he’d found her. A petite little blonde. She’d been frightened, shrieking as he tore her clothes open. He’d bitten and savaged her body viciously, until she was incoherent with terror. And while she lay there, weeping and shaking, with the sweet scents of fear and blood surrounding them – he couldn’t fuck her.
Snarling, Angelus kicked over the chair by the bed. Never once – no matter how drunk or injured or tired – had he ever failed to perform. His cock, ever ready to plunge into whatever hole – hot or cold, wet or dry, pussy or ass – had hung limp and useless.
He’d been kneeling between the bruised thighs, ready – needing – to pound her into the pavement, and his cock had failed him for the first time. He’d ripped the bitch’s throat out and guzzled her adrenalin rich blood. But he had felt unsatisfied. Luckily, Dru hadn’t witnessed his humiliating failure – she’d been feeding off the girl’s useless boyfriend.
The mistake was in picking a blonde. Angelus understood that now. He had started seeing her – wanting her – and it had twisted him until he couldn’t enjoy the pain he was inflicting on the girl. Twisted him until he couldn’t savor the taste and scent of her terror.
Spike had known, damn him! Smirked at him and asked if he felt satisfied now. It had been all he could do not to rip a branch off one of the trees in the garden and shove it into Spike’s heart. Watching him explode into dust would have been satisfying as hell.
But then Dru had slithered up to him, and he’d thought of something that would torment Billy Boy and satisfy his own needs. Dru had those same needs and she had been more than willing to drop to her knees and suck his cock right there and then.
This time his cock had behaved itself – excited by the prospect of a double dose of pain and humiliation dished out to his victims.
He had watched Spike’s face the entire time – eating up the hatred in the pale eyes. He couldn’t actually choke Dru, but he had tried, grabbing handfuls of her hair and holding her face against him as he rammed his cock as far down her throat as he could.
When the novelty began to wear off – and for once he wasn’t able to get off – he’d dragged Dru to his bedroom by her long ebony hair. She had cried, kicked, and screamed the entire way. Spike had wheeled – Angelus laughed at the memory – wheeled after them, yelling at him to let Dru go.
He had thrown Dru on the bed and shut the door in the crip’s face. The look on his face had been priceless. Spike hated it when he and Dru played their games. Dru’s begging to be let go had all been an act; she loved to be hurt, but Poetry Boy didn’t have the balls for it.
She had cowered, but there had been lust in her dark eyes from the moment he drew back his fist the first time. Her screams were as much from pleasure as pain. Knowing Spike was outside the door, listening and no doubt crying for his poor crazy sire, had fueled him to even greater violence.
The woman in the bed whimpered. A soft cry of pain as she shifted.
The usual satisfaction wasn’t there, and Angelus turned his back on her.
It hadn’t helped, not one bit. His fists ached from the beating he had given her; his arms and shoulders had given out long before his rage had. He’d tortured Dru, then fucked her as brutally as possible – flipping her over to ream her ass after her cries and shrieks began to die down. And still it hadn’t been enough.
Angelus went back to the window and stared out at the courtyard. He couldn’t come, couldn’t get off – not until he began to imagine her. Pretended to be with her. The golden body against black satin sheets, skin warm and soft as velvet, honey blonde hair spread out, and green eyes full of love. Caressing and kissing her, making her sigh and moan in pleasure.
Closing his eyes, Angelus tried to rid himself of the image. Soft and warm, whispering his name – Angelus – as she came over and over for him, hot and wet – he jerked his hand back as he felt the cool skin under his fingers.
Opening his eyes, he found himself standing by the bed, his hand on Dru’s shoulder. She cowered back from him, genuine fear in her eyes replacing her normal desire for pain and humiliation. He had walked to the bed, so deep in his fantasy that he had been able to see her in his bed.
Dispassionately, he let his gaze move over Dru’s battered body. She was covered in bites and bruises, cuts and marks. Fresh rage blurred his vision. It should have been her – she should have been the one who had screamed and begged for mercy. It should have been her bones breaking beneath his fists – her skin he’d carved his name into.
“No, Daddy, please! No more! No more!” Dru shrieked as Angelus reached for her. “Please, Daddy!”
“Get out!” Grabbing a handful of her long hair, he jerked his chylde from his bed. He pulled her to the door, opening it to find Spike sitting there. “Here – I’m done with her!”
