Love and Acceptance

It was cold in Russia.  

And while Buffy expected that, being in knee-deep snow was all well and good in theory. In practice, however, it sucked. More precisely, it froze her ass off. Buffy supposed it would have been better if Darla wasn’t there, but the old bitch was. A second strike against the country, again, not the country’s fault. It also would have been better if Angelus wasn’t there, but she’d had no control over his sudden announcement to join her.  

Not them, her. 

Strike three against Russia, and she’d always wanted to visit the beautiful and ancient country. One good thing about it, however, was Doroteya. She was here, and it’d been entirely too long since Buffy had seen her. In fact, she frowned, stopping before rounding the no doubt windy corner. She’d yet to be presented to their strongest ally. Why?  

Why had her father neglected something so important? It wasn’t like him, not in his manner towards his few allies, and certainly not towards her. What was the old man up to? 

Yup, this country was shaping up to be one big waste of time, a big COLD waste of time. And while the snow was fun, and she, Spike, and Drusilla had had several entertaining snowball fights, the vampire couple indulging the child who’d never seen much of the world, or so much snow, Buffy felt as if she were missing something. 

As she walked through the plowed parts of Red Square, Buffy looked around the all but deserted night. They had stopped in St. Petersburg for a week, but all their information pointed to Moscow as the big headquarters for Milei, so here they were. And it was still cold. Lights shone on the stones, casting odd shadows all around her. The wind skittered across the square and Buffy huddled deeper in her sable-lined coat.  

It wasn’t that she was cold; merely that she knew she should be.  

She stopped for a moment to stare up at the lighted Kremlin before resuming her walk. She had studied the structure and the history behind it, but there was just something intimidating about standing before a building that housed not only tsars and their courts, but the communist insurgents that had overthrown the ancient rulers of the land. 

Staring at the building for a moment more, she waited, waited, waited, before resuming her walk. 

Buffy was too well trained, and knew when someone was following her. And she knew that feeling, the one that tore through her whenever he was near. She often wondered if he felt the same but had yet to work up the courage to ask when things between them…were no more.  

It was almost funny as courage was something Buffy had never lacked. But then with what she’d thought was going to happen all one big joke on Angelus’ part, perhaps it was better that she’d never asked. 

Buffy suppressed a growl of frustration and hurt. Even now, two years later, she hadn’t got over it. One would think that by now it’d be no more than an embarrassing memory to learn from. But no, not to her. She had to go and have her heart broken. She couldn’t just let it go. Really, she wasn’t sure how to. It was probably just the first love of youth, but…but Buffy had truly loved Angelus, had only seen her future with him. The present wasn’t the same now that he wasn’t in her life, and she had difficulty envisioning the future. 

For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why he’d come back to court. If he wanted to visit Spike and Drusilla, she wasn’t buying it. Spike was Angelus’ second, and Drusilla only stayed at court most of the year because she and Buffy were so close. No explanation was given when he’d suddenly returned, and it was driving Buffy crazy, this not knowing. 

Turning a corner, Buffy slipped into the shadows, and waited for him to catch up with her. When he stopped at the opening to the small alleyway, searching the shadows, she stepped forward. Landing the first punch, she watched him stumble back a step before regaining his balance. 

“Damn it, Buffy!” he roared. “What the fuck?” 

“That’s for following me,” she snapped, ignoring both his use of her name and the tingle along her skin. “What do you want?” 

Swallowing hard, he dabbed at his nose, wiping blood away along with the throbbing pain. He’d forgotten how hard she could hit, tending to think of her as the little girl he’d first met. Okay, not so little, and definitely not a girl. Even bundled up like Nanook of the North, it was hard to miss Buffy’s curves.  

Angelus’ mind drifted, as did his gaze, and for the first time since that night, he studied her close-up. Her eyes were a dark green, flashing fire at him, but her lips, those luscious lips of hers, beckoned him forward to taste them. Tired of listening to that small, errant part of him that had once demanded he obey Nest when it came to Buffy, Angelus took.  

His hands wrapped around her arms, drawing her closer before she could think to protest. Capturing her lips with his, he wrapped his arms further around her, pulling her flush against his body leading her further into the shadows of the building, desperate to sate his need for her taste. 

