Christabel

Nymue

 

Buffy Summers was not happy. One flubbed phrase, one spell done to keep a portal closed, had resulted in her being catapulted into another reality. Across dimensions, space and time.

Victorian England. London, 1898, to be precise. But not the London of her past. Apparently here America had not won the Revolution. And she was sitting, oblivious to the shocked stares about her state of dress (or rather, undress), among a roomful of Watchers. In their headquarters, a lush estate not far from Westminster.

"So you see, Miss Summers, returning you to your dimension will require very powerful magicks ..." the elegant older gentleman began, "and I am rather afraid you must, err, how shall I put this ..."

Another, younger man spoke up. "When you entered our world, a vampire from this plane was displaced into your world. Now, this would be cause for celebration in the normal course of events, but his family," he put a strange emphasis on the word, "wants him back. And they are willing to set aside our differences in order to retrieve him."

"And," yet another Watcher began, "in order to return you and retrieve him, you must participate in the ritual."

"Okay," Buffy said. "So let’s get them and do this ritual thingy and send me home."

The older Watcher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Leaning forward slightly, he addressed Buffy in a near whisper. "Miss Summers, this ritual is simple, yet has a stipulation. In order for you to cross the threshold, you must ingest a potion."

Buffy looked at him strangely. "Not a problem," she said.

He shifted again. The younger Watcher sighed, and decided to elaborate, since his colleague could not bring himself to describe the more intimate details. Gesturing for Buffy to follow him, they entered a small antechamber.

Once alone, he continued. "The potion you must ingest must be first ingested by another. To be precise, it must first be taken by a vampire of the lineage of the vampire they hope to retrieve." He stopped, to make sure she was following what he was saying. When she nodded, he resumed. "For you to take the potion you must consume it from the vampire, after, ahem, being intimate."

Buffy was nonpulsed for a moment. "So, let me get this straight. A vampire has to drink this potion, then I have to have sex with him and drink his blood. Anything else? Should we plan on picking out a silverware pattern?"

He frowned at her. "If you must be blunt, then yes, that is what you must do. But silverwares have nothing to do with the ritual."

Buffy sighed. //So I have to screw a vampire. No biggie, it’s not as if I

haven’t been there before.//

She slid back to reality to hear the Watcher speaking. " ... and ingesting his blood will not turn you because of the potion. The vampire has already been selected, as it is his childe who is missing. Due to our mutual distrust of one another, a neutral locale has been selected ..."

*****

Two hours after sunset, Buffy, covered from head to toe in a dark cloak and her bag in hand, along with the current Slayer for this world, Alicia, stood with a pair of Watchers looking up at a rather ramshackle estate house. It looked for all the world like Miss Havisham’s manor in "Great Expectations."

Alicia turned to Buffy and embraced her. "You are braver than I," she whispered, eyeing the house as a shiver rippled through her. "May God protect you," she told her, before leaving with one of the Watchers.

Buffy was left with the young Watcher, Harrison, who escorted her up through the overgrown courtyard. As they reached the door, it was swung open for them, revealing another player in this little drama.

The Master.

It took all of Buffy’s willpower not to rip apart the doorjamb in order to have a large chunk of wood in her hands. //Oh, God, tell me, PLEASE tell me I’m not having sex with him!// Only Harrison’s grip on her arm kept her from loosing what little rationality she had left.

They entered without incident, and crossed the foyer. Harrison lightly tapped Buffy’s shoulder, and when he had her attention he took her cloak.

"I take it that everything is prepared?" Harrison queried, somewhat nervously.

The Master smirked, before replying. "Yes. She has only to complete her part," he said, his eyes raking up and down Buffy’s body, as if appraising a piece of meat. "Not that she should have any trouble," he drawled, as he took in her outfit, a black leather corset paired with a short red leather skirt, and black nylon encased legs that ended in black platforms.

//This is the last time I dress up in order to prove Spike wrong. Uggghh!//

Harrison merely nodded, then gave her a little push towards the stairs.

"Just follow the lighted candles," The Master told her.

"We’ll be here to complete the ritual when you finish," Harrison seconded.

//He makes it sound like I’m going for a walk in the park. Oh well, apparently I’m not having sex with the Big Ugly. There is a god. Or goddess, Willow would insist on recognizing the goddess.//

As Buffy mounted the stairs, she allowed her mind to drift. Cobwebs hung from the wooden rafters, and even graced the candelabra that held the tapers that gave a dim light for her to follow. The whole house had a musty odor, and she wondered if she would be able to light the vanilla scented candles in her bag when she reached her destination.

All too soon she reached the end of her trek. Taking a deep breath, she opened the double doors.

And gazed about in shock.

