In the morning, Buffy smiled when Angel’s trio of alarms went off. It should have been annoying but she found it adorable. They went off for a full minute in concert before he grunted and began turning things off. Instead of getting up, however, he lay back down and snuggled against her warmth again. She felt the silence grow as he stilled against her and she knew the honeymoon was effectively over.
“I didn’t do any drugs,” she said quietly, “Parker slipped it in my drink.”
“I know, Buffy,” he said, his voice right next to her ear. She tingled all over and fought the urge to snuggle more deeply against him. He radiated so much heat, she didn’t remember ever feeling that safe, like nothing in the world could touch her. Not when she was with Angel.
“Cordy took the jacket from me and I couldn’t get in the apartment,” she added, struggling to find something to explain to him what had happened. “I didn’t tell her anything.”
“I know,” he said, caressing her trembling body. “It’s okay.”
“Anyway,” she said, giving up on her explanation, “I hope you feel better about going to so much trouble now.”
Angel sat up and looked down at her, but she kept facing the wall, unwilling to meet his gaze. “What do you mean ‘now’?” he asked.
Sighing, she got out of bed. “Now that we fucked, Angel.”
Growling, Angel stood and crossed the room, grabbing her by the upper arms so that she faced him. “That’s not what that was to me. I’m not one of those guys, Buffy.”
“I know that,” she said, shrugging him off. “There’s no question of that. Look, it’s no big deal. It happened.” She headed for the bedroom door nude and gripped the doorknob. Still facing the door she said so quietly he almost didn’t hear, “I never came with anyone before you.”
Opening the door, she slipped out into the hallway and headed for the bathroom to shower.
Angel glared at the now closed bathroom door, fuming. Irritated, he searched through his closet and began pulling on clothes, a ratty old pair of jeans and a worn sweatshirt. It was Friday and technically, he should be at class, but he just didn't feel up to it.
What was it about Buffy that tied him up in knots? He was irritated by her accusations. But even more so by the knowledge that somewhere, deep down, Buffy was right. Not about everything. She had far too little self-esteem to even begin to fathom that he wasn't using her for sex. But the other stuff … Buffy knew that he was ashamed of their relationship, regardless of how innocent it had been. And Angel felt like even more the dick because he couldn't honestly tell her that she was wrong. He was ashamed. Part of him still bought into the belief that Buffy was trash. He saw how she lived at home with her stepfather. She'd admitted to a sex-for-drugs relationship with Spike. She was passed around more at frat parties than a beer bong. She was obnoxious, rude and she never said thank you.
But underneath all of that tough as nails exterior was a well of vulnerability that made Angel want to hide her away from the world like some fragile little bird. She knew that he was uncomfortable about their relationship, so she had let Cordy think she had stolen his jacket rather than expose him. Even when it meant forfeiting her only sanctuary, abandoning her warm, safe place to sleep.
And then she fucked him as a way of saying thank you.
Angel growled under his breath and stalked out to the kitchen. He slammed cabinets and drawers as he made coffee. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that Buffy had been all self-sacrifice when she had sex with him. She'd enjoyed it. Her orgasm had been real. Her first, she said. Angel couldn’t help the warm rush of pride that knowledge brought. But dammit, he wasn't using her. He didn't expect her to fuck him as a thank you. The fact that she would think so little of him pissed him off.
Of course, over the course of their friendship, he'd made it a point of thinking very little of her. Shit.
"If I'd 'a known ya had female companionship, I woulda crashed somewhere else."
Twisting around, Angel found Doyle, bleary-eyed, staring at him from the couch. He frowned. No doubt Doyle got quite an earful last night when Buffy went off like a firecracker. "Coffee?" he nearly snarled.
“Sure,” Doyle said, grinning. “Got something to pour into it? I have a pounding hangover.”
Angel snarled as a response and pulled a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels from one of the cabinets. He slammed it on the counter and fumed for a second. Knowing Buffy would be hungry, even though he was too pissed off at both of them to contemplate eating, he rooted around in the refrigerator and the cabinets. Nothing but condiments and molding cheese. Fuck.
