The Soulmate Series
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
49
Views:
10,097
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Het - Male/Female › Angel(us)/Willow
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
49
Views:
10,097
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
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.
Falling Apart
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Joss and a bunch of other people who are not now and have never been me.
Falling Apart
She is far away from him.
He’d been so sure when he made love to her that she felt the connection between them, that she understood what he felt for her. He’d been certain that she accepted him, even welcomed him as both her lover and her love.
But he was wrong, and he knows that now. He knew it the moment he pulled himself from inside her body and felt the anguish and pain that radiated from her once the waves of physical pleasure she’d felt had subsided. She had descended almost immediately into slumber, somehow becoming less reachable through the bond in her unconscious state, her mind instinctively withdrawing from him. It’s agonizing to Angel and he cuddles her closer, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he can without hurting her, though a part of him almost wants to, to cause her pain in return. He doesn’t give in to that impulse, though. He is at least rational enough now to realize that it’s that same primitive behaviour that has caused things to go so horribly wrong.
The warmth of Willow’s body is a poor substitute for the warmth he truly desires, that of her heart and soul, but Angel lets it seep into his skin, a blessed balm against his own vampiric chill and the still-fresh memories of agonizing hellfire. Willow’s warmth is like sunshine, the memories of which flit across the edge of his consciousness, mixing in with the chaotic jumble which begins to fill his brain once again. There is no rhyme or reason, no chronology, and Angel knows that it’s all a twisted melange that, even if he weren’t so damaged by centuries in Hell, he could never completely make sense of. Still, he decides to let go, to let the words and pictures come, and to simply try to latch onto what he can, and hope that it helps make him whole and well again. Hope that it helps him find a way to make things right with Willow.
He is in an alley. Dirty, emaciated, craven. There are humans all around, but he doesn’t hunt them, despite his weakened, half-starved state. He looks around for rats, and he eats one, only barely gaining enough strength to catch another
He is hunting with another of his kind. A pale, beautiful creature with brown hair and blue eyes. He can feel the hate, fear, jealousy, and love between them. They are enemies and lovers. Family and foe. This dealer of pain and death is not his childe, but is his creation all the same.
He is in a sacred place, desecrating it with murder, blasphemy, and sin. He is with the one who made him. Together they are tormenting a broken girl with madness in her eyes. He chooses to make her what he is, damning her for eternity. Destroying her soul as surely as he has destroyed her mind and body.
Pain, agony, terror... he feels his soul being forced back into him by the hatred of a people he has deeply wronged. He knows the horror of his crimes and it overwhelms him. He can see the faces of every human whose life he has ended, hear their screams and pleas for mercy, feel the agony he visited upon them.
Angel whimpers as he holds Willow close, certain that the gates of Hell yawn anew and await his imminent return. But minutes pass and nothing happens. He is still in this soft, silk-clad bed, his arms around his girl. So he relaxes his hold on his sleeping love and lets his mind wander once more, lets the memories come, this time thinking of Willow and hoping that his mind will take him to places she has been with him, will let him remember things that will help him understand what came before and why she doesn’t feel for him what he feels for her.
He is in a nightclub, watching the Slayer move wantonly on the dance floor, her body writhing against that of an awkward boy. He feels jealousy burn within him and he notices the same pain in Willow’s eyes as she watches the pair, knows that she loves the boy the way he loves Buffy.
Angel gasps for a moment at this memory, beginning to understand Willow’s confusion and terror. Things were different before, and not nearly as much time has passed here as had passed in Hell. It can’t have been very long, then, since he loved Buffy. He remembers loving her now, though it is so far away that it seems like someone else and not him who loved her. And even with this distance considered, he knows it felt nothing like what he feels for Willow. But Willow knows none of this and Angel hates himself for his inability to understand until now, when it might be too late.
He closes his eyes and once more he remembers...