His memory had failed him. She tasted better than he remembered, spicier, richer, darker. He tugged a glove off, felt her cheek, still so soft despite the harsh winter elements of the night. Yes, she was everything he’d remembered and much, much more. She resisted at first, stiff in his arms, but the passion that always ignited between them, untapped as it was, flared to life in her as well. 

Her mouth was hot on his, as hungry to taste him as he was to taste her. Her hands fisted in his coat, tugging him even closer. A small mewling noise deep in her throat was answered by his own growl of need, and he lifted her higher, fitting her perfectly against him. Angelus wanted her legs wrapped around his waist, wanted her hands on his skin, wanted to see, to taste, to know every inch of her flesh.  

But not here, not in the open where anyone could see her. 

Reluctantly placing his small bundle back onto the ground, he pulled away, took in her appearance. The hunger in her eyes, and the anger, was still there. She dropped her hands, took a step back. Not in fear, not in retreat. That was his girl. She stepped back in something that even she probably didn’t understand. He sure as hell didn’t.  

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and readjusting her hat, Angelus allowed his ungloved fingers to linger a moment longer on her wind-reddened cheek. As before, touching her sent a zing of feeling through him, such as he only felt with her. Sent his blood racing, brought him to life in ways even his human self hadn’t experienced. 

How had he survived so long without this? How had he managed to be honorable enough to stay away from her? Was it honor? Or was it fear? Angelus suspected the latter, suspected that the realization that he loved Buffy spurned something within him that was as pathetic as it was cowardly. He’d tried to protect Buffy, and in doing so, had managed to hurt her more than any other creature had since the Watchers’ killed her parents.  

He was no better than a weakling human. 

Angelus had never managed to figure out why Nest wanted him out of Buffy’s life when it was obvious that not only had Buffy, herself, wanted him, but that together, they made a powerful match. He could only suspect Nest had something else he wanted. But the bastard’s wish had hurt his daughter deeply. 

Since Angelus was neither pathetic nor cowardly, and since he didn’t care what Nest’s wishes were and was tired of the pain that his self-imposed distance from Buffy caused, it was time to regain what he wanted.  

Nest be damned. Whatever that bastard’s intention had been, Angelus didn’t care. He didn’t care if Nest wanted Buffy mated with Luke – who’d be dead the moment he touched her – or some make other alliance. Buffy was his.  

And he planned on showing the both of them that tonight.  

Though he probably had some explaining to do first, maybe. 

Pulling her out of the shadows, he kept her hand firmly in his. Leading her down the street, Angelus contemplated how to best broach the subject of an explanation. He was unfamiliar with those, but in this instance, one was definitely warranted. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, tugging her hand finally free. “Why bother to return? What could possibly be here for you?” 

“You,” he said. “There’s you. That’s all that really matters.” 

Buffy scoffed, stopped dead on the street, unwilling to move one more step. “Me. Right. There was me in LA, but you decided that I was too weak to bother with. Tell me the truth, Angelus, or I swear Russia will see your ashes.” 

Cocking an eyebrow at her, he grinned, an unrepentant, feral grin that had her narrowing her eyes. But not retreating. Yeah, he loved this woman. Moving towards her, slow and graceful, he watched her eyes narrow more, watched her hands drop, her body shift to fight mode. 

“Heard there was going to be some excitement here.” His voice was pitched low, seductive, honey toned. “Didn’t want to miss any of it; it’s been a while since I’ve had a good fight.” 

“I’m sure. Why now?” 

There’d been no rumors of mistresses of any kind attached to his name recently, though she had heard an unfortunate vamp tell of Angelus’ insatiable desire. How he’d screwed his way through any willing woman, taking what they offered then leaving them for the next willing body. The vamp hadn’t lasted much past passing on that information.  

“Get tired of fucking your way through the minions?” she demanded sweetly. 

Growling, Angelus watched her in silence. He’d hoped that particular piece of information hadn’t made it back to her, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that it had. He berated himself for being weak when it came to her. For the first time in his life, doubt plagued him.  

If he’d have taken her then, even against Nest’s wishes, would she hate him now? Would she run back to daddy? Or would she have stood with him against the army Nest most likely would’ve sent?  