“I’m running down the street to get some breakfast,” Angel grunted at his friend. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“And that’s what you want me to tell your little piece when she comes outta the bathroom?” Doyle asked with a shit-eating grin. Angel’s answer was a slamming door.
***
Buffy left her hair down when she came out of the bathroom cause she knew Angel liked it flowing down her back. She noticed that he always stared at it like he wanted to run his fingers through it. She really wished he would. Course now he was just really pissed off at her, which was fine. He could be in any mood he wanted as long as he didn’t make her leave. She wasn’t trying to snag him, but maybe if he liked the sex enough, he’d let her stick around longer.
Wrapped in a towel she walked into the living room to find Doyle sitting on the couch. She knew Doyle pretty well. Even screwed him a couple of times. She was pretty sure Angel didn’t know that though and she was hoping it would stay that way.
“Doyle,” she said, surprised. “Uh, hi.”
“Buffy,” he said, eyes widening in shock. He had no idea that the girl Angel had been screwing all night long had been Buffy. He couldn’t have been more shocked to see her than if a nun walked out of his bedroom. “I didn’t know you and Angel…knew each other, lass.”
“We’re new friends,” she said, snatching Angel’s boxers from the under the table and wiggling into them. She grabbed Angel’s t-shirt from the pile as well and headed back to the bathroom to put it on. She didn’t have a problem with being naked in front of Doyle. He had certainly seen her breasts more than once, but she was sure Angel would be angry if she changed in front of his friend. He was strangely formal about stuff like that.
She followed Doyle into the kitchen and poured coffee from the still sputtering brew. She learned a few days ago that it stopped when you took the pot out. She even poured Angel a cup as a kind of peace offering. Doyle poured JD into his and offered her some, but she shook her head. She didn’t need oblivion with Angel, but sneaking a glance at Doyle, she saw he was stunned by her refusal.
Buffy didn’t know if Doyle would have said anything or not, but either way, he was cut short when Angel entered the apartment. The look on Angel’s face told Buffy that he was irritated to find her and Doyle so cozy in the kitchen. Gods, what was his problem? Buffy knew that some guys would get all freaky territorial after you fucked them, though few did so with her, but that wasn’t what was up with Angel. He’d been like this since they first started hanging out.
Whatever.
Buffy gave up trying to figure him out and handed him the mug of coffee. Looking slightly mollified, he accepted the coffee and handed her the bag of assorted bagels and pastries. Her little squee of delight as she opened the bag brought a reluctant smile to Angel’s lips.
Doyle stared at both of them like they’d grown two heads and decided that his company was no longer required. He drank the hot coffee and JD mixture as fast as he could, grimacing as he finally set the empty mug in the sink. “If I don’t get going now, I’ll be late for work,” he said, exiting the kitchen.
Angel waited until he could hear Doyle at the door and he yelled, “I’ll walk you down to your car.”
Buffy was standing at the counter, pulling items out of the bag and setting them on a plate. Not because it was more civilized, but because then she could carefully study all her options. Angel couldn’t help but chuckle. He walked up behind her, bracing his arms against the counter on either side of her and leaned down, nuzzling into the sensitive space behind her ear. Buffy shivered. “Save me a bagel,” he said softly, then quickly nipped at her earlobe before turning and jogging after Doyle.
***
Doyle was already unlocking the door to his car by the time Angel got downstairs. They glanced at each other awkwardly.
“I don’t know why you just don’t move back down here,” Angel said. “You’re here three days a week and then you have to drive two hours back for that damn job.”
Doyle shrugged. He knew that Angel hadn’t followed him all the way outside to talk about his daily commute. “Whatever you do and whoever you do it with is your business, Angel.”
Angel frowned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s not ... I mean, we’re just...” He sighed, rolling his eyes at his own confusion. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything,” Angel said seriously. “Between Cordy and Darla, I’d never hear the fucking end of it and they’d do their best to chase Buffy clear outta town.”
