Long Hard Road out of Hell
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
11
Views:
6,448
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
11
Views:
6,448
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9
Title: Long Hard Road Out of Hell
Author: claudia6913
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: W/A
Summary: Angel is left in a room with an unconscious Willow and a dead Buffy. Where will his thoughts take him? This is a response to Gabrielle’s ‘Willow/Angel Challenge’ on NHA Forums
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and Co. I own nothing…unfortunately.
Distribution: If you have it, take it. If not, please ask me.
Feedback: Yes please. ghoztstarz@yahoo.com
----------
Chapter 9
‘No,’ Willow thinks. ‘No, no, no, no.’ That one word repeats itself over and over in her mind. She won’t, can’t, let what happened be real. If it’s real, then she truly will never escape. Her mind is a jumble of sorrow, disbelief, regret, and confusion. Exhaustion is making it next to impossible for her to comprehend everything that has happened in the last forty-eight hours.
Opening her eyelids, Willow looks up at her friend with dry eyes. Her body is no longer able to produce tears. She would cry at that thought alone if she could. Buffy’s body hangs limply from the straps, her head down and to one side. Her blonde hair is masking her face and most of her neck. The gruesome slash across her neck stands out dark and red against the pallor of her skin.
Vaguely, Wi hea hears Angel moving about in the room, but she doesn’t care about him. Not now, not after this. She feels she is to blame. If only she had alerted Buffy to Angel’s presence the other night. But instead, Willow had hidden Angel. If she had told Buffy then, then none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be laying here on a cold slab of wood, trussed up like so much meat. Buffy wouldn’t be hanging there dead on a cross.
If she could cry, she would cry herself to sleep, to sweet oblivion, to nothingness. Instead Willow lays there half aware, waiting for the end to come.
----------
Angel paces around the room, looking for nothing in particular. ‘It happened too fast,’ he thinks. ‘She didn’t understand why, did she? Of course not. How could she? Willow understands though. She always understands. Right?’
His thoughts whirl around in his head, justifying, questioning, and answering. The dead Slayer hangs there, unmoving and unseeing. Angel stops to stare at it, at her. She is almost pretty in death with no woebegone expression to mar her face. He turns then to Willow, lying on the table sleeping, or unconscious.
“You do understand, don’t you?” Angel asks.
He can no longer stand to see her lying there like this, strapped to the table, blood drying on the perfect curves of her back. She is special, Willow is. Special for trying so hard to save him when he least deserved it, special for apologizing when it really wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t known, couldn’t know.
Gently, Angel undoes the straps holding Willow down and picks her up in his arms. Softly she moans in pain, her muscles stiff. He lays her down onto the bed next to him and pulls her up close, cradling her slight form and molding himself to her.
Whatever is lying next to him is so much like Willow…too much like Willow. He remembers her words, her apologies, her soft smiles and blushes. They molded her so perfectly…too perfectly. She is so much like the girl he’d come to like, to care for. So much like Willow with her brains, her understanding, that lovely mane of red hair. It is overwhelming to Angel. He wants nothing more then to kiss the hurt away, no matter who or what it is…it’s still Willow. This Willow, his Willow.
The past days, months, and years flow through his mind as he lies there, watching Willow. Moments bleed into moments like the blood that still drips from what is left of Buffy. ‘Buffy,’ Angel thinks. He looks back over at her limp body, the last traces of blood barely oozing out of the gash in her neck. He can still taste the tang of power her blood held, sitting on his palette like the finest of wines. Slayer’s blood. ‘How could they know what Slayer’s blood tastes like?’ he wonders. ‘How can those demons know? What Slayer has ever gone to hell for them to know?’
Not liking the turn his thoughts are taking, Angel gets up from the bed and paces the room helplessly. He stops and looks at Willow lying naked on the bed, most of the blood out of sight on her back, and wonders again how the demons could concoct the innocence Willow’s blood carries. ‘They can’t know,’ he thinks. ‘They just can’t. There is no way they could know that special blend that is just the right mixture of innocence and power, the salty sweetness of it…’
“Then, if they don’t know, that means…,” Angel says out loud, his voice trailing off.
“Oh God!” Angel exclaims, rushing up to the now graying Buffy. Hesitantly he reaches out a hand to her, feeling the waxy coldnof hof her skin. Big, fat tears streak their way down his face, dropping to the floor and mixing with her blood.