He is in a dark hallway, holding Willow close to his body, his hand around her throat, his erection pressed against the small of her back. He inhales deeply of her fear and innocence, the desire to taste her so strong that it makes this master predator a clumsy amateur. His prize slips from his grasp and he makes good a hasty escape as her friends surround him.
He is in a girlish bedroom. Willow’s bedroom. He smothers a smile as she hastily hides the bra that she’d left on her bed, lets her think he hasn’t seen it. He asks for her help in finding out the truth about Buffy’s old crush, Billy Fordham; opens up to her unthinkingly as she types away on her computer. There’s a moment where a feeling he can’t put a name to comes over him when she asks, “If I say something you really don’t want to hear, do you promise not to bite me?” He loves Buffy, but a part of him can’t help but notice the long legs that peer out from beneath the hem of Willow’s sleepshirt, and he knows that his day’s rest will be plagued by dreams of red hair and the most trusting green eyes he’s ever seen.
He is in Buffy’s house, in the darkness of her bedroom in fact, and he is kissing her, his soul overcome by the joy of being loved by The Slayer, by the one girl in the all the world charged with the sacred mission of destroying his kind. Reveling in the fact that she has never sensed his true nature, letting it lull him into a magical belief that it’s because he isn’t really a demon, that his soul has purified him. But in the midst of that very ecstasy, his mask slips and his secret is revealed, terrifying the girl in his arms. He dives out her window as she screams.
He is in his apartment, dripping wet. Buffy is there, gazing at him with a mix of nervousness and desire. Desire wins out and her eyes give him permission. Soon she is in his arms, his bed, naked underneath him, moaning her fulfillment as he finds release inside her. This time there was no slip. He made love to the Slayer as a man, only a man, and the thrill of it makes him believe that his dream has finally come true. He is a man. Just a man, lying next to the woman he loves, the woman who loves him enough to share her body with him for the very first time. Surely the Chosen One would never share herself with a demon, after all. Angel is happy, blindly, deliriously happy. Suddenly, the ecstasy is ripped away by pain and terror. He clothes himself as fast as he can and flees his home, running out into the street, a long-forgotten agony tearing through every inch of his body as his soul is torn away, and he is helpless to do anything but suffer as the demon within him once again takes control.
Without realizing it, Angel has begun to sob. He’s somewhat able to sort the memories, to put together the pieces of the puzzle, and it hurts in a way that is almost more agonizing than the torments of Hell. He realizes that this love he feels for the woman sleeping next to him is his alone. Born when their souls touched and forged by the fires in which he burned. Why she gave him back his soul he still does not know, but it wasn’t because she loves him, at least not in the passionate, desperate way he loves her. She has not spent hundreds of years clinging to his soul the way he has to hers. And that means that what has happened between them today was...
Angel can’t bear to even think the words that describe what he has done to the girl he loves. Nearly undone by his grief and self-hatred, he tightens his hold on Willow again and cries bitterly, unable to tell her how much he truly loves her and how desperately he wishes he could undo the events of this terrible day. All he can do is hope that someday, somehow, she will find it in her heart to forgive him. But he knows there is no way now that she will ever love him and the pain of that knowledge overwhelms him while he sobs brokenly into Willow’s neck as he holds her, knowing that, when she awakens, she’ll leave him. So he holds her with all the desperation born of the knowledge that he will never hold her again. And he tries to commit everything he can to his memory. Her taste, her scent, even her tears. Soon, after all, these memories will be all he has.
A part of him almost hopes she will sleep for eternity, that she’ll never go away. But all too soon he senses her stir to wakefulness beside him, his sobs undoubtedly responsible for rousing her from sleep. He can’t bear the thought that she will soon be gone, that he will never hold her soft, warm body in his arms again. Never again inhale her scent. Never again know the ecstasy of being inside her. As much as he doesn’t want to hurt her any more than he already has, he can’t bring himself to let her go, despite his best intentions a few moments ago. So, as her eyes open, Angel reaches out to her through the bond, hoping that as she awakens she will no longer be able to shut him out. Her beautiful eyes fix on him and he cuts off the words she is about to speak with his own.