Doyle looked at the friend he’d known since freshman year in high school. Angel was a good guy. Sure, he got around – with his looks and money, how could he not - but he never disrespected any of his girls and he didn’t kiss and tell. “You keepin’ an eye out for her?” Doyle asked.
Angel nodded slowly. “I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.”
Doyle forced his expression to be neutral, but he couldn’t honestly believe what Angel was saying. Sure, Doyle had slept with Buffy a few times. Hell, everyone had slept with Buffy a few times. But for someone like Angel, someone who could have Darla Weston in his bed any day of the week, to be taking care of Buffy Summers was so far outside the realm of possibility it was laughable.
But Angel wasn’t laughing. At first Doyle just assumed Angel had picked up Buffy at a party like everyone else did, brought her home for some fun. But from their obvious breakfast ritual and the fact that Buffy kept a set of clothes at his apartment – even if the clothes in question had originally belonged to Angel – there was obviously a whole lot more going on.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Doyle said. “And I’ll keep an eye on the lass.”
“Thanks, Doyle.”
****
“Don’t you have class?” Buffy asked, when Angel came back up to the apartment a few minutes later. She was in the midst of choosing her next pastry, her hand hovering over the plate. Just the possibility of choices and so many of them made her so happy. She grinned at him when he came in and then looked down at her breakfast again.
“I’m taking a day off,” he said, pressing behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Did you eat my bagel?”
“Yep,” she said, nodding, “and it was yummy.”
She squealed as he turned her around and set her up on the counter, before insinuating himself between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist and looked down on him with a mock scowl. “You’re gettin’ in the way of my breakfast, son,” she drawled playfully.
“You are breakfast,” he answered, nipping her breast through her shirt. He threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her mouth to his lips, kissing her so deftly her bare toes curled. She wrapped her legs more tightly around him and he lifted her away from the counter. He kept kissing her as he walked her back to the bedroom.
She held on to him tightly and kissed him back for all she was worth, stunned by his attention to her, by his playful sexiness. Buffy wasn’t used to this sort of treatment. She was usually just a party favor, someone to climb on top of in a dark corner. Angel treated her like she was his lover, like they were in a relationship or something. It was as confusing as it was arousing.
They made short work of their clothes and Buffy was surprised when instead of just driving it home and taking what he wanted, he started kissing down her neck before moving down her body, leaving a scorching trail as he went. He spent an inordinate amount of time on her breasts, licking, nibbling and suckling her aching nipples until she was gasping in pleasure.
“Angel, please,” she panted. He abandoned her breasts and made his way down her body. He dipped his tongue in her belly button and she giggled nervously. When he settled between her thighs, pressing his face into her sex, she gasped. “What the fuck are you doing?” she tried to demand, but her voice just came out breathy, in an almost purr.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Just close your eyes and let me taste you.” No doubt Buffy thought she was knowledgeable about sex. And Angel didn’t have any trouble believing that she had slept with enough men to feel she was justified in making that assessment. But just as obvious was the fact that no one had ever gone down on her before. Angel wasn’t shocked by that. He doubted that any of her partners had ever given a damn about her pleasure.
“Angel,” she whimpered, squirming beneath him. Whether she was trying to squirm away or squirm closer, Angel wasn’t sure.
He used his hands on her hips to hold her still as he nuzzled against the wiry hairs covering her sex. With his tongue he parted the seam between her nether lips, tentatively tasting her. She was aroused. He could smell the heady fragrance of her feminine musk. But she wasn’t wet. Not like she’d been last night. He wanted to get her back to that place where she was mindless in her need for him.
He shifted, pressing his face more fully against her folds, tasting her more intimately. As his tongue laved over her clit, she yelped, jumping like electricity was arching through her veins. He did it again.
