Unfaithful
When she looked back on it later, she wondered what would have happened if she had not walked in when she did, or if she had decided not to even go there at all. It was too icky to think about. The images still rose up sometimes when she looked at him, and even though there was no blame to place on his head, she couldn't help but feel betrayed and kind of yucky about the whole thing...
It was yet another sleepless night. There had been many of them lately, she realized, as she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of dark serious eyes and a lazy half-smile flitted through her mind. Angel, with his handsome features and lean body, teased her while she slept and kept her hungering when she was awake. The handholding and light kisses they had been exchanging as of late were tender and sweet, but she always left him at night with an unexplainable ache, like she wanted more. Their one night together, well over a year ago now, had started a want in her that would not go away, and would not lessen. It grew every time she saw him, every time she watched his eyes light up when she came to him, and the knowledge that it was not something that she could ever experience again was extremely painful. She did not want to share it with someone else. In fact, the idea of him having done so before her was a bitter pill to swallow. It was not the physicality of the act. It was instead the emotional ribbon that had wound around them during those passion-filled hours together, the tenderness and the soft whispers and the love that had bound Buffy to him forever. The physical desire had only added to the emotional attachment, but the desire was what followed her home after she left him. The ache was persistent and hot, and kept her up at night. Like now.
Sighing, she turned her head to see the soft blue-green glow of the digital clock. 4:30 a.m. The sun would be creeping over the horizon soon and she knew Angel would have already returned from hunting. She pictured him prowling around the mansion alone, and an idea started to form. Should she pay him a visit? She wasn't sleeping anyway. They could sit together and talk, the way they usually did, and then she could go off to school and pretend that school mattered. Definitely an idea. She turned it over in her head for a minute more, and that was all she needed. Thirty minutes later, she was padding up to his front door, her backpack heavy with schoolbooks flung over one shoulder. The morning mist was all around her as the sun tried valiantly to break through, but it was only managing to make everything appear hazy. She pushed open the door. It was unlocked, as usual, and she knew it was for her. He always left it open in the hope she would come.
"Hey," she called softly, but got no answer, and thought he must be in the bedroom. The bedroom, she thought. Where there's a bed. She squelched it quickly. She shrugged off her backpack and left it by the door, going in search of him. She knew he was home because his hunting stakes were in a pile in a corner, and they were dusty from fresh kills. Further proof was his leather jacket, discarded over the arm of the couch. Buffy let her fingers trail over it as she passed, and went to the doorway of the bedroom. He was sprawled on his back on the bed, one leg bent, the other straight. He had an arm flung over his eyes and the other lay across his stomach. Buffy could not help smiling at the sight of him there, relaxed and off guard, and her ache for him grew stronger. She was about to say his name so as not to startle him, when there was a slight movement from the shadows of the room. Her eyes flicked to it instantly, and what she saw emerge from the darkness was enough to freeze her tongue. Faith. The darkly beautiful renegade Slayer was here, in Buffy's world. She was in Angel's bedroom with him. Even though Buffy could see her clearly, her mind rebelled. She could not be seeing this. Faith did not belong here. Faith and Angel in the same room was a contrast that should have sent the earth spinning off its axis. Buffy found herself helpless to do a thing except stare at her in disbelief as Faith crossed the room to the bed and knelt down near Angel's head, licking her full lips as she did. In frozen horror, Buffy watched Faith as she began to nuzzle Angel's cheek and ear, stroking the hair back from his forehead. Angel did not move, and Buffy blinked. Oh, my God, she thought. He's letting her do it. The sickest feeling she'd ever had washed over her like a tidal wave, and she thought for a moment she might be sick on the floor. Then she shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand, watching more of the horrible show play out. Faith rose from her knees to a low crouch, leaning over Angel and brushing his lips with her own, as her hand strayed to the open collar of his shirt and rested inside on the bare skin of his neck. Angel still had not moved except to shift slightly and murmur something, and Buffy again felt the nausea rise.
