Title: Possession

Rating: PG

Summary: Angel’s reaction to Dracula and Buffy’s “thing”. Let’s pretend Riley never existed (isn’t that a nice world) Written for Duck’s fluffathon. Requests were growly, possessive Angel and quippy Buffy. Restrictions were no mention of B/S or B/A and no kids.

 

 

Enjoy!

 

 

 

            I’m sitting in literature class, actually waiting for class to start. Professor Yseuling is straightening papers and giving the late comers a chance to sit down.  My hand strays to my neck. I dig a mirror out of my backpack and use it to look at the mark there. I swallow hard. It lies just above his mark, the old scar. Slayer healing has rendered the fresh mark not so fresh which is good because while the scarves were a really good look for Audrey Hepburn, I don’t have the neck for them.

 

            I grumble internally at myself and chastise myself yet again for letting Dracula bite me. Giles has assured me that I shouldn’t be ashamed of falling under his thrall, many people had done so after all look at Xander. I love Xander, I do but being compared to him, especially in this instance, is not that reassuring. I mean he was eating bugs for heaven’s sake. I tuck the mirror back in my backpack and smile as Willow slides into the desk next to me.

 

            “Alright class, get out your books. We’re going to start our study on Elizabeth Barret Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese.  It should take us well into the year.” Professor Yseuling says.

 

            I rifle through my pack and pull out my worn copy of the book. I open the cover and smile reverently at the title page. My fingers glide over the word written there in elegant, old fashioned script, Always. I wonder if he still writes like that and then I chuckle to myself. There are aspects of the man that have not changed in two hundred and fifty years. I’m sure his handwriting hasn’t changed in a mere two years.

 

            “These sonnets are no less then a love letter from Elizabeth to her husband, Richard. In fact, in all her poetry scholars find it very difficult to separate it from her love for her husband,” Professor Yseuling went on to say.

 

            She loses me some time when I turn the first page and my eyes slide over the words there. My mind is caught up in memories of nights spent by the fire place curled up into a man with chocolate eyes and a velvet voice that recites these poems to me. When I found out this class was going to go over this book I knew at least that part would be a gimme. I could almost recite the sonnets from memory and the man’s recitations had always come with a brief analysis that he some how managed to make interesting, maybe it was the voice. I could listen to him read a phone book and be happy. I have pored over these words so many times, trying to recapture that warmth, comfort and safety that only came in his arms.

 

            “Hey, Buff, you okay?” Willow asks.

 

            I glance up at her, a little surprised. “Yeah, why?”

 

            Willow pointed to the Professor. The class was empty and Professor Yseuling was looking up at me.

 

            “Miss Summers is it?” she says

 

            I nod.

 

            “I couldn’t help but notice your book. Would you allow me to look at it?” She asks. Everyone else had the standard book you buy from the college book store. It was obvious mine wasn’t one of those.

 

            I stand up and take the book down to her. I hand it over somewhat cautiously. I don’t have a lot of good memories with him and even fewer tangible ones. I’m reluctant to share them with other people.

 

            Professor Yseuling flips through the pages of the book, looking a bit awestruck. “Do you realize this is a first edition? And it’s in excellent condition, except for the writing on the title page, it’s perfect. Where did you get this?”

 

            I smile, not telling her that the writing on the title page makes it all the more precious. “My boyfriend-ex-gave it to me.”

 

            “Some boyfriend. This is a really rare find and an expensive one. Could I perhaps persuade you to allow me to purchase it?” she asks.

 

            “Sorry, it’s not for sale,” I reach out to grab my book.

 

            “Are you quite sure? I could offer you a substantial amount of money.”

 

            “I’m sure,” I say. She hands the book back to me and I tuck it into my bag. I meet Willow outside the classroom. We walk across the quad and my hand strays self consciously to my neck again. I hope it won’t scar. I only want one scar there.

 

            “You sure you’re okay? You seem kind of drifty today,” Willow says.