Over and over he tasted her, releasing his hold on her hips at one point so he could carefully manipulate her clit with his fingers while his tongue stabbed inside her achingly empty channel. She was whimpering, her body beaded with perspiration as her hips arched up against him in a demanding rhythm. He gave her what she wanted, latching onto her clit, suckling as two fingers pumped in and out of her sheath. She came, chanting his name as her back arched off the bed, her fingers fisted in the sheets.
He watched her orgasm wash over her, watched her heaving breasts, her hair messily scattered over the pillows. He let his head fall against her thigh, one hand gently caressing her hip as he waited for her to recover.
She shifted under him and he lifted his head, looking up at her. She opened her arms and he gladly stalked up her body. He kissed her, half wondering if she would be grossed out, but Buffy didn’t miss a beat, shoving her tongue down his throat. Angel threaded his fingers through her beautiful hair, kissing her long and hard. When she began plaintively arching up against him, he reached into the nightstand and grabbed another condom.
She was just as tight and hot and responsive as he remembered and Angel groaned at the exquisite sensation. Barring every other concern he had, Angel had to admit that Buffy was a phenomenal lay. She fit him perfectly, matched him in every way. She was so little, so seemingly fragile, but her passion threatened to burn him alive. He buried himself in her time and time again, relishing her breathy little grunts, her throaty moans of delight.
Snaking one hand between their bodies, he rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts, wanting to feel her coming around him again, wanting to give her the same pleasure she gave him. Her body was already primed for him and in mere moments she was sobbing her release, her fingernails biting deeply into the flesh of his back. With a shout, Angel joined her in oblivion.
****
On Saturday morning Buffy woke up with muscles aching that she didn’t even know she had. After spending all day Friday in bed with Angel and all night as well, she was sated and warm. Unlike the other times she’d been with someone, she didn’t feel used. She felt…liked.
She and Angel had coffee and leftover pastries from the day before together and then when it was time to head to the Hyperion, Angel just dropped her off instead of coming inside with her.
“You aren’t coming in?” she asked. Strangely, the idea of spending the day without him was less than desirable.
“I can’t,” he said, caressing her delicate jaw. “I have to catch up on everything I didn’t have time to do last week. Why don’t I pick you up for lunch?”
“You don’t have to go out of your way,” she said quietly, staring out of the window. Reality was sinking in way too fast for her. She didn’t know how to deal with his kindness. “It’s no big deal.”
“I want to have lunch with you,” he said firmly. “Will you be out here at 12:30 when I come by?”
“Yeah.” She watched as he scanned the parking lot briefly before stealing a quick kiss. She scrambled out of the car and headed for the Hyperion without looking back. It wasn’t like this was some fairy tale and Angel was swooping in to save her from her life of hell. No, he was fucking her and feeding her and giving her a place to stay. He was ashamed of her and she couldn’t really expect anything less from him. She was that kind of girl, one you hid in the darkness.
As she walked inside and began looking for Jenny to get her instructions for the day, she couldn’t help but realize that there was nothing different from what she was doing with Angel and what she did with anyone else. She fucked him for food instead of drugs. The only difference, aside from the mind-blowing orgasms, was that this time she loved the guy. The idea of losing him made her blood turn cold, but she knew it was inevitable. It was only a matter of time before he went back to his classy, beautiful women and left her behind.
Fuck it. She would take what she could get.
She found Jenny in the pantry rummaging through the donated goods. Boxes and paper bags of unsorted food sat around in piles all around her, waiting to be organized. She immediately motioned Buffy over to her.
“Buffy,” Jenny began gently, “if you ever need a place to stay, I’ll be glad to find a bed-“
“Forget about it,” Buffy said, cutting her off tersely. “I’m not homeless or anything. I just needed a place to crash that night.”
Jenny handed her a business card. “Just hold on to this and if you call me, day or night, I’ll find a place for you. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about staying here.”
“Yeah,” she snorted. “Whatever. Where do you want me?”
Frowning, Jenny let it drop. Buffy was never going to gracefully accept help and Jenny knew enough people like Buffy to know better than to push the situation. “The pantry needs to be organized,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.”