Throwing her at Spike’s feet, Angelus slammed the door shut once again. The blood splattered sheets disgusted him and he ripped them from the bed, tossing them out into the hallway where Spike was trying to pick Dru up from the floor.
The cloying perfume Dru wore surrounded him as he lay down. Snarling, he got up and flipped the mattress over. Lying down again, Angelus tossed and turned before falling into an exhausted sleep.
Golden skin, soft and sweet… warm little hands on his body… tender kisses… long gentle strokes… I love you… I love you… Angelus sighed and smiled in his sleep. I love you, Buffy…
The chocolate eyes snapped open and Angelus bolted up. NONONO! “No!” Grabbing handfuls of his hair, he tugged in frustration. “Get out of my head!”
He could not be in love! He was a demon – demons didn’t love! Couldn’t love!
Scrambling out of bed, he pulled on his clothes and rushed out the door. He’d go kill her right now – rip her heart out and feast on it! That would get her out of his mind!
Spike smirked at him as he walked out, and it was all he could do not to kick his wheelchair over. And stomp his brains out. And piss on his ashes.
Instead, he smiled and winked. “Don’t worry, Willy, I’ll bring back some take out. How about a nice, fat poodle this time?” Laughing at the fury in Spike’s eyes, Angelus swirled his long duster around him and skipped out the door.
Trotting through the streets and graveyards of Sunnydale in search of her, Angelus conjured up images of tearing her clothes off, sinking his fangs into her skin and ripping her open to lap up her blood, holding her down and fucking her until he broke her.
Not finding her at the Bronze or any of her usual haunts, he went to her house. Climbing the tree outside her window, Angelus peered through the window at her.
She was sprawled out on her belly, as if she’d been too tired to pull the covers back. Buffy was wearing nothing more than a tank top and panties, exposing enough of her golden skin to make him lick his lips.
As if she sensed his presence, she shifted and turned over. Angelus moaned. Her pert breasts showed through the sheer material, the nipples pebbled and hard as the night air teased them. His cock ached at the sight, and he rubbed it through the soft leather.
She shifted again, and one small hand slid down her body to rest between her thighs.
He crawled along the limb and onto the roof to sit outside the open window. The air was heavy with her scent – vanilla and arousal floated to him.
Her hand moved, fingers rubbing lazily at herself through the silk.
Angelus leaned closer until only the invisible barrier held him out – unconsciously, he mimicked her movements, rubbing his cock in the same lazy rhythm. She stirred as if waking, and he waited – hoping – if she woke – would she invite him inside?
A soft croon escaped him as she slipped her hand under the waistband of the small silky panties. He could smell the wetness her fingers were sliding through, and his cock throbbed – demanding to be buried inside her hot wet pussy.
Pressing up against the invisible magical wall between them, Angelus watched her rub and stroke herself. Buffy… His lips parted to speak her name.
She sighed, her pink lips parting, and a moan escaped her. “Angel…”
Yes, she was wanting him – NO! Angelus howled in anguish and despair. HIM! She wanted HIM! He slammed his fists into the barrier and roared in blind animal rage.
Leaping down from the roof, he ran through the streets, killing anything that came across his path. Demon, human, animal – all died with the same savage brutality.
Dawn was creeping up, pink pouring over Sunnydale, before Angelus’ rage gave way to self preservation. Seeking shelter, he found himself in his old apartment – no, Soul Boy’s apartment – he’d never live in such a hole in the wall.
Throwing himself on the bed, he curled up into the red velvet comforter. Pulling one of the pillows to him, he tossed it aside and grabbed the other one. Snuffling at it, Angelus realized he was seeking any lingering trace of her scent.
He was in love with her. Absolutely, crazily, suicidally in love with her. “This can’t be happening to me.” He moaned. “I have to – stop this – have to – kill her – “
There was the solution to his problem. He’d just kill her. Angelus closed his eyes and sighed happily. “Just that easy. I can do it. No big.”
As he began drifting off, his fantasy of snapping her neck changed to one of cradling her tenderly in his arms and kissing her gently. “No! God, get out of my fucking head!”
“I can’t kill her – I can’t – “ Pounding his fists into the pillow, Angelus howled in fresh rage. “I’ll kill her – if I have to drag Sunnydale into hell to do it!”
That’s what he’d do – finish what the Master couldn’t. The old rat faced fart. And once Sunnydale was swallowed by the Hellmouth… “Angelus loves Buffy so much that he destroyed the world just for her.” A slow smirk curled his lips. “Who says romance is dead?”
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