 

            I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just-you know the stuff with Dracula kind of got to me. I mean it was nice, the part where he came all the way from Romania or wherever he lives to meet me but the rest of it, not so nice. It just creeped me out that I could let him bite me like that.”

 

            “Well, yeah but you let An-I mean Him bite you, so maybe it made you more bitable or something,” Willow says.

 

            I smirk and give her a look. We don’t say His name here. It only makes things harder for me and then that makes things harder for Will and it’s a vicious cycle. “That was a totally different situation and you know it. I just thought I was stronger then that, mentally I mean. Giles and I have a lot of work to do. I don’t want to be caught like that again, I mean in case Dracula decided to come back. You really think I’m bitable?”

 

            Willow grins. “Totally, I’d bite you, you know if I was a vamp and you weren’t the slayer.”

 

            “Are we going to a frat party tonight?” I ask.

 

            “Yup, we’re supposed to meet Xander at the Beta Kappa Nu house”

 

            “Ok, I’m going to find something slutty to wear. Want to come with?” I ask.

 

            “Thanks but I’ve got a class in an hour,” she says.

 

            I wave and walk toward our dorm room. I’ve got to drop off my back pack before the shopping commences.

 

 

*

 

           

            Willow, Xander and I are sitting on the couch holding frosty non alcoholic beverages. We’re probably the only ones here not drunk, which can be amusing in itself. I’ve been offered a drink at least a dozen times but no thanks. The last time I drank I ended up cro mag girl, the time before that I was nearly giant snake food. Buffy and alcohol are very non mixy things.

 

            The music is loud and Xander has to shout to be heard. “Remind me why we came here again?”

 

            “It’s like the Bronze for the college crowd,” I shout back. “Besides the music is good.”

 

            “And on that note, shall we dance ladies?” Xander stands up and holds out both his hands. Willow and I take them with smiles. I’m out there doing my little bebop thing when I feel him. It’s that tingle at the base of my spine that spreads up and out like a fire exploding every vertebrae. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I start looking around the room. I can’t see him but I can definitely feel him. It’s frustrating. I peer into the shadows.

 

            “You okay, Buffster?” Xander shouts.

 

            I nod. “Yeah, I just thought-never mind it’s nothing.” I glance around the room again and then with a roll of my shoulders dismiss it.  I guess the Dracula thing has me more wigged then I realized.

 

            After several upbeat songs a slower one comes on. We all take that as a cue that it’s resting time. Xander goes to retrieve us more non alcoholic beverages and Willow and I stand in a corner against the wall. I’m twitchy because I can still feel that icy hot tingling down my spine. I glance around the room again, peering into the shadow and tiptoeing to see over people’s head to no avail.

 

            “Buffy, are you okay?” Willow asks again.

 

            My hand slips to my neck again and I nod. “Yeah, why?”

 

            Willow shrugs. “You just seem nervous.”

 

            I laugh and it sounds nervous. “Why would I be nervous?”

 

            “Maybe because you have another vampire’s bite on your neck,” a velvet voice rumbles behind me.

 

            I twirl on my heel and come face to face with a broad, silk clad chest. My eyes slide up over his chest, pausing briefly at impossibly wide shoulders. My eyes continue their feast up the elegant column of his neck and his jaw. I pause again at his lips and my breathing hitches. I have been denied this too long. Finally my eyes meet the deep chocolate eyes that haunt my dreams and they are filled with rage. “Angel,” his name tastes like that really yummy Godiva chocolate on my tongue.

 

            With that one word, that simple uttering of his name, his eyes lose their rage at least momentarily. He gives me the only response, the only greeting, he’s ever been able to give, “Buffy.”

 

            It’s a really cheesy thing we do, like we don’t know how to tack hey, hello, how the hell are you, onto each other’s names. I used to practice saying his name with Hello or Hi or Hey in front of the mirror but somehow whenever I saw him or heard his voice it always just came out that one word, Angel.  I don’t know why. It’s just a thing, part of the whole Buffy/Angel parade of pain.