No wonder he had seemed so content to just kiss her good night, and let her go off to bed. It seemed he was satisfying his own urges without her. Buffy mentally cringed when she thought of all the times that she had been so careful not to let things get too out of hand when they kissed, thinking that Angel must have been in as much frustration as she was. You stupid, innocent, little girl, she berated herself. How could you have been so blind? And Faith had known of their plight, because Buffy had confided in her. Buffy had told Faith much of Angel, and Faith had listened eagerly, obviously storing away the knowledge. And now she was here, using that knowledge to her advantage, much like she had used Buffy's trust and Giles's wisdom to turn against them all.
But what of Angel? Were his desires so strong that he could not turn away from her, and instead took what she offered so he did not have to suffer? Had Buffy underestimated him that much? Well, he IS male, her mind whispered. Old he may be, and a vampire to boot, but males are males are males.
No, she whispered fiercely back in her head. Angel is--was--different. I know it.
Yup, sure. Look how different he's acting. Be quiet, she told herself, her eyes still locked on the couple. By now Faith had gingerly put one knee on the bed next to Angel and had bent over him even further, so her breasts were brushing his chest and she was pressing light kisses to his forehead. Every so often she would lightly pass her tongue over his mouth, licking at it with tiny, feather-like strokes before returning her attention to his neck or ears. Buffy continued to watch in utter confusion as Faith whispered into his ear and began to press herself onto him, lowering her weight gently onto his body. His head was still turned away from the door, but when Faith began to rub smoothly against him, Buffy watched sickeningly as he repositioned himself and shifted so that Buffy could now see his face clearly. It was then that she got her second shock.
Angel was fast asleep.
Sleeping was not something he did often. He didn't really need to, but Buffy knew it helped pass the time and relieve boredom. The few times she had seen him asleep, though, taught her that Angel did not sleep lightly. She had had to shake him hard and call his name several times to wake him, and even then he came around groggily and had to give himself time to fully awaken. He was a heavy sleeper, and you could send a brass band in as an alarm clock and still have to give him a wake up call. Buffy assumed that was one of the reasons he chose not to sleep. It had the potential of being dangerous for him.
Faith must have known it. Otherwise, she would never have dared come here. After that nasty little scene a few weeks ago, when she had discovered that Angel had fooled her into believing he was Angelus, Buffy did not think that even Faith would have the nerve to come skulking around so soon. Faith obviously bounced back quickly from defeat. Did she actually believe that molesting Angel while he was sleeping would even the score? Buffy could not understand it. It was a pathetic effort to regain some self-esteem, she knew, but to have to do it while he was sleeping? It was laughable, and at the same time it was infuriating.
There was another murmur from Angel, and Buffy looked up to see Faith straddling him and gently pulling his shirt from the waistband of his pants.
"Mmm...Buffy..." she heard him say softly in his sleep, and her eyes widened. She looked at Faith, who had frozen. Faith's features twisted into an ugly scowl for a brief moment, then relaxed again.
"I'm here," she whispered to him, soothing him. "Buffy's here." That was enough for Buffy. Rage rose in her and she narrowed her eyes. Sliding a stake from its spot at her waist, she stepped forward into the room.
"You will get away from him," she said clearly. Faith's head whipped around to the doorway.
"Oh, hey, B," she grinned, but made no move to unmount herself from Angel.
"Get OFF," Buffy said again.
"I'm trying to do just that," Faith mocked her, and still sat comfortably atop the sleeping vampire.
"You disgust him," Buffy told her.
"I bet I don't," Faith replied calmly. "I bet he would take willingly what I offered." She put a finger to her chin and tapped it thoughtfully.