*****

She had entered a massive bedroom, one with a high vaulted ceiling and heated by fires that blazed in three hearths. A very large mahogany four poster bed dominated the room, and its heavy velvet curtains had been pulled to the side. Upon closer inspection Buffy saw that the thick duvets had been thrown off, and black and white rose petals shimmered against the red silk sheets; the space right below the elaborately carved headboard was covered in dozens of black and red satin pillows.

It was a bed meant to seduce.

//And it’s doing a damn good job.//

Allowing her gaze to wander from the bed, she took in the rest of the room. The furniture, like the bed, was made of mahogany. Elaborate candelabra were situated at various strategic points, and their illumination made the room seem to glow with an unearthly light. As she circled close to a table near the high window, she noticed a slender, braided whip laying in a chair. She shivered, imagining what it could do when used by someone skilled in sensual torture. On the table rested a red violin, and a few books. One was open, and contained several drawings of sexual positions that Buffy believed impossible to achieve. The other was closed, but two crimson silk scarves marked the place where its previous reader had stopped. Opening the book to the page marked, Buffy read the passage aloud.

"At length their long kiss severed, with sweet smart:

And as the last slow sudden drops are shed >From sparkling eaves when all the storm has fled, So singly flagged the pulses of each heart.

Their bosoms sundered, with the opening start

Of married flowers to either side outspread

From the knit stem; yet still their mouths, burnt red,

Fawned on each other where they lay apart." (1)

"Okay," Buffy said shakily as she set the book down, "now I know why everyone was so hyped up about this poem in lit class. I finally get it. Oh, God, I so get it."

A deep, masculine chuckle reverberated through the room. Every hair on Buffy’s body stood on end—she knew that voice, knew its every timbre and inflection. Turning around, she knew what she would see.

But that didn’t stop her breath from catching in her throat.

Angelus stood before her, dressed in nothing more than a black silk robe that molded to his body as if he had been poured into it. His smooth, pale, hard flesh beckoned to her as it always had. The hair was longer, she noted, but if anything it merely enhanced his beauty. His lips quirked as he took in her outfit, and Buffy couldn’t help but blush.

He smiled as her skin turned pink. He chuckled again as he let his knuckle graze the side of cheek, before slipping down the side of her throat.

Buffy stood still, her breathing heavy. It had been so long since her Angel had left her, and she was starved for his presence, his touch ... it would be so easy to pretend. But looking at him, seeing the gleam in his eyes, she doubted she would.

Somehow, she knew this Angelus would keep her focused on the here and now.

Suddenly, the hand that had been caressing her neck stopped, and he rubbed his fingers across a small, raised scar. Before she even realized what had happened, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her closer.

"Angel," she gasped, unable to help herself. "What are you—"

Tilting her head to the side, he gazed at the mark on her neck. Slowly, he raised his eyes to hers. Just as slowly he released her, and moved around behind her, letting one hand rest lightly on her hip while the other brushed the hair away from her ear.

"You speak as if you know me," he whispered. "And you’ve been marked."

Buffy took a deep breath, only to let it out as a gasp when his hand began to stroke her through the leather of her corset. Lightly laughing, he began to undo the fastenings that held the garment together. When he was finished the corset fell to the floor, baring her breasts to his questing fingers and hungry eyes.

"Well?" he asked, as he stroked the sides of the breasts, making lazy circles around the aureole.

Buffy whimpered. She was already thoroughly aroused, and she could feel the evidence of her desire running down the inside of her legs. And she knew he could smell it. He may not be her Angel, but he knew all the right buttons to push, nonetheless. She pushed forward, trying to force his fingers to her now hard nipples. When he refused to acquiesce, she moaned.

He laughed. "All you have to do is answer me," he told her, as his lips slid over the shell of her ear.

Buffy shuddered when started nibbling on her earlobe. "I knew you," she whispered. "In another place, another time, I knew you."

Seemingly pleased by her response, he let his fingers dance lightly over her nipples. "And the mark?"

"In another time, in another place, in another world, I knew you," she whispered again. But this time, she elaborated. "Intimately."

Angelus’ eyes darkened with lust as his face morphed, and his fingers rolled and squeezed her nipples, finally giving her the pressure she had been silently begging him for. Buffy gasped, then moaned as the sensations pulsed through her body. He turned her to face him, and captured her lips with his own. It was blatantly carnal, deep and delicious. Their tongues dueled inside her mouth, entwining and stroking. In a moment of pure feeling, Buffy caressed the side of one of his fangs with her tongue, swirling it around before impaling it on the sharp tip.

As her blood flooded his mouth, Angelus growled and pulled her closer. She could feel his hardness press against and she broke the kiss, moaning. He thrust his hips against her, and she twisted slightly, trying to rid herself of the interfering skirt. Before she could do more, he had ripped it from her body, and had lifted her off the ground, carrying her to the bed.