 

            “What are you doing here?” I ask keeping my voice low. I know he can hear me, even over the loud music.

 

            “Let’s go outside and talk. You may not have to shout but I do and I don’t want to,” Angel yells over the music.

 

            I glance at Willow. She arches a brow at me. That one gesture asks if it’s okay, if I’m okay with Angel being here and talking with him. I nod slightly and then look to Angel. He gestures for me to lead the way. He walks closely behind me, his hand almost touching the small of my back, which is bared by my new, slutty red tank. My entire body aches for him to touch me, to feel that cool skin against my own fevered, much too hot skin.

 

            Once outside I lead Angel to an isolated spot away from the frat house and the music. I lean up against a tree and cross my arms over my waist to keep from touching my neck again. The night air whispers over my skin and goose flesh rises on my arms. I will myself not to rub them.

 

            Angel notices anyway. He’s always noticed every minute detail about me, like I’m the most important thing in the world. It was always part of what made me feel so special. He slips off his jacket. It’s the long, black wool one I love. He places it over my shoulders, careful not to actually touch me.

 

            “Thank you,” I mumble, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t my impatience gets the better of me. “So, I really don’t think you came here all the way from LA just let me borrow your jacket.”

 

            “No,” he says and all the bitterness and rage I saw in his eyes is conveyed in that short, simple response. Angel has taciturn down to an art.

 

            “Okay, if we’re going to play twenty questions, I really should get some more sleep and try again another time,” I say.

 

            He growls, actually growls, and if it weren’t for the fact that the moonlight is gilding his perfect marble profile right now I’d think he’d slipped into vamp face.  “You let another vampire bite you,” he spats. He makes it sound like the greatest sin.

 

            “Let is kind of a loose term. Technically, I was under his thrall,” I say.

 

            Angel shakes his head. “That’s an old gypsy mind trick.”

 

            “Trick or not, it worked.”

 

            Angel growled again.

 

            “What? You think I wanted him to bite me? I let this happen?” My voice rises in pitch and tears begin to gather in my eyes. I turn away from him. “The only thing I’ve been able to think about since he bit me was I hope it doesn’t scar, I hope it doesn’t scar.”

 

            “Yeah, because you wouldn’t want to have any more ugly scars to have to try and cover up,” Angel spats.

 

            I whirl on him, stalking him, getting right in his face. I’m barely five two with heels on but I’m the slayer I can be pretty intimidating when I want to be. “Because I want the only scar I ever have to be from you, because of you. Because I’ve stopped wearing necklaces because the most beautiful thing I could ever have on my neck is your scar. Because it hurts so fucking much to look in the mirror and see it there and know that it would hurt even more if it weren’t there.” I punctuate each sentence by jabbing my finger into his chest.

 

            Angel takes a couple of steps backwards. He’s utterly silent for a moment. When he finally speaks it’s in that soft, rumbley voice I miss so much. “It won’t scar.”

 

            I swallow my tears. All my rage and anger disappeared at the first whisper of that voice. “Why not?”

 

            “It-it just won’t,” Angel says.

 

            I wrap my arms around myself to keep from wrapping them around him. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him. It’s wrapped around me like his coat. Tears rush to my eyes and I want to touch him so badly it hurts.

 

            “I shouldn’t have come. I should have known you didn’t let him mark you,” Angel says.

 

            I can feel him start to slip away from me and my eyes fly open. He’s already a couple of yards away, preparing to melt into the shadows. “Angel, wait,” I whisper and he hears me.

 

            He stops and turns to face me. He quirks a brow at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

 

            “That’s it? You waltz in here go all rumbley growly on me, give me your coat and then leave?”

 

            “I’ll be back for the coat,” He says.

