Track A in Track B

Buffy was in trouble.

Not the normal Hellmouth, demon, end of world in trouble, or even the ‘I’m about to fail all my classes because I’ve been patrolling trouble,’ but a deeper, even worse kind. She was desperately afraid she was falling in love with Angelus. It was to be expected, she supposed as she stood as still as she could manage while the seamstress measured and fitted and did who know what all else to the yards of material and other stuff that littered the Great Room in the stolen hours she found herself living in with her lover.

Angelus reminded her very much of Angel, the way he looked at her, how his hands, so long and cool glided over her heated flesh. His eyes, dark and mysterious, deep enough for her to drown in yet they had always saved her, too. The way he protected her, the way her worried for her, the way he took care of her. The tender possessive way he held her as they slept the day away.

That was another thing that worried her though not nearly as much. Her internal clock had always run according to her calling, she was in tune with the night that held so many things for her, much more so than she had ever been with the sun. But now she rarely saw that glowing orb of light, brief moments at dawn or dusk as she went about her new routine.

Buffy knew Angelus did it on purpose, acclimating her to his world with a subtlety that she would’ve ignored had she not already known the demon so well. Or thought she knew him; until this meeting, Buffy never would have thought…so many things about Angelus. Or Angel. It was something else that was both the same and different from her Angel. Angel wanted her to experience the light, but he was jealous of that time away from her, trying to push her into that sunlight while at the same time accepting her own desires to stay in the darkness with him.

Granted, there were things that were the total antithesis of Angel, their explosive sex life for one. Angel’s tenuous hold on his own soul had held them back from more than touching and kissing once he had returned from hell. It had been unbearably hard to tame the intense desires she felt for him, but Buffy, better than anyone, knew the risks should they lose that control.

As a result, until Riley, she hadn’t experienced the divergent aspects of her sexual life. And even that paled in comparison to what Angelus made her feel. It was explosive every time they touched, looked at each other, felt each other in the same room. Positions Buffy had only vaguely heard of and many she hadn’t. Chains and whips, feathers and toys that caused such passionate pain and such intense pleasure she was sure had to be illegal somewhere.

And that was another point; Angelus also introduced her, slowly, to the pleasure/pain principle. He spanked her, methodically, whipped her just this side of too much; always just enough so that when that talented mouth of his or those cool fingers found her, caressed her, stroked her heated flesh and awakened nerves, desire pooled, racing through her in a maelstrom.

Buffy swallowed harshly now in remembered need. The first time Angelus had chained her to their bed, she fought him, struggling with the manacles and the feeling that she thought he was turning on her, that he was really going to kill her and the past week was all a game. When he smacked her ass in punishment, she almost lost it, but his smooth voice was right by her ear, telling her things that made her hot even now.

How he wanted her to fight, how he loved it when she fought him, how he wanted to tame her, wanted to make her his willing slave. All the while his hands alternately smacked and stroked her, confusing her nerves, igniting her desires until Buffy wasn’t sure if it was more she wanted, or not. But it was, oh, God, how it was more she wanted.

And she had begged in the end, she had needed that release he denied her, needed to come so badly that whatever he had asked, whatever he had demanded, she’d have willingly given to him. When he did, when his fangs sank into her neck and his cock into her heat, Buffy had exploded in a tidal wave if ecstasy that hadn’t abated even when he sent her flying again.

It was strange at first, his fascination with pain though Buffy had figured that out early during her original ‘Angelus months’ in Sunnydale.

He enjoyed receiving it as much as giving it. In fact when Buffy ‘trained’ with him during the long daylight hours, hitting, kicking, pounding on him with her augmented Primal First Slayer strength, she discovered just how aroused he became. Which in turn aroused her, making her want more; training with Angel always aroused her, this was on a level she’d never previously experienced, and wanted more. Much more.