"Let's think here. Angel was, at one time, very popular for his male charms. He didn't even have to think about where his next lay would come from. All he had to do was just flash that sexy smile, and they were falling into his lap. But then came that gypsy girl, and the curse followed. No more sex for the guy that used to be able to make them get hot just by looking at them. Poor, poor baby, having to abstain for so long, and then what happens? He takes you to bed, and poof! There goes his soul. Doesn't look like he'll be trying that again with you, so where does that leave him? Hmmm...think...oh, I know!" She smiled sweetly. "Gotta have Faith, if you know what I mean. Pun intended."
The words hit home, but she hid her distress. "There's a word for people who take advantage of someone who's sleeping," Buffy said. "They're called rapists."
"Can't rape the willing," Faith returned, glancing down at the still-sleeping Angel, moving her leg aside to reveal to Buffy the bulge in his pants.
"He thinks you're me, you conceited traitorous bitch," Buffy bit out, and then cursed herself for losing her temper.
"Wow, I guess the kitten has claws," Faith laughed. "He would have been able to tell the difference soon enough." It was growing tiresome, going rounds with her, so Buffy crossed the room and picked up a small glass candleholder from its place on Angel's dresser. She cocked her head at Faith, tossed the candleholder up once in the air, and then heaved it as hard as she could at the opposite wall. It flew through the air silently, then shattered with a resounding crash that echoed throughout the mansion.
Angel shot straight up in bed, tumbling Faith from her perch, and grabbed frantically for the stake he kept on the bedside table. Without realizing who it was, he seized Faith by the throat and pinned her, raising the stake above her.
"I love it rough," she said to him, and he blinked twice before focusing on her face.
"What the hell--" he started, then saw Buffy. "Hey," he said, confusion on his features. "Why are you here?" She approached the bed and stood over the trapped rebel Slayer.
"Don't you want to know why Faith is here too?" God, please don't say you were expecting her, she prayed.
"I want to know why two vampire Slayers have both appeared unexpectedly in my bedroom," he said pointedly. "Makes a guy kind of nervous."
"Go ahead," Buffy prodded Faith. "Tell him. See how willing he is."
Faith just looked at her and winked, causing Angel to shake his head and say, "Forget it. Just get out, Faith." He released his hold and she scrambled off the bed, straightening her clothes.
"I'll walk myself out," she smirked, brushing past Buffy.
Angel followed her to the front door to ensure she actually left his house, and as she was going down the steps, he said, "If you ever cross this threshold again, the next time you'll get a stake to the heart. I don't care if you aren't a demon. You sure as hell aren't human."
"I'm not a vampire," Faith teased. "I don't have to be invited." He slammed the door on her mocking giggles.
Returning to the bedroom, he found Buffy sitting on the edge of the bed looking at her fingernails. She looked up at his approach.
"She's gone, I hope."
He nodded, and took a seat next to her. There was silence.
After a while, he spoke. "I didn't really care why she was here. But you, I do."
"I was just...missing you," she said softly, glancing up at him. "Thought maybe we could just talk or something. I didn't expect to find you being mauled in your sleep."
"Is that what she was doing? It felt like a dream. I thought it was--" he broke off hesitantly. "Well, I thought it was you." She smiled slightly, warming inside.
"I'm glad."
"But what? Tell me," he urged, sensing her discomfort. Tears suddenly welled up from nowhere, and she shook her head in distress.
He gathered her close then, laying back with her on the bed and cuddling her to his chest. "It's all right," he whispered, though seeing it wasn't.
"I thought maybe you had invited her here," she spoke in a muffled voice against his shirt. "I thought maybe since you and I can't, you know, BE together, you were using Faith to get what you needed. It made me sick." He was silent for a minute, absorbing her words, then he spoke.
"Faith is a cheap whore, Buffy, but even if she weren't, even if she were good and sweet and pure like you, I would still never even consider touching her. Do you know why?" His arm tightened around her, and she looked up at him with wet eyes. "Because she isn't you. She doesn't shine like you do. She doesn't light my life with joy. Only you can do that for me, only you have been able to do that like no other in the last two hundred years. I don't care if I never touch you again, so long as you just promise to come and sit with me and we can talk about nothing, like we do. Just having you in the same room with me gives me enough satisfaction to last a lifetime. And believe me, I have several lifetimes. You are my bridge from darkness to light, Buffy, and there isn't another soul, living or dead, who could ever come close to shining like you do."