It was that, and that alone, that had caused him to leave the first time. It hadn’t all made sense then, but now, with his decision made, it did. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, never wanted that. On the other hand, he never before cared enough about anything, including himself, to be hurt. Buffy had that power. 

Growling, he felt his face shift, knew his golden eyes were boring into hers, hard, demanding in the face of her unyielding stance. He wanted to take her now, in the cold night, against the nearest wall. Wanted to capture her cries with his mouth. Wanted to feel his cock encased in her tight body. Wanted to taste her blood as he marked her as his. 

“I finally realized,” he said at length. “That I wanted you too much to care what happened.” At her puzzled look, he added, “You’re mine, Buffy.” 

His hands were on her again, as demanding as he eyes. She wasn’t swayed. “Yours? When did you decide this?” 

A slow knowing grin spread across his mouth, and Buffy’s eyes were drawn to those delicious lips. Bastard. No one should look that good. Or have lips like that. Or taste so good. Or…damn. So much for not wanting him. Didn’t matter. She still hated him. 

“Decide?” he shook his head. “No, lover, not decide. It wasn’t a decision to make. It simply was. You’re mine, my love.” His hand, once more ungloved, caught her chin, his cold thumb running gently along her jaw line. 

“If I had the choice, I’m not sure I’d have ever chosen. Never mind choosing a human. Fate had something else in mind,” he mused. “And while I’m a big believer in deciding my own destiny, this time I couldn’t.” He kissed her again, teasing her lips, nipping at the full lower one. Tasting her secrets. 

“Seems,” he continued thoughtfully, eyes once more brown, still boring into hers. “That you were always it. I want to fuck you right now,” he admitted, voice gentle in contrast with the harshness of his words, the passion flaring in his eyes. “I want you so badly I’m amazed I haven’t already taken you. But I can’t. Not here. Not where others can see. Not without you knowing how much I need you.”

“Need me.” She said flatly. “You need me so much you laughed in my face two years ago and lied to me about asking my father’s ‘permission’. Then you taunted me with vicious words and were gone within weeks. What changed? Tired of roaming the local vampire bordellos? Or do you want something more? Like Master of Aurelius.” 

Angelus laughed then, a genuine sound that drifted along the Moscow night, and caressed her just the same. Somehow, this wasn’t what she was expecting. In fact, in the many scenarios where she envisioned Angelus coming back to her, he’d been crawling and begging for forgiveness. Not seductive, confident, teasing. 

“I don’t want Nest’s position, baby. Far from it. I want you. I don’t care what he does to me, what he sends after me. I have power and position in my own right; I don’t need you to gain more.” 

Her eyes were still narrowed, stance unbelieving. She swatted his hand away, as if just realizing that he still touched her. “What he does to you?” she demanded. “What he sends after you?” 

“You never know,” he shrugged. He was still too close, and Buffy fought the pull she still felt. Damn her, too. 

“And just why,” she asked, “would my father do anything to you?” 

“You’re his greatest pride, Buffy,” Angelus said slowly. Touching her again. She wouldn’t move away, wouldn’t show weakness that way. Hated his touch, hated that it could affect her. That he could. “You’re probably the one thing he really cares for. Would kill and die for.” 

“And if you and I slept together, he wouldn’t have been pleased?” she laughed, a truly delighted laugh that had him narrowing his eyes at her. “Please.” She shook her head, smirked at him.  

“You have to come up with a much better explanation than that, Angelus. My father has no say in my personal life. I am his daughter, that’s true. I am even his second in command, his heir, his greatest assassin. But what I do in my life, with my own time, whomever I want to sleep with, Luke, Drusilla, or some human off the street, he has no say in.” 

Angelus scowled harder. “Bastard.” She growled at him and he quickly added, “Not you, baby. Him.” Laughing, finally realizing the trap he’d fallen into, Angelus shook his head, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Played and played well. Point to you, Nest.” 

“What are you mumbling about?” 

“Nothing, Buffy. Nothing that matters anymore, at least.” 