“I love you.”
TBC...
Falling Apart
She is far away from him.
He’d been so sure when he made love to her that she felt the connection between them, that she understood what he felt for her. He’d been certain that she accepted him, even welcomed him as both her lover and her love.
But he was wrong, and he knows that now. He knew it the moment he pulled himself from inside her body and felt the anguish and pain that radiated from her once the waves of physical pleasure she’d felt had subsided. She had descended almost immediately into slumber, somehow becoming less reachable through the bond in her unconscious state, her mind instinctively withdrawing from him. It’s agonizing to Angel and he cuddles her closer, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he can without hurting her, though a part of him almost wants to, to cause her pain in return. He doesn’t give in to that impulse, though. He is at least rational enough now to realize that it’s that same primitive behaviour that has caused things to go so horribly wrong.
The warmth of Willow’s body is a poor substitute for the warmth he truly desires, that of her heart and soul, but Angel lets it seep into his skin, a blessed balm against his own vampiric chill and the still-fresh memories of agonizing hellfire. Willow’s warmth is like sunshine, the memories of which flit across the edge of his consciousness, mixing in with the chaotic jumble which begins to fill his brain once again. There is no rhyme or reason, no chronology, and Angel knows that it’s all a twisted melange that, even if he weren’t so damaged by centuries in Hell, he could never completely make sense of. Still, he decides to let go, to let the words and pictures come, and to simply try to latch onto what he can, and hope that it helps make him whole and well again. Hope that it helps him find a way to make things right with Willow.
He is in an alley. Dirty, emaciated, craven. There are humans all around, but he doesn’t hunt them, despite his weakened, half-starved state. He looks around for rats, and he eats one, only barely gaining enough strength to catch another
He is hunting with another of his kind. A pale, beautiful creature with brown hair and blue eyes. He can feel the hate, fear, jealousy, and love between them. They are enemies and lovers. Family and foe. This dealer of pain and death is not his childe, but is his creation all the same.
He is in a sacred place, desecrating it with murder, blasphemy, and sin. He is with the one who made him. Together they are tormenting a broken girl with madness in her eyes. He chooses to make her what he is, damning her for eternity. Destroying her soul as surely as he has destroyed her mind and body.
Pain, agony, terror... he feels his soul being forced back into him by the hatred of a people he has deeply wronged. He knows the horror of his crimes and it overwhelms him. He can see the faces of every human whose life he has ended, hear their screams and pleas for mercy, feel the agony he visited upon them.
Angel whimpers as he holds Willow close, certain that the gates of Hell yawn anew and await his imminent return. But minutes pass and nothing happens. He is still in this soft, silk-clad bed, his arms around his girl. So he relaxes his hold on his sleeping love and lets his mind wander once more, lets the memories come, this time thinking of Willow and hoping that his mind will take him to places she has been with him, will let him remember things that will help him understand what came before and why she doesn’t feel for him what he feels for her.
He is in a nightclub, watching the Slayer move wantonly on the dance floor, her body writhing against that of an awkward boy. He feels jealousy burn within him and he notices the same pain in Willow’s eyes as she watches the pair, knows that she loves the boy the way he loves Buffy.
Angel gasps for a moment at this memory, beginning to understand Willow’s confusion and terror. Things were different before, and not nearly as much time has passed here as had passed in Hell. It can’t have been very long, then, since he loved Buffy. He remembers loving her now, though it is so far away that it seems like someone else and not him who loved her. And even with this distance considered, he knows it felt nothing like what he feels for Willow. But Willow knows none of this and Angel hates himself for his inability to understand until now, when it might be too late.
He closes his eyes and once more he remembers...
He is in a dark hallway, holding Willow close to his body, his hand around her throat, his erection pressed against the small of her back. He inhales deeply of her fear and innocence, the desire to taste her so strong that it makes this master predator a clumsy amateur. His prize slips from his grasp and he makes good a hasty escape as her friends surround him.