Since her shoes had been lost in the journey to the bed, when Buffy landed on the rose petal covered sheets she was wearing nothing but thigh-high black nylons. Confronted with this heretofore unknown material, Angelus paused for a moment, raising lusty, inquisitive eyes to her.

Smiling secretively, she moved his hands to the top of the material and whispered, "Pull."

He did as she instructed, and was rewarded with a smooth expanse of creamy skin. Smiling wickedly, he moved his mouth to the top of her thigh, and followed his hands down her leg as he removed the nylons, licking and nibbling the entire time. When he pulled the stocking off, he sucked her toes into his mouth, causing her to sigh. After a few moments, he repeated the process on her other leg.

Now that she was completely bare, Angelus pulled back to look at her. Incomparably beautiful, this Slayer. Her golden skin was tinged pink, and her golden hair shimmered, forming a halo around her head. Breathing heavily, her perfectly rounded breasts bounced up and down. And she was arousing the strangest feelings in him, things that, although unknown, were not unpleasant.

Grinning wickedly, he parted her thighs with his hands, and lowered his head to her mound of curls. Softly, he blew across her outer lips, causing her to twist and moan. Holding her hips firmly in place, his tongue darted out to taste her essence. As she whimpered, he began to lick his way around her outer lips, sucking up the juices that had escaped. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved towards her center.

When Angelus’ tongue moved inside her, Buffy thought she might die. It felt so good, what he was doing. And it had been so long ...

In and out, up and down, he swirled his tongue. With every stroke it seemed she grew wetter and wetter. Her labia began to plump up, and Buffy was nearly mindless from the pleasure.

"Angel ..." she whimpered, "please ..."

Growling, Angelus moved to take her swollen bud into his mouth. He licked at it, then, taking pity on her, sucked on the tender pearl before gently biting down.

Buffy shattered, her orgasm ripping through her like lightening. Sensation after sensation pulsed through her body. As he continued sucking she peaked again, then the waves came crashing down, sending into ecstasy for the second time.

Pleased by her responsiveness, Angelus shook off his robe and moved to cover her body. His lips found hers, and she found she could taste herself on him. Breaking the kiss, he moved to suck on her rosy nipples; he teased and teased until they were hard, and she was writhing beneath him.

Just when Buffy thought she would go insane from longing, Angelus plunged inside her. She screamed in pleasure, and wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him deeper. His thrusts were hard and steady, but fast gaining momentum. Buffy matched his ardor, keeping pace with him flawlessly.

Angelus could feel his orgasm building, and increased his thrusts, a little surprised that she met each one with equal strength. Deeper and deeper he plunged, until Buffy was sure he bumping her cervix. As he felt his balls tighten, Angelus inserted a hand between them and pinched her clit. Screaming, Buffy climaxed, her walls squeezing him and triggering his own release. With a fierce roar, Angelus threw his head back and came, spilling his seed inside her.

*****

Downstairs, the two beings responded quite differently to Buffy’s screams and Angelus’ roar of pleasure. Harrison, ever the Watcher, loathed that a Slayer, despite her flippant attitude and immodest dress, should have to have relations with a demon. He only hoped that this experience did not scar her for the rest of her, likely short, life.

The Master, on the other hand, smirked. The minute he had seen this otherworld Slayer he had known there was something odd about her. Somehow, he had known she would please Angelus. It was a pity, he mused, that they had to send her back to retrieve William. Angelus had been lacking (well, slightly) in female companionship ever since Darla and Drusilla had been destroyed in a fire three months earlier. This Slayer could have very well been an excellent companion for both Angelus and William. Hmmm ... he rose from his seat and crossed to the table to look over the spell once more ...

*****

Buffy lay on the bed, spent. Angelus trailed a hand over her body possessively, stroking and caressing. She shivered, gooseflesh rising on her skin everywhere he touched her. Glancing out the window, he noted the position of the moon and sighed. Climbing off the bed, he walked over to one of the smaller tables, and returned with a small chest, from which he removed a silver goblet, and a ruby and onyx encrusted dagger.

As he set them on the bedside table, he noticed her shivering. "Are you cold?"

She nodded, and he walked over to an armoire only to return with a dressing gown. Gesturing for her to stand, he slipped the heavy white brocade silk over her shoulders. It had a square neck, and laced down the bodice all the way to mid-thigh. The sleeves were long, widening at the wrists, but they were split, allowing her arms to be seen when the material moved a certain way.