She had always found the hunt to be stimulating, but hadn’t really paid much attention to it when she was with Angel. When they were together nothing compared to it. With Riley, pleasurable though their time together was, she had found herself patrolling more and more even before her joining with the First Slayer. She needed that rush, the stimulation racing through her, needed to feel it because Riley didn’t cause her to do so, certainly not to that extent.

Now it was as if all her energy was funneled into him, into Angelus.

Wild and explosive, erotic and experimental, their sexual encounters never failed to quicken her pulse, and even after they had spent hours sating their mutual desire, exhausted though she always was, Buffy wanted more. She always wanted more because she had been so long denied her lover’s body.

And that was one of the reasons she was currently standing half naked as the seamstress and her assistants twittered around her, making her a wardrobe that was sure to surpass any need she had ever had for clothes. Buffy was sore, her thighs were bruised, her back a mesh of fading whip marks that even now sent a shiver of need through her. Despite her Slayer healing it was going to take more than a few hours for the evidence of their time together to fade.

And a part of her didn’t care. A part of her wanted those marks, wanted that proof that Angelus had had her, had marked her in more ways than the Mark on her neck.

What was wrong with her? Until she had all but fallen into this world, Buffy considered herself a sexually satisfied young woman. If, occasionally, Riley failed to sate all of her desires, then that was more because he wasn’t really the one she wanted to be with. He was good and she cared for him but he wasn’t whom she wanted, not really.

So what was with this sick need to feel Angelus beat her? Buffy had never considered herself into that whole bondage, BSM&D world, but she found herself craving it, what he did to her, what he made her feel. It wasn’t, Buffy knew, the pain; it was that he inflicted it. That Angelus was the one to make her feel these things; with Riley, she wouldn’t, because with Riley, she didn’t care. With Angelus, she wanted to feel.

The more time she spent with Angelus, the more she doubted she could ever go back to who or what she was before. Go back…could she? Could she go back to not touching her lover, not tasting him, not having him taste her? Could she bear to know that if she gave into her feelings and made love with Angel, that she’d kill him once more, releasing his demon? A demon who wanted her just as much, true, but…could she kill one liver for another?

More importantly, would she want to? Would she return at all, was it possible?

She knew that Angelus had kept his word and was looking into ways for getting her back to not only her time, but her world, too. He’d spoken with several mages and a dozen contacts that Buffy knew of. But so far none of them had anything on dimension displacement. As she had no idea how she had come to be here in the first place, Buffy couldn’t help him at all. That and most of the books he was looking through were in languages she had never even heard of.

Guess he didn’t have The Complete Watcher’s Council Translated Versions. Too bad, too; they had a pretty complete collection.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon by the time Mrs. Burnett, the seamstress, finished with her and Buffy could only be grateful. Not that the thought of having such exquisitely made clothes didn’t appeal, but if she had to go through all this every time the fashions changed…Buffy shuddered. How did people stand it? She was exhausted – granted, her evening hadn’t been restful, extremely erotic and pleasurable, but definitely not restful – and had done nothing but stand there for most of the day, agreeing or not with most of the choices Angelus had already made.

Damn the man (vampire); he had great taste when it came to clothing.

“The first ones will be ready by Thursday next, milady Angelus,” Mrs. Burnett said as she supervised the assistants as they cleaned their mess. “But I believe your husband had wanted something special for Saturday. As that’s only four days away, I’ll have to come back Saturday morning for the final fitting. Will eleven do for you?”

Buffy stared at the other woman for several moments. Husband? Lady?  Lady Angelus? What was she talking about? Buffy had lost whatever else the seamstress had said after the word husband and only nodded now, in response since she obviously required a reply. Snapping herself out of the stupor Mrs. Burnett’s words had put her in, Buffy called out as the older lady prepared to leave.

“Be careful, Mrs. Burnett,” Buffy warned, “It’s almost dark. There are a lot of strange people out there at night.”