It was a long speech for him, and when he finished, her tears had spilled over and left tracks on her cheeks.
"That was the right thing to say," she said in a shaky voice.
"Feel better?"
"Kind of."
"Hmmm. 'Kind of' is no good."
"Sorry. Can't help it right now."
"Well," he said softly, "let's try something else." He gently disentangled from her and repositioned so he was laying on top of her, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of her head. At the feel of his solidness against her, Buffy's stomach fluttered. It was so natural to feel him lying on her, as if they were just a normal couple sharing intimate time together. She didn't want to think right now of curses and demons and turncoat Slayers, she only wanted to feel Angel and become secure again in the knowledge of his love, a security that had been knocked from its place when she had first walked in and seen Faith. She brought her arms up to encircle his neck, and he easily lowered his head to kiss her. He drew it out slowly, and she savored it, feeling the difference in this kiss from the others as of late. This one was deep and hungry, his tongue probing strongly and his teeth nibbling at her lips. She wanted it to go on forever, just feeling the shape of his mouth on hers. She wanted to be lost in it, and she kissed him back anxiously, wanting him to be lost as well, wanting reassurance that he too had been pursued lately by desire.
His response to her kisses was honest and true as he gathered her close underneath him. Angel wanted to wipe away the awful idea that he could have ever wanted Faith. The thought that Buffy had believed that he actually invited Faith here, to his bed, was heartbreaking. Though he was not to blame for Faith's invasion of his home, the guilt was still there, gnawing at him, making him more intent than ever on proving his heart belonged only to Buffy. He reached for one of her hands and brought it down in between them, lifting his hips slightly so she could feel in between their bodies.
"Do you feel that?" he asked her, pressing his hardness into her hand. She met his eyes, and nodded.
"That's not for Faith. It's not for anyone but you. You could parade a million women in front of me, and I would turn away in disgust from all of them, Buffy. It's you that makes me hard like that, and not anybody else. I only get this way from thinking of you." He wondered if his words were making an impact. In his experience, talk was cheap.
"Promise?" she whispered, sounding for all the world like a child.
"I promise, little Slayer," he said, and she smiled in response to the use of his favorite nickname for her. Lowering his head to the warm hollow of her neck, he nuzzled the fragrant skin there. He could smell her blood pulsing just beneath the surface, and he had to swallow hard and move away from the tempting spot. Her hand was still encircling him through his clothes, squeezing gently while she arched her head back on the pillow. The movement of her upper body caused her breasts to lift up and peek from the low neckline of her soft cotton shirt, and Angel moved his lips softly over them while he moved his hips against her in encouragement. He could feel her come up to meet him in response, drawing her legs up close to her body to settle him in closely, and she sighed in contentment at the feeling of him pressing against her.
"So beautiful," he murmured against her skin, lifting the bottom of her shirt to explore underneath. "So soft."
The skin under his hand was indeed soft, yet rippled with hard muscle that had formed from days and nights of physical workouts. Her ribs were small beneath the flesh of her torso, and his hand came to rest briefly on her beating heart. He never tired of feeling that pulsing, and he could remember the days when his own heart had done the same. Continuing upward, he passed gentle fingers once, twice over her firm breasts, touching them with reverence while he buried his face in her fragrant hair. She smelled, as always, like daffodils.
"I love you," she whispered to him, and he felt a ray of light penetrate his darkness, a single beam of sunshine in his otherwise bleak existence.
"I love you," he returned. "Do you know how much?" She shook her head solemnly.
"This much," he breathed, lifting her shirt and lowering his head to suckle at her breasts, first one, then the other, until both nipples were standing up against the lace of her bra and begging for his attention.