“Oh God,” he says again, softer and with more emotion. “Buffy. I…I’m sorry.” He wraps an arm around the wooden cross; ignoring the burns it gives him, and hugs her to him. He whispers apologies that will never be heard by her, the smell of his skin burning filling the room with its stench. Slowly, he lets go and backs away to wipe tears away from his face leaving bloody trails across his skin.
He backs away one slow step at a time, trying to come to terms with what he has done to her. Soon, he finds himself against the bed and lets his knees go limp so he falls onto the bed. Willow’s leg inadvertently bounces and hits Angel’s back. Twirling on the bed, he looks back to see what it is.
“Willow!” Angel cries out. He crawls towards her, lying down beside her. “Willow, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know! I would never…you know I would never have…not if I’d known.” Burying his face in her stomach, he cries and holds on to her. Angel’s words become muffled between his sobs and her flesh. Reluctantly, Angel lets go of her and sits down next to her, facing away.
“You, you should know. You’ll understand then why I did…why I did what I thought I had to do,” he starts out, unsure of how to tell her of his time in hell, and why he thought this place was an extension of it.
“It all seemed so unreal, this place and you, when I first opened my eyes. Don’t you see? I’d been there, in hell, for hundreds of years. It seemed like it was all I knew, all I could remember. The screams, oh God Willow, the screams of all those people and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it, to stop their pain. They knew it would torture me just to see those, to not be able to help them. My soul was just something else they could torture me with. I was a prize to them, something to play with. They paraded everyone I’ve ever cared about in front of me. Gave them whips and knifes to hurt me with. Even…even you were there with a wicked smile on your face.” sto stops speaking and looks at Willow, her face serene in a dream-like expression. He marvels at the fact that he never gave her the attention he’d always meant to.
“You know,” he begins softly; “when I saw you standing there, in front of me with that whip…it hurt me, to see that look on your face. It hurt to see that look of utter contempt mar your perfect face and to have it directed at me.” He sighs and lies down next to Willow absently rubbing her arm.
“I want you to know I’m sorry Willow. I’m sorry about everything. I care about you, cared about you even before all of this, before I lost my soul,” he says. He wants to pour his heart out to her, but doesn’t know how. He wants to tell her that he cares about her even loves her, but the words won’t come. They stick in his throat, making him choke on them. The urge to show her how much she means to him overwhelms him and he turns to look at her.
Angel gently brushes the hair from her face, exposing the gentle slope of her cheek. He trails kisses, soft and light, down her cheek bone and along her jaw to her neck. Moving her, Angel exposes her body to him, mistaking her whimpers of protest for moans of satisfaction. Willow’s eyes stay closed, not wanting to see what is going on. Her body lies stiff and unmoving, not responding to her silent pleas for it to run away, or turn away.
The front of her form is remarkably unblemished, untouched as it is by whi whip. It lays soft and smooth and open for Angel’s touch. He nips along her collar bone, flicking his tongue out to taste the salty sweetness of her skin. His hand moves along her side, flexing at her hip before slowly moving its’ way to her breast to massage it. mou mouth moves unerringly to her chest, finding her nipple hard and erect, waiting for him. Gently he laves her nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue.
What blood there is left in Willow’s body rushes to the surface of her skin, reddening it under Angel’s touch. She is silently horrified at her body’s reaction. She doesn’t want Angel to touch her like that; she doesn’t want him to make her body react this way. ‘Move!’ she silently commands her body, yet it doesn’t obey. Her muscles are stiff and immobile from disuse and abuse at his hands.
Angel trails his tongue along the underside of her breast, along her ribcage and down to her belly button. He nips the skin around it, pulling lightly on it. Fangs slip down, calling for the blood that has rushed to the surface. He bites gently, only licking at the blood as it wells up to the surfa Tra Trailing bites down her abdomen, Angel nips and licks at her, eating her life fluid one lick at a time.
The fangs retract and Angel places himself lower on her body, between her legs, which he has slid apart to make way for him. He lays a kiss on the soft cinnamon curls down along her slit. Deftly, he flicks his tongue out to taste her as he never has before. The heady scent of her unwilling arousal flows out around him and through him, making him want her more.
With every flick of his tongue, Willow’s muscles twitch and jump involuntarily. Her sighs are ones of pain…and pleasure. She hadn’t known he was skilled at this, but she knows now. Willow wishes that she could have known him in another time, another place. Somewhere where there wasn’t blood, or the dead body of her best friend hanging just feet away. She might even have welcomed him then, but not now.
