Disclaimer: I don't own them even a little bit.
Spoilers: 6/3 in general
AN: I've been away
from fanfic for awhile, and this slightly more than a drabble but still short story was just something to jolt my muse a little.
*shrugs* My (second) take on the offscreen meeting. Buffy's POV.
Nothing is ever empty between you,
and right now you’re trying to remember that.
But he’s standing there, and he’s angry, and his hands
are squeezing your arms together so tightly you’ll actually see the bruises before they magically fade in an hour or
so, and you could get away, but you don’t, because so help you God, you’re not sure anything’s ever been
You want him to shake you, fight you, take you, just do something that will make you believe he has
more feelings towards you than anger. You even want him to hurt you, so badly it leaves scars, because you’re convinced
that the one on your neck is starting to fade and it scares you.
You want empty, meaningless sex, the kind girls like
Faith have; fast, rough and selfish. You want to be selfish. And you want it with him.
But you’ll never be selfish
with him, and it would always mean something, so you silently abandon the fantasy. You let him rake his eyes over you, convince
himself that it’s true, and you’re real again. You let him rage at Willow and Xander and Anya and Tara, because
you can’t, because he knows what you can’t tell anyone else. You let him promise never to leave you again, and
you even give him a minute longer than you did when you were sitting over your mother’s grave to believe his own promise.
Then you kiss him, and you tell him you’ll be alright. You just need to adjust.
Then you beg him to reclaim you.
Not with sex, though that’s what you really want. You tell him about Dracula, and about how you’re afraid the
scar will go away and there’ll be nothing left of him for you, and how you’re afraid if the scar is gone, your
blood will be gone from him, and there’ll be nothing left of you for him. You don’t expect him to give in.
He sinks his fangs into your neck, slowly, gently, and takes long, slow slips from your veins, and God, it’s
even better than the last time. You think maybe you could understand Riley’s addiction, except that Angel loves you,
and you love Angel, and that’s what makes this incredible, not the biting itself. You wrap your legs around his waist
and squeeze, without even realizing it, crooning, and you push yourself further onto his fangs, and harder against his erection,
hard as you ever remember feeling it.
And then the stars burst.
He licks the wound closed, promises he’ll
find a way for you to be together, and tucks you into bed, all the while thinking you’re asleep. And so help you, you
believe him. You believe he’ll find a way to come to you, to save you.
Once again, he leaves you with a scar
on your neck and an ache between your thighs, and no goodbye.
Later, you do get your empty sex, with an emptier partner.
never does find a way back to you. And eventually, you give up hope.