Mrs. Burnett turned, looking at Buffy strangely before nodding and walking out the door. Hey she tried, Buffy reasoned, trying to convince herself as she trudged up the stairs in nothing but her camisole. Angelus wouldn’t let her out of the house without him – and he had yet to actually take her out – and flatly told her that if she left without him or his permission to go with either William or Drusilla, then a beating would be the least of her concerns.

Buffy had said nothing, but he obviously took her silence as implicit agreement.

She tried to convince herself that it she silently agreed with his demands because she had no desire to get lost in London, especially in a London where the populace didn’t know half of what was sure to come out of her mouth. She had a bad habit of using more colloquialisms now that people didn’t know what she was talking about than she had when she was around her friends.

But she couldn’t agree to his demands, either.

She couldn’t agree to stop being who and what she was, to stop wanting to fight, wanting to hunt, kill, destroy those who she was made to destroy. Buffy knew differently, however; she didn’t want Angelus to leave her, didn’t want him to tire of her and desert her as Angel had. Fear of being alone just when she found her protector again kept her by his side, agreeable to whatever demands he placed on her.

Buffy would talk to him soon enough about freedom to hunt, freedom to see Victorian England. Freedom to experience life with him.

First thing, though, she was going to talk with Angelus about this whole husband thing. Vampires didn’t marry, she was sure of that. So why bother? There was a Mating Ritual she knew; Giles had showed her the proper passages after she had stopped being so catatonic several months following graduation. It involved the Marking of one’s Mate through blood and sex.

If she recalled correctly, during their lovemaking Angel was required to drink from her and she from him, sealing their Bond and Marking each other as True Mates. But Angel had never finished the Ritual last year when he had drunk from her, never completed the final stages of their bond. As a result, Buffy had been left without her Mate, without the other half of herself, feeling as though she was only half a person.

No wonder she was a shell of her former self, no wonder she felt Angel so clearly whenever he was near. No wonder she longed for the release of the hunt, exorcizing her pent-up energy through what her body was created to do. But not who it was created for. She hunted because she needed to. She did so all night, because she couldn’t banish her dependency for Angel.

Shaking off the introspectiveness she didn’t want to dwell on, Buffy thought back to her original thought; what had that been? Ah, right; why say they were married? It couldn’t have been to blend in with human society, the vampire she knew could have cared less about that. Her reputation? Possible but still unlikely; again, why should he care?

She found him in the upstairs study, drapes pulled tight against the still shinning sun and oil lamp burning on his desk. She’d never get used to the fact that there was actual electricity in this time; she was way out of touch with the past. Still, Angelus used the lamp to light his room; claiming electricity was just a fad. Buffy had told him otherwise, but he hadn’t listened.

Though he did listen about the cars; men, they were all the same. Tell them about something mechanical and they wanted to know more. Unfortunately, Buffy had no idea about the inner workings of any vehicle but had assured the vampire that they were indeed there to stay.

God, he was so incredibly handsome….

“You know, oil is a natural resource that’s going to run out someday. Plus it pollutes the air and leaved huge holes in the ground. And may even give you – well not you personally – hmm, tuberculosis? Something to do with the blackening of the lungs.”

He looked up at her, smirking and Buffy had to smile at that. When he had looked at her that way before, it had scared her, terrified her because she was sure some other torment was about to befall her, either personally or by way of one of her friends. The look that said he wanted to consume her, wanted to keep her with him, locking in a room someplace where no one could ever get to her. No one but him. Now, she found it…endearing.

Lord, she really did have mental problems when it came to Angel/Angelus.

“I care nothing for pollution or for humanity’s weak lungs.” He said as he walked to where she leaned against the door.

“Well, you should,” Buffy shot back as his large hands gently caressed her shoulders, his lips nuzzled her neck. “Pollution I mean: if you’re going to live forever you should have a planet to do so on; if the earth is a mass of pollutants then imagine how hard it will be to hunt by scent.”