He is in a girlish bedroom. Willow’s bedroom. He smothers a smile as she hastily hides the bra that she’d left on her bed, lets her think he hasn’t seen it. He asks for her help in finding out the truth about Buffy’s old crush, Billy Fordham; opens up to her unthinkingly as she types away on her computer. There’s a moment where a feeling he can’t put a name to comes over him when she asks, “If I say something you really don’t want to hear, do you promise not to bite me?” He loves Buffy, but a part of him can’t help but notice the long legs that peer out from beneath the hem of Willow’s sleepshirt, and he knows that his day’s rest will be plagued by dreams of red hair and the most trusting green eyes he’s ever seen.
He is in Buffy’s house, in the darkness of her bedroom in fact, and he is kissing her, his soul overcome by the joy of being loved by The Slayer, by the one girl in the all the world charged with the sacred mission of destroying his kind. Reveling in the fact that she has never sensed his true nature, letting it lull him into a magical belief that it’s because he isn’t really a demon, that his soul has purified him. But in the midst of that very ecstasy, his mask slips and his secret is revealed, terrifying the girl in his arms. He dives out her window as she screams.
He is in his apartment, dripping wet. Buffy is there, gazing at him with a mix of nervousness and desire. Desire wins out and her eyes give him permission. Soon she is in his arms, his bed, naked underneath him, moaning her fulfillment as he finds release inside her. This time there was no slip. He made love to the Slayer as a man, only a man, and the thrill of it makes him believe that his dream has finally come true. He is a man. Just a man, lying next to the woman he loves, the woman who loves him enough to share her body with him for the very first time. Surely the Chosen One would never share herself with a demon, after all. Angel is happy, blindly, deliriously happy. Suddenly, the ecstasy is ripped away by pain and terror. He clothes himself as fast as he can and flees his home, running out into the street, a long-forgotten agony tearing through every inch of his body as his soul is torn away, and he is helpless to do anything but suffer as the demon within him once again takes control.
Without realizing it, Angel has begun to sob. He’s somewhat able to sort the memories, to put together the pieces of the puzzle, and it hurts in a way that is almost more agonizing than the torments of Hell. He realizes that this love he feels for the woman sleeping next to him is his alone. Born when their souls touched and forged by the fires in which he burned. Why she gave him back his soul he still does not know, but it wasn’t because she loves him, at least not in the passionate, desperate way he loves her. She has not spent hundreds of years clinging to his soul the way he has to hers. And that means that what has happened between them today was...
Angel can’t bear to even think the words that describe what he has done to the girl he loves. Nearly undone by his grief and self-hatred, he tightens his hold on Willow again and cries bitterly, unable to tell her how much he truly loves her and how desperately he wishes he could undo the events of this terrible day. All he can do is hope that someday, somehow, she will find it in her heart to forgive him. But he knows there is no way now that she will ever love him and the pain of that knowledge overwhelms him while he sobs brokenly into Willow’s neck as he holds her, knowing that, when she awakens, she’ll leave him. So he holds her with all the desperation born of the knowledge that he will never hold her again. And he tries to commit everything he can to his memory. Her taste, her scent, even her tears. Soon, after all, these memories will be all he has.
A part of him almost hopes she will sleep for eternity, that she’ll never go away. But all too soon he senses her stir to wakefulness beside him, his sobs undoubtedly responsible for rousing her from sleep. He can’t bear the thought that she will soon be gone, that he will never hold her soft, warm body in his arms again. Never again inhale her scent. Never again know the ecstasy of being inside her. As much as he doesn’t want to hurt her any more than he already has, he can’t bring himself to let her go, despite his best intentions a few moments ago. So, as her eyes open, Angel reaches out to her through the bond, hoping that as she awakens she will no longer be able to shut him out. Her beautiful eyes fix on him and he cuts off the words she is about to speak with his own.
“I love you.”
TBC...