"This much," he whispered again, discarding his own shirt and laying back against her bare skin, placing small kisses down her breastbone to her stomach and back up again. He pulled her shirt over her head and unclasped her bra, dropping both pieces of clothing off the bed.
"This much," he told her quietly, lifting himself up just to gaze with adoration at her naked breasts, touching both of them gently and dipping his head to lick at the pink nipples. For a long time he lavished attention there, licking and biting gently, until Buffy was writhing beneath him and a fine sheen of perspiration had broken out on her brow.
"I love you more than that, though," he continued. "I love you this much." He slid her pants off in one smooth motion, doing the same to his own, then returning to her naked warmth. She gazed at him doubtfully, knowing they could not culminate the act.
"It's all right," he assured her. "We won't."
"I want to," she blurted out, then berated herself. Wanting to was futile.
He just smiled down at her.
"I know, little Slayer. Me too. But we have to make do."
"Making do could be good," she considered. "For now. Until there's another way." Angel's confidence that someday there would be a way for them was a comfort to her.
"For now," she repeated. His rock hard shaft was nestled snugly in the cleft between her legs, and because she was so slick and wet, he was able to slide back and forth easily. It almost gave him the sensation of being inside her, so tightly did she grasp him. He could feel himself slide over the tiny button of her pleasure as he moved, and as he did, she lifted her hips off the bed toward him, trying to push it even closer. Her fingers were grasping at the silk sheets beneath her, and he could tell she was straining for release.
"Relax," he murmured into her ear, stopping his motion and pressing her body back down into the bed. "Let me take care of it." She obeyed reluctantly, her tense muscles loosening, and she took a deep breath and let it out.
"I just have wanted you so badly lately," she tried to explain, but he silenced her with a kiss.
"Don't move an inch," he told her, and started the seductive rhythm again, sliding back and forth between her sleek folds. It had to be one of the best things she had ever felt, better than getting into a hot shower, better than strawberries and brown sugar. It was perfection, to simply lie there and let him make her feel this way. Her eyes closed and she let herself just feel him, feel the steel of him, and she knew she was connecting with his heart. The low throbbing began to get stronger, and she didn't have to reach for it because she could just feel Angel bringing it closer.
"Please," she sighed, "please, Angel..." He knew what she wanted, and followed her request by quickening his strokes and pressing harder on her, and it was only a minute before she was crying out and shuddering with a powerful orgasm.
He was too close to his own release to be able to stop. The added wetness from her orgasm was heaven and he still slid back and forth against her, feeling the warmth and softness. It was just before he came that he heard her say, "Take from me."
He met her eyes briefly, then could not refuse the tomenting offer. His fangs appeared almost instantly, and just as his orgasm hit, he sank them into the smooth flesh of her neck. Her blood filled his mouth while he came, making the feeling that much stronger, and Buffy could hear him snarl and feel his cool stream of liquid bathe her stomach while he drank from her. He was careful to only take the one mouthful before letting his fangs retreat, kissing the tiny double holes in her neck. He licked a drop of crimson that had run down to her shoulder, cleaning her skin with his tongue, and then lay back on the pillow with her. Noticing the white fluid on her belly, he picked up the edge of the sheet and cleansed her solemnly.
"Made a mess," he apologized.
"My kind of mess," she giggled, turning on her side to look at him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what, little Slayer?"
"For not wanting Faith."
He touched her nose with a finger. "Don't have time to want Faith. I spend all my time wanting you."
"Okay."
"Okay for sure?" he questioned.
She pondered it. "How about okay for now?"
"I guess it'll have to do."
Later, after she had kissed him goodbye and promised to come soon and then gone off to school, she remembered what it had felt like to see Angel in the arms of someone else, and the sickening feeling had returned. The truth remained that they could not share what Faith had been so willing to give him. Then she remembered what Angel had promised her. Until there was another way, they would make do.
Someday, there would be another way.
End