Willow’s eyes jerk open in surprise, her mouth open in a silent scream as an unexpected orgasm rips almost painfully through her body. Her muscles tense with the release, straining against the stiffness that holds them still. Her inner muscles flutter and spasm uncontrollably.
Angel slides up her body, reminding Willow that he is still here, that he did that to her. Holding himself above her with one hand, Angel reaches down to unzip his pants and free himself from their confines. Eagerly he places himself at her entrance while leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. Upon deepening the kiss, Angel pushes himself slowly into her slick entrance, causing Willow to inhale sharply. He moves gently inside of her, keeping his eyes on hers and placing soft kisses all over her face.
If she could cry she would. This is too close to making love for Willow to handle. She would prefer the roughness of the rape earlier to this soft slowness of sex. She closes her eyes to him, not wanting to see that on on his face, that look of caring and love he has suddenly begun to display to her. ‘It’s just another form of torture,’ she tells herself, as her inner walls begin to tighten in the oncoming of another orgasm.
Whispering endearments, and sweet nothings to her, Angel moves in and out of her, coaxing her to release. He apologizes for being rough earlier, apologizes for being mean and crude.
“You deserve better, Willow, you always deserved better” Angel says in a consoling whisper of enjoyment. His own release creeps up along his spine, tightening things deep inside of him, and her.
Rearing back, Angel plunges inside of her one last time as he spills into her and bites into her neck. He drinks in her release, her life blood, her essence. He wants all of her that he can have, wants to melt into her.
Pulling free, he lays contentedly next to her, cradling her body in an almost possessive embrace. Thoughtfully, Angel pulls the covers over them and settles down to sleep.
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Willow can’t move, can’t speak, and can’t even cry the tears that she so desperately wishes to. Angel sleeps quietly next to her oblivious to her stressful gasps for air, and the erratic flutter of her heart. He doesn’t know he took too much blood, put her through more then her body can handle.
Panic-stricken, Willow gasps for air that isn’t reaching her lungs. She tries to move her arms to grasp at where her heart feels like it will beat out of her chest. She knows she is dying, and there is nothing she can do. She can’t even wake her tormentor. She just lays there dying, helpless and alone. Willow mouths the words ‘I’m sorry,’ to the long dead Buffy before she closes her eyes…and fades away.
Author: claudia6913
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: W/A
Summary: Angel is left in a room with an unconscious Willow and a dead Buffy. Where will his thoughts take him? This is a response to Gabrielle’s ‘Willow/Angel Challenge’ on NHA Forums
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and Co. I own nothing…unfortunately.
Distribution: If you have it, take it. If not, please ask me.
Feedback: Yes please. ghoztstarz@yahoo.com
----------
Chapter 9
‘No,’ Willow thinks. ‘No, no, no, no.’ That one word repeats itself over and over in her mind. She won’t, can’t, let what happened be real. If it’s real, then she truly will never escape. Her mind is a jumble of sorrow, disbelief, regret, and confusion. Exhaustion is making it next to impossible for her to comprehend everything that has happened in the last forty-eight hours.
Opening her eyelids, Willow looks up at her friend with dry eyes. Her body is no longer able to produce tears. She would cry at that thought alone if she could. Buffy’s body hangs limply from the straps, her head down and to one side. Her blonde hair is masking her face and most of her neck. The gruesome slash across her neck stands out dark and red against the pallor of her skin.
Vaguely, Wi hea hears Angel moving about in the room, but she doesn’t care about him. Not now, not after this. She feels she is to blame. If only she had alerted Buffy to Angel’s presence the other night. But instead, Willow had hidden Angel. If she had told Buffy then, then none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be laying here on a cold slab of wood, trussed up like so much meat. Buffy wouldn’t be hanging there dead on a cross.
If she could cry, she would cry herself to sleep, to sweet oblivion, to nothingness. Instead Willow lays there half aware, waiting for the end to come.
----------
Angel paces around the room, looking for nothing in particular. ‘It happened too fast,’ he thinks. ‘She didn’t understand why, did she? Of course not. How could she? Willow understands though. She always understands. Right?’
His thoughts whirl around in his head, justifying, questioning, and answering. The dead Slayer hangs there, unmoving and unseeing. Angel stops to stare at it, at her. She is almost pretty in death with no woebegone expression to mar her face. He turns then to Willow, lying on the table sleeping, or unconscious.
“You do understand, don’t you?” Angel asks.