 

            It’s my turn to growl. He is quite possibly the most frustrating man in the entire world. “Angel,” I say. I meant it to be harsher, I meant it to be commanding but it’s not. For some reason no matter what I mean it to be, Angel’s name always melts out of my mouth like chocolate.

 

            “We’ll discuss it when I come back. I’ve got to go kill Dracula,” Angel says.

 

            “You can’t kill him. I staked him, twice,” I warn him.

 

            “More gypsy parlor tricks,” Angel says.

 

            “He won’t be back, just let him be,” I sigh.

 

            Angel is in front of me, gripping my upper arms in a vice, within the space of a heartbeat. Sometimes I forget what really old vampire speed is like. He is in full game face. His eyes glow golden underneath the moon. My fingers float up, tracing the ridges of his forehead of their own accord. He is beautiful with his demon showing through.

 

            “Mine,” he growls around his fangs. He jerks me roughly to his chest and his mouth descends on mine. It is not a gentle kiss. It is a kiss of possession. Angel is claiming what is his. His fangs press into my lips, cutting them just a bit. His tongue snakes out to lap up the blood and invade my mouth and then he is gone.

 

            I touch my hand to my lips. They are tender and kiss-swollen. Tears rush to my eyes and I pull Angel’s coat tighter around me. I walk slowly back to my dorm room and lay down on the bed, still wrapped in the smell of him. I cry myself to sleep for the first time in a long time and wonder if he means it. Will he be back and is it just for the coat or is it to claim what’s his?

 

 

A month later

 

 

 

            I’m sitting outside on our porch. I’ve got Angel’s coat wrapped around me. I’ve worn it almost every day since he left it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The scent of him still lingers. It’s like leather and outdoors and something else so uniquely Angel I’ve never been able to duplicate it, no matter how many bottles of his cologne I buy. If I close my eyes really tightly I can almost imagine it’s his arms wrapped around me instead just a coat. Tears rush to my eyes and I bite my bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. It’s tangy, metallic and different from the way Dracula’s blood tasted. I wonder briefly how my blood tasted to Angel.

 

            I feel the fire and ice tingle at the base of my spine and I wonder if I’m pretending to hard or if he’s really come back. I decide not to open my eyes and risk it. If I’m pretending I don’t want to wake up. I could really use my Angel right now. And then he’s there, his arms wrap around me and he snuggles me into his chest.  I relax bonelessly into him and the sobs overtake me. His fingers, strong and cool, push through my hair. He murmurs soothing nonsensical things. At least they are nonsensical to me, I’m pretty sure they’re another language. I cry with complete abandon. In his arms is the only place I’ve ever been able to do that. He’s my refuge, my safe harbor in the storm.

 

            When I can finally get the tears to stop, he tilts my face up to his and places the gentlest of kisses on my lips. It’s a kiss of promise and of pure, complete love. Slowly it grows bolder, tasting, remembering. I arch up into him, mewling softly. He nibbles at my bottom lip and my tongue slips out to taste his lips.  His hands slide up my back and crush me to his chest. In the space of a heartbeat the kiss has turned from sweet to possessive, hungry and consuming.  We both pull away, our bodies trembling, aching for each other. I push my hands through my hair and take deep, ragged breaths. I notice he is doing the same thing. He clasps his coat closed over him and I grin. It’s nice to know I can still affect him like that ‘cause he sure as hell affects me like that.

 

            “Why were you crying?” He asks softly.

 

            I shake my head but tell him anyway, “It’s Mom. She’s got a thing, a shadow, on her brain. They don’t really know what it is or anything. She’s going to have to have surgery and they don’t know anything.”

 

            Angel nods. He doesn’t say I’m sorry or fill up the silence needlessly with words. I don’t know if it’s because he’s been around so long or seen so much or if it’s just the taciturn part of him, but he knows that sometimes silence is okay, even needed. I wrap my arms, still encased in Angel’s jacket, around my body. I want to touch him so bad it aches. I know we both need a few more minutes space before we get within touching vicinity or it will be all want-y needy again.