Angelus merely laughed as he pulled away from the intoxicating scent of her, enjoying, as always, her opinions, her intellect, and the fact that she had no fear in telling them to him. His hands wandered over her body, fingers trailing gently over the tops of her breasts as he asked, “How was your fitting?”

“Right, fitting. So, husband,” she said, stressing the ‘husband’ part, trying to focus even as his hands continued their caress. “Want to tell me something?”

“That we’re married? That I want everyone to know you belong to me?” At her nod he shrugged; it wasn’t as if it was a secret, he just hadn’t gotten around to telling her yet. His large hand cupped her cheek, thumb running over her bottom lip. “I figured that you’d feel better as my wife than mistress. And, technically, you are; I Marked you so in the vampire community you and I are bound for life – or unlife, eternity may be a better word.”

“We never finished the Ritual…” Buffy started then trailed off, embarrassed.

Surprised, though he wasn’t sure why, Angelus pulled back, looking at her. “You know of the Ritual?” He had just assumed – for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint – that his other self hadn’t told her about the Ritual; actually, the reasoning was that if his other self had told Buffy of the Ritual, then she wouldn’t have given into him so easily. She would know that she belonged to the other Angelus and he alone, not even one from another world could trespass on that Mark. 

But apparently he had…but if he had then why had he – the other he; this was getting entirely too confusing – not finished?

“Look, I may not have read that damned Slayer Handbook,” Buffy huffed, exasperated, “But I do know about the Mating Ritual.”

Sidetracked, he asked, “You never read the Handbook? What kind of Watcher did you have?”

“A very unorthodox one; he had serious authority problems in his youth. You read the Handbook?” Buffy shook her head, “Never mind, don’t answer that, it’s not the point. The point is that Angel and I never finished…” She couldn’t say more, overwhelmed by memories of that day and desperately afraid to reveal too much. Buffy had yet to tell him about the Angel of the future, her future.

“You never finished? Yet I…he Marked you. Why would he Mark you if…?” He was incredulous…what kind of vampire had he turned into?

Was it time? They had only been together a short while, was that long enough for her to trust him with the secrets of the future? There was still over twelve years before that fateful night, plenty of time to stop it…if she had intended to stay in this world that long. Which she didn’t, but she wanted to. Desperately wanted to. Buffy wanted to stay with him, here, in this world, with this Angelus who reminded her so very much of Angel and the Angelus she met, only less…drastic. 

She wanted to stay, but could she? Should she? 

Willow and Giles were most definitely trying everything to bring her back, should Buffy not want to return, it was obvious she hadn’t a choice. She never had a choice it seemed, not when it came to she and her vampire. No, her friends wanted her back, and they’d do everything in their power to ensure that. 

Maybe she should tell him, just incase they found a way for her to get back.

Maybe she should tell him for her own peace of mind. Because logical or not, she did love him, all of him, the soul and the demon. And if the soul had a chance to remain in the peaceful afterlife, in the aether that cushioned it, then Buffy was determined to see that happened. She knew what Angel went through, knew the guilt and the culpability he felt and would give anything – anything – she had to see that he didn’t shoulder that.

Even if it meant the demon wandered the earth instead of the soul, even if it meant that some future version of herself never knew Angel, that Angelus continued to terrorize and hunt the populace. She really had changed, Buffy acknowledged, she’d changed from the girl who killed her lover to save the world to the woman who wanted nothing more than for that lover to have the peace he so rightly deserved.

“Angelus,” Buffy said and raised her eyes to his, pure jade to dark brown. “We need to talk. About…about what happens to you. It’s a long story,” Buffy admitted with a little laugh and wondered how many times someone had said that. “I, I um, I don’t know it all, but…but I think it’s time.”

Angelus was silent, waiting for her to begin. Something in her voice warned him that he wasn’t going to like what had happened to him. Leading her to the desk chair, he sat down, pulling her with him. Buffy automatically curled into him, legs hanging over the dark wooden arm of the chair and rested her head against his shoulder as she had countless times over the previous days. She was silent for long, long moments and he waited patiently, still wondering if he wanted to know the future.