He can no longer stand to see her lying there like this, strapped to the table, blood drying on the perfect curves of her back. She is special, Willow is. Special for trying so hard to save him when he least deserved it, special for apologizing when it really wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t known, couldn’t know.
Gently, Angel undoes the straps holding Willow down and picks her up in his arms. Softly she moans in pain, her muscles stiff. He lays her down onto the bed next to him and pulls her up close, cradling her slight form and molding himself to her.
Whatever is lying next to him is so much like Willow…too much like Willow. He remembers her words, her apologies, her soft smiles and blushes. They molded her so perfectly…too perfectly. She is so much like the girl he’d come to like, to care for. So much like Willow with her brains, her understanding, that lovely mane of red hair. It is overwhelming to Angel. He wants nothing more then to kiss the hurt away, no matter who or what it is…it’s still Willow. This Willow, his Willow.
The past days, months, and years flow through his mind as he lies there, watching Willow. Moments bleed into moments like the blood that still drips from what is left of Buffy. ‘Buffy,’ Angel thinks. He looks back over at her limp body, the last traces of blood barely oozing out of the gash in her neck. He can still taste the tang of power her blood held, sitting on his palette like the finest of wines. Slayer’s blood. ‘How could they know what Slayer’s blood tastes like?’ he wonders. ‘How can those demons know? What Slayer has ever gone to hell for them to know?’
Not liking the turn his thoughts are taking, Angel gets up from the bed and paces the room helplessly. He stops and looks at Willow lying naked on the bed, most of the blood out of sight on her back, and wonders again how the demons could concoct the innocence Willow’s blood carries. ‘They can’t know,’ he thinks. ‘They just can’t. There is no way they could know that special blend that is just the right mixture of innocence and power, the salty sweetness of it…’
“Then, if they don’t know, that means…,” Angel says out loud, his voice trailing off.
“Oh God!” Angel exclaims, rushing up to the now graying Buffy. Hesitantly he reaches out a hand to her, feeling the waxy coldnof hof her skin. Big, fat tears streak their way down his face, dropping to the floor and mixing with her blood.
“Oh God,” he says again, softer and with more emotion. “Buffy. I…I’m sorry.” He wraps an arm around the wooden cross; ignoring the burns it gives him, and hugs her to him. He whispers apologies that will never be heard by her, the smell of his skin burning filling the room with its stench. Slowly, he lets go and backs away to wipe tears away from his face leaving bloody trails across his skin.
He backs away one slow step at a time, trying to come to terms with what he has done to her. Soon, he finds himself against the bed and lets his knees go limp so he falls onto the bed. Willow’s leg inadvertently bounces and hits Angel’s back. Twirling on the bed, he looks back to see what it is.
“Willow!” Angel cries out. He crawls towards her, lying down beside her. “Willow, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know! I would never…you know I would never have…not if I’d known.” Burying his face in her stomach, he cries and holds on to her. Angel’s words become muffled between his sobs and her flesh. Reluctantly, Angel lets go of her and sits down next to her, facing away.
“You, you should know. You’ll understand then why I did…why I did what I thought I had to do,” he starts out, unsure of how to tell her of his time in hell, and why he thought this place was an extension of it.
“It all seemed so unreal, this place and you, when I first opened my eyes. Don’t you see? I’d been there, in hell, for hundreds of years. It seemed like it was all I knew, all I could remember. The screams, oh God Willow, the screams of all those people and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it, to stop their pain. They knew it would torture me just to see those, to not be able to help them. My soul was just something else they could torture me with. I was a prize to them, something to play with. They paraded everyone I’ve ever cared about in front of me. Gave them whips and knifes to hurt me with. Even…even you were there with a wicked smile on your face.” sto stops speaking and looks at Willow, her face serene in a dream-like expression. He marvels at the fact that he never gave her the attention he’d always meant to.
“You know,” he begins softly; “when I saw you standing there, in front of me with that whip…it hurt me, to see that look on your face. It hurt to see that look of utter contempt mar your perfect face and to have it directed at me.” He sighs and lies down next to Willow absently rubbing her arm.
“I want you to know I’m sorry Willow. I’m sorry about everything. I care about you, cared about you even before all of this, before I lost my soul,” he says. He wants to pour his heart out to her, but doesn’t know how. He wants to tell her that he cares about her even loves her, but the words won’t come. They stick in his throat, making him choke on them. The urge to show her how much she means to him overwhelms him and he turns to look at her.