 

            “So, did you find Dracula?” I ask.

 

            Angel nods. “He’s dust.”

 

            “Real dust as in not coming back again?”

 

            Angel nods again. “We had a discussion and then he was dusted.”

 

            I chuckle. I can imagine Angel’s idea of discussion with Dracula. “It was a good talk?”

 

            Angel looks up at me and the intense hunger there makes me blush. “He knew you belonged to me. He didn’t care. I took something away from him a long time ago and so he decided he’d take you from me.”

 

            “Wait a minute, belong? Angel, you left me or has that somehow escaped your memory?” I say.

 

            “You asked why his bite wouldn’t scar. It’s because when I bit you I marked you as my mate, even if you were a vamp it would have scarred. When vampires take a mate it’s for life. Its deeper then love, deeper then marriage, deeper then anything humans have to compare it too. When a vampire takes a mate, a true mate and marks them, it’s for eternity. It’s also something generally respected by other vampires.” Angel says.

 

            I stare at him, mouth agape. “So, Dracula broke this vampire code?” It’s the only thing I can manage.

           

            “Something like that,” Angel mumbles.

 

            ‘Were you ever going to tell me what my scar meant?” I ask.

 

            “Would it have mattered?”

 

            Tears of rage well up inside of me and I have to struggle to keep my voice low. Mom and Dawn are inside the house sleeping. “Does it matter that the sun rises?” I glare at him.

 

            Angel doesn’t have a response for that.

 

            “How dare you! How dare you go and do something like that, that means something like that, and then walk out on me. Do you have any idea at all what it’s been like since you’ve been gone, which by the way is exactly 1 year, 3 months and 8 days? It’s been-I’ve been fighting against drowning since the moment you left and I’m losing the battle.” The last part of my sentence comes out a mere squeak.

 

            Angel pulls me into his arms. He holds me tight enough that my ribs creak but I don’t care. I wouldn’t ask him to let go of me for the world. His nose is buried in the crown of my hair and I can tell he’s fighting tears of his own.

 

            “I’ve been drowning too, Buffy. I know it’s hard with me and you together but I don’t work without you. There’s something missing from me when you’re gone, for better or worse your mo croi,” Angel says.

 

            “What’s that mean? You said it earlier when I was crying,” I ask.

 

            “It’s Gaelic, it means my heart.”

 

            I smile and then furrow my brow. “That’s sweet, or taken literally, kind of ewww because dead shriveled, ok gonna go with awww that’s sweet.”

 

            Angel chuckles. His chest vibrates with it and I grin. It’s my favorite sound in the entire world, maybe with the exception of my name from his lips.

 

            “Will you take me back?” Angel asks.

 

            “I never let you go,” I respond.

 

 

*

 

           

            We’re sitting on the lawn in front of the mansion. The moon above us is full and everything has that silver sheen that only comes from a full moon. There’s a picnic basket full of food, strawberries, chocolate, and crunchy peanut butter, all some of my favorite things. My most favoritest thing of all though is stretched out on the blanket beside me. The moonlight makes him glow like some Greek God and then he smiles at me and I know even the Greek Gods are jealous.  My stomach drops out and flip flops. I’d forgotten how good it feels to be close to him.

 

            He’s reading poems to me from Elizabeth Barret Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese in that velvet voice of his. Tears come to my eyes, the entire scene is too much, the love is too much and sometimes I have to catch my breath.

 

            “Tell me one more time,” I whisper and pull his black, wool coat, the one I’ve insisted on keeping tighter around me.

 

            Angel quirks an eyebrow at me in askance and then he smiles. He knows what I want him to tell me. I’ve only asked him to tell me the same thing again at least a dozen times this week. “I’m staying, for eternity and longer.” He reaches out and glides his fingers across his mark on my neck. “Mine,” he whisper dark and rumbley.

 

            “Forever, that’s the whole point,” I answer.