He listened anyway. Buffy started slowly, haltingly; halfway through her story she stood, pacing around the room like a caged beast, graceful even in her agitation. And as he listened he began to understand, just a little, why his other self hadn’t completed the Mating Ritual.

Gypsies who cursed him with a soul, Darla who had turned him out because of that, the breakup of his family, roaming the world for decades; the guilt that had crushed his newly returned soul, that had weighed down on him even after he had found…found her.

New York, Whistler – though Angelus couldn’t begin to imagine what would have driven him to work with such a demon. From their first meeting in Sunnydale to the night she had lost her virginity…and the soul had been ripped form the body leaving only the demon.

He had to agree with her assessment; living beneath the soul for a century had probably driven the demon insane, but his treatment of Buffy was…off somehow. It was as if he were purposely – and, yes, he was – doing things to her that were designed to drive her as insane as Drusilla. He had to have known that Buffy was too strong willed for that and that will was part of her charm.

And then, as Buffy was telling him of his re-cursing, of how her friend – from the hospital no less she must be extremely powerful to have done that – had cast the spell that sent the soul back to the body he understood. The other him couldn’t handle the feelings the soul had for Buffy, couldn’t understand that it wasn’t just the soul that wanted her, it was the entire being. He listened as she told him of that soul’s return…just in time to be sent into hell by the one being he loved more than anything.

He went to her then, bringing her back into his embrace and holding her as she cried, as she told of his – Angel’s – return, of the difficulties in keeping away from each other, and finally, of Faith.

“The only cure was Slayer blood,” Buffy admitted, head again resting on Angelus’ shoulder. “At the time, I thought that Faith was dead. The only answer was me. So I forced you to drink from me.”

While she told the story, the distinction between future Angel and future/past-present Angelus had blurred into an indistinct line. She couldn’t separate them now if she tried, and Buffy was so tired of trying. She just wanted her lover, the man she loved, the soul, the demon, the one who held her, protected her, cared for her. Loved her.

“You, you…refused, but you were so weak, nearly dead, and I forced you. It was the only thing to save you, so,” Buffy closed her eyes against the pain that tried to overwhelm her, the memories of that horrible time. The climax that ripped through her as Angel’s fangs pierced her neck, his mouth taking her life’s blood into him, healing him. “But you did. Then you rushed me to the hospital, or so you told me, because I had lost so much blood…. We defeated the mayor, blew up the school, and you…you left me.”

She sniffed but the tears seemed to have stopped. “It was several weeks later that Giles showed me the Mating Ritual. He said that I should know even if you were gone. Giles, he never really approved of us after the whole ‘One Moment of True Happiness’ thing,” she admitted with a shrug that said she didn’t care. “But he tried. For me, he tried. I think he was angrier at the fact that you…that you left me without completing the Ritual than he let on.”

Buffy continued her story, leading up to her melding with the First Slayer, and her sudden appearance on the London street they had found her lying on and Angelus just held her. The sun had long since set but he was loath to leave; and in truth, found he didn’t have much of an appetite after her story.

“He, the other me, he wanted you,” Angelus assured her long hours after she had began her story and innumerable minutes after she had finished, stroking her back, placing a tender kiss on her forehead. “In his own way, he wanted you,” of this Angelus was certain.

“He desired you, craved you more than anything in his life.” Angelus finally said. “I think that living trapped beneath the soul caused him to fight what that soul had; if the soul loved you then the demon felt he had to hate you. If the soul wanted to protect you, then the demon wanted to hurt you in the most vicious of ways.”

It was odd talking about himself not only in the third person, but also as two separate entities. Still, Angelus felt as though Buffy needed to hear that the demon loved her, needed her and most definitely wanted her, in his own way, just as much as the soul ever did.