“Nothing that matters? You make less and less sense the longer we’re out here. Now, I’m cold. My toes are starting to get numb.” Which was almost impossible considering the lining of her expensive boots and the thick wool socks. “And I’m hungry. I’m leaving, and if I ever hear you talk about any of this again, I swear to all I’ve ever held dear, I will stake you.” 

With that, she turned away from him and stalked down the street. Blindly, walking away from the only being she once wanted to spend her life with. Stupid. She was so stupid thinking that she could…could what? She didn’t know, wasn’t sure where her thoughts were headed. Wasn’t much sure she cared, either. 

“Buffy.” Angelus grabbed her arm, spun her around. He looked angry, but more, he looked scared. 

“You don’t get it, do you,” he growled. “I spent the last two years away from you because I thought it’d be the best thing for you. It doesn’t matter any more, baby. You’re mine. I love you, and that’s all there is to it.” 

Rage colored her vision, and Buffy lashed out, punching Angelus once, twice, a third time. She heard bone crunch, knew she broke his nose, didn’t care. Felt his blood splash against her cheek, heard the growl from him as she attacked. 

“You don’t get to say that!” she screamed. “You don’t get to say that to me! You don’t get to speak of love, never! You walked away, Angelus. You’re the one who left!” 

“I know,” he said quietly, pulling her against him. She’d stopped hitting him, the emotional exertion of the last minutes causing her to breathe heavily, to fight against the angry sobs that wanted to break free. She wouldn’t cry over him, no she’d done that once and once was more than enough.  

“I know I hurt you,” he said, trapping her against him. She could break free, Buffy told herself. But at the moment, she didn’t want to, wasn’t sure why that was, but didn’t want to. “You’ll never know how sorry I am that I did that. Baby, I never wanted any harm to come to you, and I did the one thing I vowed to protect you from. I’m sorry,” he admitted, and found that saying the words didn’t hurt nearly as much he thought. Not nearly as much as Buffy’s pain hurt him. 

“I do love you. I love you so much it scares me, Buffy. I’ve never loved anyone before, not as a human, certainly not as a vampire. Until I met you, I didn't know vamps could love. I can’t bloody well live without you. Please don’t make me.”

With those words, Angelus was momentarily afraid that she’d put him out of his misery and stake him. But no pointy wooden object was forthcoming, and he relaxed. Buffy remained stiff in his arms, but he didn’t let her go. Wasn’t about to ever again. 

Long, long moments passed. The wind continued to howl, whipping past them in icy tendrils. Several people passed them, not bothering to look too long in their direction before moving on. He could feel the blood dry on his face, felt his nose swell closed. Ah, well, he didn’t need to breathe, anyway. His face ached, and he thought a rib was cracked, but he wasn’t letting her go. 

She said nothing. But she didn’t move, and he took that as a very good sign. 

“Spike said to me once that you only hurt the ones you love.” Her voice, muffled against his coat, startled him. “He said it was almost impossible to emotionally hurt someone you cared nothing for, but that with a loved one, it was easier than believed. I thought he meant he hurt Dru when he left court years ago, trying to make it on his own or whatever he was doing.” 

“And now?” 

She pulled back, studied him with clear green eyes. He couldn’t read anything in those eyes, and it scared him. If there was one being he would’ve bet everything on that he’d always be able to tell her emotions, it was Buffy. But now, looking at her, all he could see was a faint curiosity. The anger was gone, the blinding hurt and rage, but what replaced those emotions was something he couldn’t identify. 

“He meant that, yes. But now I think he meant that it’s easier to say or do something to hurt the one you love because you’re always trying not to hurt them. In trying, it’s almost like you’re trying to become a different person, and you’re bound to screw it up somehow.” 

She swallowed, continued to watch him. “I believe you. I don’t know why, I don’t think it’s because I want to really, really badly, but I believe you. I suspect you’re leaving has something to do with my father, but I won’t ask you to divulge what you’re so clearly unwilling to say. But I will say this.” 

She yanked him closer, not in passion, in promise. “You ever decide something that monumentally stupid again, and I swear on the graves of my human parents, I will stake you.” 

Cocking an eyebrow, Angelus grinned, felt his lip split back open. “Baby, trust me. It was a one time thing.” So saying, he kissed her, feeling her warmth seep into his bones, her response. Her hands unfisted on his coat and wound around his next, her body pressed close against his.  