***
“Jesus fucking Christ, Angelus,” Darla cursed, sliding into the chair opposite Angel at the large research table. “Do you see what I’ve stooped to?” she demanded, hissing at him. “I have to come to the goddamn library just to get a word with you. On a Saturday morning, no less.”
Angel sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Look, Darla-“
“Don’t you dare ‘look, Darla’ me,” she snapped. “I am not one of your little undergrad chippies who thinks you’re deep and mysterious and I will not be ignored.”
Frowning, Angel sank back in his chair. He should have seen this coming. Even though he and Darla were only loosely involved, he knew she didn’t take well to being ignored. And he had certainly been ducking her for the last few weeks.
All because of Buffy.
Angel suppressed a grimace. He still didn’t really have any idea what was going on with him and Buffy. He’d almost convinced himself that his interest in her was purely platonic. And then, uh, he woke up to her on top of him. And he most certainly hadn’t wanted her to stop. The memory of her perfect breasts, her long, golden hair streaming over her body, the snug fit of her tight little cunt gripping his cock.
He cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. He was half hard just thinking about Buffy. “What do you want, Darla?” he asked wearily.
“I want to know what the hell is going on,” Darla demanded. “I know we aren’t monogamous but you won’t just write me off without a word. I know when I’m being dodged.”
“I’ve just been busy. I was in Chicago all last week because someone got sick. I had to take over everything at the last minute and since I wasn’t the one originally going, I wasn’t able to prepare, so now I’m swamped with work-“
“Bullshit,” she growled. “Who is she?”
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said honestly. He was telling the truth. Not all of it, but mostly.
“Oh, I know you are, lover. I know you’re really busy. Now who is she and how is this going to affect us?”
Speechless, Angel shifted his eyes to his book. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about Buffy, but he wasn’t ready to give her up either. He also wasn’t ready to write off Darla. He’d been with her on and off for years. She was a great lay and a fun companion. He couldn’t just give her up either.
“I don’t want it to be over with us,” he said quietly.
“Then you’re free to take me out tonight?” she challenged.
“No, I’m busy,” he said, setting his jaw.
“Well, when you’re ready to give me some of your precious time, Angelus, give me a call,” she snarled. “Maybe I’ll just ask around and find out who you’ve been fucking.”
“Darla, don’t get involved in this,” Angel warned in low voice.
“Oh, I’m involved, lover. Your little cock tease is about to get a run for her money.”
“Darla!” he growled as she stood up from the table. Glances were shot their way but they both ignored them.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “I look the other way while you fuck little undergrads, but I won’t be tossed aside for one of them.” With that, she snatched up her purse and slithered from the library, leaving him to deal with the stares and her threat.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slamming his book shut.
***
Angel was so far behind that it would have taken him hours to catch up. But his usually unflappable attention to detail was completely shattered by his earlier argument with Darla. He didn't need this bullshit now. He liked Darla. He liked fucking Darla. She wasn't happily ever after material, but she was fucking gorgeous and she looked great on his arm.
Buffy on the other hand … Oh, Buffy was a mess. Everything about her was like a fucking car wreck. Her home life was horrible. Her personal life was horrible. She was broken emotionally. For as good as she was at surviving, she didn't know shit about taking care of herself. She had zero self-esteem, no money, no education, no resources, no friends, no support system, no job. She was a criminal with a foul mouth a waspish temper and he was fairly certain she intended to abscond with every last piece of clothing he owned.
But he did have to admit that she looked damn good in his clothes. The memory of her standing in the hallway wearing nothing but his leather jacket …
Fuck.
The bottom line was that Buffy did not fit in his life. They were night and day in every single aspect. But there was something about her that just drew him in, even when she was spitting vinegar at him. He couldn't turn away. He just wanted to hold her in his arms and soothe away the hurts of the world. And the worst part was that in her own way, she let him. And he knew that she didn't accept comfort from anyone. Buffy let him in when she wouldn't let anyone else in. That just tore at his heart.