“I doubt he would have killed you that day,” he said slowly as he tried to figure out what was going through his alter-self’s mind. “As he was opening the gate to hell I don’t think your death was on his mind. It was a means to get what he most wanted: you. In exchange for his protection in a world inhabited by demons he got…you.” Angelus would have done the same thing, had things turned out differently.

And apparently they had for he had just heard the entire story. If Buffy hadn’t come into his life, would that had been his fate? Soul, being cast out, shunned by his family. Trapped beneath a soul, a conscience.

Picking her up, Angelus carried her to their bed. Tonight was about comfort, hers mostly, but his as well. She needed the comfort of love and Angelus intended to give it to her. He may have been reluctant to admit that he was capable of such an emotion – until her story he was perfectly willing to accept bottomless lust and need – but he refused to make the same mistakes his other self – soul and demon – had.

He was tender in his caresses, soft and slow, caring and loving. Angelus built her up again and again, sometimes with the gentleness of a ripple, others with the crashing tide of a storm. But always for her, showing her with his body, his kiss, his touch, how very much she meant to him. Telling her how precious her life was to him.

When he finally entered her, Angelus did so just as slowly, rocking against her in slow measured thrusts. When the pressure built too high, when the release was so close, and neither could stand it any longer, he increased the pace, rocketing them both into the desired oblivion of release.

Buffy curled into Angelus, wrapping herself around him as though she never wanted to let him go. And fell into a deep sleep, held in the arms of her lover.

Several hours later she awoke, staring directly into the eyes of Angelus. Smiling at the feeling of being guarded by him, Buffy said somewhat apprehensively, “So…now you know.”

“And that changes nothing for how I feel about you. I’m not a nice vampire, Buffy,” he reminded her as if she needed such a reminder. Buffy was well aware of the things Angelus was capable of. As she told Angel that long ago Christmas, whatever he did in the past, in his past as a soulless demon, he did to her.

“I hunt,” Angelus said with no apology, “And I kill. I torture, enjoying every moment of it. But I will never leave you,” he swore and it was the most sincere vow he’d ever made. “And I won’t ever lie to you; you do belong to me, any me. In this world or the next or one in a different dimension; I’ll never let you go.”

Buffy said nothing to him, she could think of nothing to say. She loved him, true, but…and it was the but that scared her. How could she love a demon? Maybe it just didn’t matter; Angel was who he was because of Angelus and since she loved everything about Angel, then she loved the demon as well.

Angelus stood, then, releasing his hold on her and, uncaring of his nudity, paced the few steps to the wall safe which Buffy knew was also protected by magick; the common – and uncommon – thief didn’t stand a chance. Whatever Angelus kept in there, he wanted guarded against every possibility. Reaching into the darkened depths, he pulled a box out, turning back to her. For a moment he stopped, wondered what he was doing. It’d been such a short time since he found her, days only.

Was he ready for this? Was she? Didn’t matter, he wasn’t letting her go. Ever. And if that meant that this was the only way, then so be it.

“And, since you are my wife,” Angelus said, bringing her back to the original purpose of her confrontation, “And I do plan on taking you out into human society – well, once in a while – you should have a proper ring, no?”

His voice had taken on more of that wonderful Irish lilt that Buffy loved so. Mesmerized, she watched as he opened the box, setting it on the bedside table and, taking her hand in his, sat on the bed next to her stretched out form. The ring was a brilliant green, catching and holding the light as Angelus took it out of the velvet cushion and placed it on her finger.

Buffy was speechless; in all her dreams about her and Angel – and she had had quite a few – she had never expected anything like this. Or with Angelus; that was a new twist on her beloved dream.

“You’re not getting a wedding, it will never be official in your human world, but you are mine, Buffy Summers. In this life and every other one. Until the end of time.”

With that Angelus leaned down to kiss her, intending on completing the Mating Ritual and sealing their bond forever.

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