Angel gently brushes the hair from her face, exposing the gentle slope of her cheek. He trails kisses, soft and light, down her cheek bone and along her jaw to her neck. Moving her, Angel exposes her body to him, mistaking her whimpers of protest for moans of satisfaction. Willow’s eyes stay closed, not wanting to see what is going on. Her body lies stiff and unmoving, not responding to her silent pleas for it to run away, or turn away.
The front of her form is remarkably unblemished, untouched as it is by whi whip. It lays soft and smooth and open for Angel’s touch. He nips along her collar bone, flicking his tongue out to taste the salty sweetness of her skin. His hand moves along her side, flexing at her hip before slowly moving its’ way to her breast to massage it. mou mouth moves unerringly to her chest, finding her nipple hard and erect, waiting for him. Gently he laves her nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue.
What blood there is left in Willow’s body rushes to the surface of her skin, reddening it under Angel’s touch. She is silently horrified at her body’s reaction. She doesn’t want Angel to touch her like that; she doesn’t want him to make her body react this way. ‘Move!’ she silently commands her body, yet it doesn’t obey. Her muscles are stiff and immobile from disuse and abuse at his hands.
Angel trails his tongue along the underside of her breast, along her ribcage and down to her belly button. He nips the skin around it, pulling lightly on it. Fangs slip down, calling for the blood that has rushed to the surface. He bites gently, only licking at the blood as it wells up to the surfa Tra Trailing bites down her abdomen, Angel nips and licks at her, eating her life fluid one lick at a time.
The fangs retract and Angel places himself lower on her body, between her legs, which he has slid apart to make way for him. He lays a kiss on the soft cinnamon curls down along her slit. Deftly, he flicks his tongue out to taste her as he never has before. The heady scent of her unwilling arousal flows out around him and through him, making him want her more.
With every flick of his tongue, Willow’s muscles twitch and jump involuntarily. Her sighs are ones of pain…and pleasure. She hadn’t known he was skilled at this, but she knows now. Willow wishes that she could have known him in another time, another place. Somewhere where there wasn’t blood, or the dead body of her best friend hanging just feet away. She might even have welcomed him then, but not now.
Willow’s eyes jerk open in surprise, her mouth open in a silent scream as an unexpected orgasm rips almost painfully through her body. Her muscles tense with the release, straining against the stiffness that holds them still. Her inner muscles flutter and spasm uncontrollably.
Angel slides up her body, reminding Willow that he is still here, that he did that to her. Holding himself above her with one hand, Angel reaches down to unzip his pants and free himself from their confines. Eagerly he places himself at her entrance while leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. Upon deepening the kiss, Angel pushes himself slowly into her slick entrance, causing Willow to inhale sharply. He moves gently inside of her, keeping his eyes on hers and placing soft kisses all over her face.
If she could cry she would. This is too close to making love for Willow to handle. She would prefer the roughness of the rape earlier to this soft slowness of sex. She closes her eyes to him, not wanting to see that on on his face, that look of caring and love he has suddenly begun to display to her. ‘It’s just another form of torture,’ she tells herself, as her inner walls begin to tighten in the oncoming of another orgasm.
Whispering endearments, and sweet nothings to her, Angel moves in and out of her, coaxing her to release. He apologizes for being rough earlier, apologizes for being mean and crude.
“You deserve better, Willow, you always deserved better” Angel says in a consoling whisper of enjoyment. His own release creeps up along his spine, tightening things deep inside of him, and her.
Rearing back, Angel plunges inside of her one last time as he spills into her and bites into her neck. He drinks in her release, her life blood, her essence. He wants all of her that he can have, wants to melt into her.
Pulling free, he lays contentedly next to her, cradling her body in an almost possessive embrace. Thoughtfully, Angel pulls the covers over them and settles down to sleep.
----------
Willow can’t move, can’t speak, and can’t even cry the tears that she so desperately wishes to. Angel sleeps quietly next to her oblivious to her stressful gasps for air, and the erratic flutter of her heart. He doesn’t know he took too much blood, put her through more then her body can handle.
Panic-stricken, Willow gasps for air that isn’t reaching her lungs. She tries to move her arms to grasp at where her heart feels like it will beat out of her chest. She knows she is dying, and there is nothing she can do. She can’t even wake her tormentor. She just lays there dying, helpless and alone. Willow mouths the words ‘I’m sorry,’ to the long dead Buffy before she closes her eyes…and fades away.