Night School

As Angelus held Willow’s shuddering body close to him, the wheels in his mind were turning furiously. They couldn’t stay here at the apartment for much longer. He had childer and his position as Master of Sunnydale to worry about. That meant he would have to go back to the factory, at least until his plans to obtain a more suitable residence could be carried out. But no matter where he made his home, he would have to make sure that Willow would be safe there; not only from the minions, but from Drusilla as well. Her jealousy would make her a serious threat to Willow’s well being.

And then there was the question of whether or not to turn his new red-haired consort. On the one hand, turning her would make it easier to safeguard her and would make her presence more acceptable to the minions, if not to his psychotic childe. But by turning her, Angelus risked losing the very qualities in Willow that he found so appealing; her innocent nature, her devotion, her naïveté, her malleability and eagerness to please…in short, her humanity. He decided that whatever the drawbacks were to leaving Willow human were far outweighed by the risks involved in her turning. And as far as her mortality was concerned, he had heard of spells that could bind a mortal to a vampire, tying her life to his and preserving her as she was until his unlikely demise. He would find someone capable of performing such a ritual for them. He had time; Willow’s beauty would only increase over the next few years. He would happily wait some time before stopping the clock on the aging process in her case.

While Angelus was busily planning their immediate future, Willow found herself unable to think at all. Her mind was overwhelmed by all she had endured, and all she had realized, and now her thoughts were nothing but a confused maelstrom. So she just gave herself over to the comfort of being held and cared for, regardless of whom her caretaker was, and the fact that only a few minutes earlier he had been the one who ripped her life and her soul to shreds. She didn’t ever want to lose the warmth she was experiencing in Angelus’ cold embrace, so she gave up any attempts to regain control of her ability to reason and analyze. And she let herself get lost in the sensation of being held and being allowed to cry.

The sound of Angelus’ voice was as pleasant as a lullaby, a balm to Willow’s wounded spirit and she felt as if she were drowning in it. Or as if it were a warm blanket wrapped around her, protecting her from the cold. She couldn’t recall a time when she had ever found the sound of someone’s voice as welcome as she did now. It wasn’t the words he spoke, but the way he spoke them…so full of concern and compassion, in a way no one had ever spoken to her before. She could listen to his voice forever if it sounded like that. She forced herself to stay focused only on the exact moment she was living now, knowing that even a casual thought about a future as imminent as five minutes from now would lead her to confront the awful possibility that the words would stop, or that the voice would change and be like all those other voices she had heard throughout her life; voices that dismissed; voices that mocked; voices that patronized; voices that were cold. So she let the sound of Angelus’ voice hypnotize her once more, not wanting to confront the likelihood that she might never be spoken to or held in such a way ever again.

As his thoughts drew to a conclusion and he focused on the slight form he held close to him once more, Angelus began to pay close attention to what he was doing and how Willow reacted to it. He wanted to make sure that he made no further errors in judgment, errors which had already brought him perilously close to disaster. Listening carefully to her heart rate, he noticed that it slowed to a calm, even rhythm when he spoke to her. He could feel her almost imperceptibly draw closer to him with each gentle caress and with each softly spoken word of comfort. So he continued to murmur soft platitudes in her ear. “There, there now. It will be all right, Willow,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. No one will hurt you again.”

The perverse, almost laughable irony of hearing those words from the lips of the demon who had savagely attacked her in this very room, on this very bed, was lost on Willow. Each word, each gentle touch became a drug, a drug to which she was rapidly becoming addicted. No one, not even her own parents, had ever held her or cared for her so. And though she had never even admitted it to herself, she had always longed for someone to give her what Angelus was giving her now…this feeling that someone actually cared that she hurt and wanted to heal her pain. The part of Willow’s mind that still associated Angelus with the brutal destruction of her innocence was quickly buried under the tremendous emotional pressure to simply accept the longed-for compassion and care that he was the first person in her whole life to give her. And with that final act of psychological surrender, Willow wrapped her arms around Angelus and laid her head against his chest.

When he felt Willow’s arms move to wrap around him, Angelus fought to contain his jubilation. She was his, really his. Or at least she was nearly there. She was looking to him for solace; accepting his comfort, his embrace, and maybe his love. If she were to go with him willingly, it would be far easier to keep her safe from his childer and his minions. Perhaps he could arrange for her to stay at another, secret location. One known only to them, where he could visit her regularly, even stay with her most days. If he could trust her to remain there, to wait for him, and not try to contact any outsiders, such an arrangement might be the perfect solution to the problems inherent in this new relationship. At least it would do for a while.

But there was another, even greater problem that needed to be dealt with; the horrible introduction to sex she had received from him tonight. He would need to alter her association of sex with pain and anguish and do so as soon as possible if she was to truly accept him as her lover and protector. With that in mind, he began to gently caress her back. Gradually he altered the nature of his touch from soothing to sensual as he carefully monitored her response to his attentions. When she didn’t pull away, he slowly disengaged himself from her embrace, moved his hands to cup her face, and touched his lips to hers in the softest of kisses.

At first, Willow didn’t register the change in the meaning of Angelus’ hands strg thg the soft skin of her back. But when he moved her arms from their comfortable place around his chest and began to kiss her, she felt a renewed sense of panic. But almost before she thought to protest, Angelus spoke once more and calmed her fears. “It’s alright, sweetling. I promised no one would hurt you again, didn’t I? I just want to touch you, to show you pleasure. I promise, you’ll feel so wonderful. Just trust me. Relax and let me make it all better.”

With those words, Willow surrendered to Angelus’ touch. She trusted him. She had to trust him. If she didn’t trust him, he would go away. And with him would go the feelings she had felt for such a short time, but to which she was now desperately addicted; the feeling of being cared for, the feeling of being protected, the feeling of being cherished, the feeling of being…loved. Did Angelus love her? Was that why he had so aggressively attacked her earlier? Had it been her fault for initially refusing to accept his love? Had she hurt him? Was what happened simply his way of trying to show her how intensely he wanted and needed her? Willow was so confused. All she knew for certain was that she didn’t want to lose the only real affection she had ever been given in her life. So she decided to trust Angelus and enjoy whatever he wanted her to. Slowly, Willow lay back down on the bed with her arms at her sides. She was his to do with as he wished, and she saw in his eyes that he knew that as he bent down to kiss her deeply once more.


Tbc…