When he had laced the gown, he settled her back against the headboard, with the satin pillows supporting her. Sitting next to her, he used the dagger to slice open his forearm, and caught the resulting blood in the goblet. When he had filled the cup, he licked his wound closed. Stretching out his hand, he drew her forward. He passed the goblet to her, and she raised it to her lips and drank.

Buffy was surprised. She hadn’t expected the blood to taste like this. She had expected it to taste, well, like blood. But this ... this was delicious, ambrosial even. Nothing else she had ever tasted could even come close to comparing ... Suddenly, a fire streaked through her body, and she moaned. Tipping forward, the now empty goblet fell from her fingers as she writhed on the bed in agony.

Angelus retrieved the goblet, setting it on the nearby table. When Buffy fell towards him, he twisted around so that her head and shoulders rested on his lap. He stroked her and murmured, "That juice was wormwood to her tongue ... swift fire spread thro’ her veins" (2). Buffy continued to moan as the potion laden blood traveled through her system, readying her for the return journey. To distract himself from her cries, and to try and soothe her, Angelus opened the chest and pulled out several thin, lightweight ruby and onyx chains, and threaded them through her hair. As her whimpers ceased, she slipped into sleep.

Reluctantly, Angelus scooped her into his arms and carried her down the stairs.

*****

Harrison was pacing the floor, and was therefore the first to see Angelus descend the stairs with Buffy in his arms. When he got a good look at the Slayer, his mouth fell open.

"Christabel!" he exclaimed.

Annoyed at being interrupted, The Master looked up to see what was bothering the Watcher. "What?"

His gaze was quickly drawn to Angelus as he stepped into the room carrying the Slayer. He raised his eyebrows at the way Angelus had dressed her, but the younger vampire said nothing, although his eyes were blazing.

Harrison, meanwhile, was still stumbling over Buffy’s new appearance. "In the poem, there are lines that go:

"... a damsel bright,

Dressed in a silken robe of white,

That shadowy in the moonlight shone:

The neck that made that white robe wan,

Her stately neck, and arms were bare;

Her blue-veined feet unsandaled were,

And wildly glittered here and there

The gems entangled in her hair." (3)

"Granted, those lines refer to Geraldine, not Christabel, but still ..." he trailed off, watching as Angelus gently lay Buffy on low chaise lounge.

"Mmmm," was the only reply, as the two vampires finished the preparations.

"We are ready," The Master announced. Then, picking up the mixture of herbs, he recited the words while burning them over a blue flame. Soon, a swirling vortex opened around Buffy, and she disappeared. When the vortex fizzled out, a seemingly dead young man was in her place, his bright, sharp blue eyes darting about as he took in his surroundings. With a shout he embraced his sire, telling him how glad he was to be gone from that strange world.

Harrison, realizing his work was done, turned to leave. But before he could, darkness descended.

*****

Back in Sunnydale, Giles, Spike and Willow watched as the other Spike (William, Willow thought) disappear. In his place they saw Buffy reappear, and breathed (okay, so Spike didn’t breathe) a sigh of relief.

And, less than a minute later, were horrified to see her disappear again.

*****

In the manor, The Master started a new chant, reaching over to slash Angelus’ wrist, letting his blood coat the bottom of the silver goblet.

"Let she, so recently removed from this world, who carries this blood in her veins, be returned," he intoned.

Another, darker vortex emerged. When it dissipated, Buffy was again laying on the chaise lounge, still sleeping.

The Master smiled. "She’s yours, Angelus. Take her ... what an exquisite companion she will be."

Angelus smiled, a truly charming, yet unholy, sight. He bent over her still form and pressed his lips to hers, before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her back to the bedroom.

William, for his sharpness, was slightly confused. The Master just laughed. "Come, we will hunt. Dawn is coming soon, and I, for one, would like a meal before then."

"What about ‘im?" William asked, gesturing to the unconscious and shackled Harrison.

The Master flicked his eyes over the Watcher, then up the stairs as they left the manor. "He will be your new ‘sister’s’ first meal. I have no doubt she will be ravenous when she wakes."

*****

In the darkened bedroom, Buffy fought her way to consciousness, but everything was foggy. All she could tell was that she was comfortable, and that Angel was with her. Sighing, and not bothering to question the soft Irish lilt to his voice as he whispered to her, she snuggled closer before drifting back off to sleep.

Angelus smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then he drew the heavy velvet bedcurtains, and settled in to sleep. Evening would come soon, and the fun would begin.

The End

  1. from "Nuptial Sleep" by Dante Gabriel Rosetti. Originally published in 1870, it was attacked by Robert Buchanan for being too lewdly sensual for public consumption. When Rosetti published again in 1881, this poem was omitted.
  2. quote from "Goblin Market" by Christina Rosetti
  3. from "Christabel" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  

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