after.midnight // v.naked
TITLE: After Midnight
RATING: NC17, Buffy/Angelus
SUMMARY: Sometimes the line between love and hate gets a little is blurried by a little thing called need.
DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angelus are the property of Joss Whedon. He is the rightful ruler of their land.
DEDICATION: For Lex, Tinkerbell, Harpy, and seneca, the other members of the KRT, because I adore them immensely. And to aimeless because I happen to adore her also.
The air was cool that night, the wind gusting violently, causing the fallen red and yellow leaves to stir restlessly upon the ground. Rain poured down from the billowing dark gray clouds, thunder crackling loudly in the sky, the flashes of lightning providing the only light in the darkness. The streets of Sunnydale were bare, neither humans nor vampires willing to brave the rain. Only two were out that night, their need for each other far stronger than any storm.
They met at the usual spot, under the tree by the back wall of the cemetery. Angelus stood leaning against the trunk, waiting patiently as the Slayer approached, his eyes riveted to the way her body moved gracefully through the night. She seemed oblivious to the weather raging around her, unaware of the way her wet clothes were plastered to her body, framing her every luscious curve. Her eyes were locked on him, her mind focused on only one thing.
It had been two months since their last encounter, eight weeks since the last time she'd seen him; fifty-six days since the last time she'd touched him; one thousand three hundred and forty-four hours of wanting him by her side, his hands caressing her body, his lips devouring her own. He'd deliberately stayed away, forcing her to accept that she wanted him, needed him, despite the fact that he wasn't the one she claimed to love.
But she knew staying away had been as hard on him as it was on her. She could tell by the way he clenched his fists to keep from reaching out for her and taking her in his arms. She could see it in his eyes, darkened with desire, filled with frustration by the strength of his passion for her, tinged with hate for her because of the way she made him feel, disgust for himself because no matter how hard he denied it, his obsession for her went far beyond a desire for revenge and dangerously close to love.
She stopped just in front of him, her lips inches from his chest, and the desire to touch him, to lean forward and press her mouth against his cold skin, to feel his body tense under her tongue was strong. Too strong, she found, as she stepped forward that one last inch, bringing her trembling lips to his heart, rubbing lightly over the dampened black silk of his shirt. As she expected, he stiffened at her touch, his hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her hips slightly forward, but still managing to hold her away.
Unable to stop herself, she reached up and undid the buttons, eager to be rid of the one thing keeping her from her prize. Soon his shirt was open, revealing the smooth, hard planes of his torso. Her goal reached, she pressed her lips against his chest, tracing an agonizingly slow path across his skin. Her journey took her to his nipple, which she laved with her tongue, before taking it into her mouth, sucking gently. She felt him shudder under her fingers and she smiled, pleased with his response to her touch, thrilled to know that she could affect him that way. So focused on that small victory, she never noticed his hand moving from her waist and up her back.
She gasped in surprise when he took her hair in his hand, gripping it tightly, reluctantly pulling her head away from him. She looked up, her questioning eyes meeting his. The look in his eyes made her shudder, fear and anticipation snaking its way along her spine. She knew he would make her pay for that small act of superiority, punish her for showing him the affect she had on his senses. Instead of scaring her, the knowledge that he'd try so hard now to prove to her, and himself, how little she meant to him, to prove that he was still in control, that he was still the master of the strange relationship they were engaged in, thrilled her.
She wasn't surprised when his lips came down on hers roughly, his tongue pushing past her lips to explore the warm recesses of her mouth. For a moment she let him dominate her, allowed his mouth to ravish hers with bruising force. But then she responded to his attack, wrapping her arms around him, her tongue engaging his in battle. For moments on end they stood there, hands grasping, mouths seeking. Hate, love, frustration, and denial fueled their passion.
Suddenly she found her back against the tree, the bark digging into her flesh, causing her to gasp. Angelus smiled at her pain, but his delight was brief, and seconds later he was on his knees before her, his fingers tearing the wet cotton from her body. She gasped as the cold air hit her nipples, pebbling them into hardness. And then his mouth was there, his tongue flicking across her nipples, teasing her the way she'd teased him. Her hands came up to grasp his head and hold him place, but as soon as her fingers touched him, he stopped, pulling his mouth away from her.
Something above her head caught his attention and she could see the possibilities flashing in his eyes. She watched as he undid his belt, pulling it slowly through the leather loops.
"Hands in the air," he demanded, speaking for the first time.
His voice was deep and husky with passion, but tinged with ice and she obeyed promptly, lifting her arms above her head. He looped one end of the belt around her wrist, pulling it tight enough to keep her wrists in place, but not enough to hurt her. Next, he threw the other end of the belt over the thick branch hanging just above her head. With the remaing length of leather, he secured her other wrist. Stepping back, he smiled in satisfaction, pleased with the breathtakingly beautiful picture she presented. They both knew that she could easily break her bonds, but they also knew she would not dare defy his wishes, knew that what he wanted, she wanted. He was in control now and his will was so much stronger than her own.
He came back to her then, his arms slipping around her waist to unzip her skirt. She heard him suck in a useless breath as the skirt slid to the ground, leaving her body naked and open to his gaze. She closed her eyes when his hand reached out to touch her, his cool fingers leaving a trail of fire from the soft, silky skin at the hollow of her throat to the puckered tips of her breasts, over the smooth, hard planes of her abdomen, to the nest of golden curls at the apex of her thighs. He slipped a finger inside her heat, and his finger, when he removed it, was wet with the evidence of her desire, of her readiness for him.
"Taste," he commanded, raising his finger to her lips.
Her lips parted and her tongue snaked around his finger, drawing it deeper into her mouth. Her essence was sweet and tangy on her tongue, her excitement and desire evident, and she wondered if she always tasted this way. Soon all thoughts fled as his lips descended on hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, and he moaned deeply at the taste that still lingered on her tongue.
As they kissed, the storm around them gained force, the wind swirling violently, the rain pouring endlessly, matching the ferocity of their passion. The trees bowed to the wind, the clouds sparking with electricity. Buffy and Angelus were oblivious to it all.
As if dictated by the storm, vampire and Slayer came together violently, the velvety hard length of him sinking roughly into the scalding heat of her tight core. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, pulling his body close to hers. Placing his hands on the tree behind her, Angelus' mouth molded with hers as he thrust, hard and deep, within her. Buffy met him stroke for stroke, her strength matching his, his passion equal to hers. Sensing her completion, Angelus reached up, tugging her wrists free from their bonds. Buffy's arms went around him, her fingernails clawing into his back. As the scent of his blood wafted through the air, Angelus growled, thrusting one last time within her.
Lightning struck repeatedly around them as they climaxed together, their cries of ecstasy drowned out by the rumbling crackle of thunder. Soon after their culmination, the storm died down, a hushed quiet falling over the cemetery, with Buffy's frantic heartbeat the only sound echoing in the night. The wind slowed to a gentle breeze, and the rain lessened to a light shower as they sank to the ground, their bodies still joined as one, bodies trembling and sated.
Until their passion erupted anew with next storm.