“I do love you, Buffy, Daughter of Nest. I love you so much it makes me crazy. Don’t leave me.” Kissing her again, he poured passion and promise into that kiss, hunger and need. Angelus let her feel everything he was or wanted to be. Took all she offered and demanded more. 

Pulling back, still smiling, he said, “Come on, I’ll find you a nice warm restaurant, and you can tell me about Nest’s plans with Milei.”  

Looking around, trying to remember where the best place to eat in this part of Moscow was, Angelus took her hand once more, and headed right. Leading Buffy several blocks, he maintained his silence, determined to at least feed her before ravishing her.  

“Looking like that? My reputation will be ruined.” 

Gingerly, Angelus probed his face. Winching now and then, he shrugged. “Could be worse,” he murmured, but knew it no doubt looked worse than he thought. “When we get to the restaurant, I’ll get some blood.” With that, he took her hand again and continued their original path. 

If she hadn’t known he was taking her to get food, Buffy might have missed it even with her training, the structure was that well hidden. The opening was a single door with no windows and an unlit sign overhead.  Upon opening the door, however, the barely lit, hazy interior looked huge. Folk music came from a small group in the corner and a roaring fire was blazing in the center of the room, casting warmth in all directions and adding light.  

The music stopped and several patrons looked up curiously at intrusion, but immediately returned to their own business when they saw The Scourge of Europe and the Princess of Aurelius enter. The proprietor waved the musicians to begin again and scurried over to them, fussing with their coats and gloves as he carefully hung them on the warming rack. Showing them to the best table, the one nearest the fireplace, he offered the menu with a promise that anything, even not on the menu, could be procured. 

Not a stupid man, Buffy thought as she graciously accepted the steaming mug of tea and nodded to the man’s inquiry for her wine choice. The menu was in Russian, of course, but Buffy’s training had included languages, so she had minimal trouble deciphering the choices.  

“So,” Buffy said after they had ordered and her wine and he goblet of blood was served. “What have you been up to these years you’ve been stupid and away from me?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus kissed her again, stopping in the hallway of their hotel, just out of sight of the guards, a thoroughly enjoyable night behind them.  

The snow had started again and fell in swirling patterns against the predawn sky. The hotel was large, a pre-revolution structure that was once as grand as the royalty that frequented it. Now it had lost most of its grandeur if not its old-world charm, but still served the purposes of Nest. 

Nodding to the guards standing by the entrance, Angelus opened the door, allowing Buffy to enter first. The penthouse was spacious; bedroom, sitting room, and dressing room, all decorated in early twentieth century gilt. The full size bathroom was done similarly, all gold and marble, and boasted a large tub, able to hold two. Flicking on a light though neither needed it, Angelus shrugged out of his fur-lined coat and wandered to the windows. Buffy tossed her own coat across the back of a chair.  

Studying him for a silent moment, Buffy walked next to him, standing mere inches from the temptation of his body. While it was true that she had never before had sex, it didn’t mean that she didn’t want to. She’d often wondered about it, the feeling and sensations she heard the vampiress of court speak of, the passion she read in books, and watched in movies. Her first kiss was a human boy and that was out of curiosity. Later, she wondered what she was missing when none of the sparks she thought should be there were. 

Actually, she only wanted Angelus as her nearly life-long fantasies could attest. Maybe that was why the poor human didn’t do anything for her. 

Upon occasion she had kissed others, none sparked the hint of passion simply speaking with Angelus produced within her. She didn’t know what had happened between her father and Angelus, was actually really surprised Angelus had allowed another to dictate his actions, but was willing to let it go. For now. She wanted him. Since no one had ever stood in her way before, Buffy saw no reason this time should be different.  

Angelus wanted her, of that Buffy was sure despite his earlier stupidity. The way he looked at her, the way his eyes tracked her across a room and hardened when she spoke to another. The way they softened with warmth whenever they were alone. The simple fact that he had confessed his love to her, admitted something she knew damned well he hadn’t ever said to another, confirmed everything she once thought about him.  

“You’re quiet all of a sudden; do you not wish to be here?” 

Turning his head sharply at her question, Angelus smiled down at her. “There is no place else I’d rather be,” he said quite honestly. “I told you, Buffy. I love you. I want you so badly, I can’t see straight.”  

Sliding his fingers through her soft hair, combing the wind blown tangles out, Angelus stopped rationalizing and simply took what she offered. What he’d so long wanted. Lowering his mouth to Buffy’s, he kissed her. It was sweet and tender, a soft exploration of her mouth that went on and on until passion spiraled higher and further out of their control. 

Pulling back, Angelus looked at the woman before him, hands still tangled in her hair, face mere inches from hers. “Tell me you forgive me,” he whispered, lips grazing hers. “Tell me you believe me when I say I love you.”

“Yes,” Buffy answered, pulling his head lower so she could kiss him again. “Yes, I believe you.” 

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. 

Buffy hesitated, pulled back. Slowly, she nodded, but didn’t kiss him again. “I do. I do believe you. I do love you. And I want you,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure I trust you.” 

“I hate that,” he murmured, not letting her pull back. He wanted to be the only person she trusted, the only person she loved. He wanted to be the first and last person she ever went to for anything. For everything. He wanted to take her away from everything, but knew he couldn’t, and loved that, too. Loved that she could and would take care of herself. 

Exposing himself to her, everything he wanted, all he thought and felt, Angelus vowed, “I swear to you I’ll make it up to you. I never want you to feel that way again, baby. I do love you, even if it took a while for me to realize that.” 

He could see the war in her eyes, relieved to be able to read her emotions again. Worried that even with the passion that continued to burn between them, she’d reject him. Taking a deep breath, Buffy smiled. 

“You damn well better.” 

With that, Buffy pulled him back to her, mouth hot on his. “You’re mine, Angelus of Aurelius. Don’t disappoint me.” 

“Never,” he said against her lips. “Never again. Love you.” 

Picking her up, Angelus wrapped her legs around him, growled at the exquisite feel of it, and brought her to the bed. Laying her on the expensive duvet, he spread her hair through her fingers, watched the rise and fall of her breasts.  

“I’m going to taste every inch of you,” he murmured. “When I’m done with you, Buffy, you won’t remember anything but my name.” 

Swallowing, Buffy nodded. “I look forward to it…lover.” 

The slow, sensual smile that crossed Angelus’ lips had her shivering in anticipation. The promise in his eyes, in his fingertips had her grinding her hips against his erection, desperate for more. He captured her hands with his, slowly moved down. 

This time, when he kissed her, Buffy let herself go. Let herself just feel, let herself be enveloped in the love of the only man she’d ever wanted. And hoped, that tomorrow, he’d still be there.
~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the suite, Darla waited for long minutes, hidden in the shadows. The guards had to know she was there. Nest never employed idiots to protect his precious daughter, though these seemed to be less astute than most. But they said nothing, and she continued to wait. 

She knew Angelus went inside the chit’s suite ages ago, and was simply waiting for him to return from tucking the child into bed. Then she’d show him that she was back. 

The room was not soundproofed, and at first the silence was reassuring. It wasn’t long before cries and moans of lust could be heard. Enraged, Darla could not move for long, long minutes. He was having sex with her? He was having sex with her? Her childe, her beautiful Angelus was actually having sex with that…that…that human? How had she missed that?  

She’d heard, upon her return from Europe, that the closeness once shared between Angelus and Buffy was no more. Had seen that with her own eyes at the final court soiree Nest had thrown before heading to Russia. Had hoped, in some part of her she hadn’t realized still existed, that she could have her dearest childe back. Not permanently, permanent wasn’t exactly in her vocabulary, but she so did miss his viciousness. 

Dawn slowly approached and the sun rose, shinning bright and illuminating on a new day. Darla, beyond furious at this new turn of events, finally stormed off to her own rooms. Her rooms far, far from the luxury of the penthouses. Cursing to herself, she slammed the door of her junior suite and, in a rage, trashed the place. 

The other problem with this turn of events was Nest. Darla wasn’t so sure her Sire would care about Angelus fucking his daughter. Once upon a time, Darla believed he had plans for the couple. This would no doubt play directly into his gnarled ancient hands.  

Next Part: Accepting Fate