He sighed, rubbing his bleary eyes. Damn, how long had he been at the library? It must have been …
Angel froze. Then in a burst of panic, looked at his watch. Fuck! It was after ten in the evening. Shit! He was supposed to have picked her up for lunch. Goddammit! He cursed himself, quickly throwing his books into his backpack and running for the door. He forgot to pick her up for lunch; he forgot to pick her up after she got off her shift. God fucking dammit. Angel knew how tenuous Buffy's trust was. She would read into this. She would think he was abandoning her. Angel's blood ran cold at the thought of what she might do. She had nowhere to go, no one to trust.
Frantically, he dialed the number to the shelter as he jogged to the car. A short conversation with Jenny told him that Buffy had been her usual caustic self at work all day, but that she had left at her normal time. No, no one had seen if someone picked her up or if she walked.
Angel snapped the phone shut, cursing again as he unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. Saturday night was a big party night at Caritas. Angel had seen fliers plastered all over campus. He figured that would be his best bet. Even though it was early, the club was already packed. Angel searched out all the corners, even going so far as to check the women's restroom. Buffy wasn't anywhere to be found.
Gods, how could he have been such an ass? Sure, Darla threw him, but what had he been thinking forgetting Buffy? He was frantic to find her, frantic that she might resort to her self-destructive behavior. And truth be told, he was absolutely terrified at the idea of not seeing her again.
He drove to her house. The lights were on. Angel threw the car in park, jumping up and bounding up the stairs. He pushed open the door without knocking, yelling, "Buffy?"
"What the fuck do you want?" a voice snarled.
Angel turned, seeing the man he knew must have been Buffy's stepfather. Fifteen, twenty years ago, the guy was probably a ladies man. But now … Gods, he was nothing more than a shriveled up husk of a man, twisted and contorted by misery. He reeked of booze and stale sweat. This was the man Buffy had been left with when her mother died. Angel swallowed harshly, choking back nausea. An innocent child had been left alone with this man. And no one had stepped in to fight for her.
"You looking for the little whore?" Ethan demanded, slurring drunkenly.
"Where's Buffy?" Angel bit out.
Ethan laughed, a cold, dead sound. "Little whore's probably out getting drugged up and fucked as usual," he said, smiling maliciously. "Like a goddamn cat in heat, that one. 'Course, I understand the little bitch's appeal. She takes it like a pro. None of that crying and screaming bullshit. Just lays there all still-like, lets a man have his way. Yeah, I taught her right."
Angel didn't even think about it, he just reached out and grabbed the man, slamming him into the wall with all of his strength. Ethan took a gasping breath, clawing at Angel's hands, trying to get away. But fighting Angel wasn't like fighting a starving teenage girl. Ethan was absolutely no match.
"Do you know where Buffy is?" Angel demanded, snarling every word in Ethan's face.
Ethan stared at him with unbridled rage. "Haven't seen the little bitch in days," he spat.
Angel wanted nothing more than to cave Ethan's face in, but he forced himself to let him go. "If you ever touch her again," Angel swore, "I will fucking kill you."
Ethan snorted in disgust, but backed away. Sick to his stomach, Angel turned and left the house.
***
He drove around campus for hours looking for Buffy, but found no sign of her. Once again, Spike's apartment was dark. Defeated, Angel finally headed home.
The apartment was dark and he dropped his bag on the floor, leaning wearily against the recently closed door. Gods, he fucked up. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. If anything happened to Buffy he was never going to forgive himself. He flipped on the hall light and slowly trudged down the hall. He stopped in the doorway to his room, leaning forlornly against the doorjamb.
"Angel?"
Angel's head snapped up and he almost wept at the sight that met him. Buffy, obviously groggy from sleep, snuggled up in his bed wearing one of his t-shirts.
“Buffy,” Angel groaned, going to the bed and pulling her into his arms. “I am so fucking sorry. Gods, baby, I looked everywhere for you. I’m so sorry.”
“I was wondering what happened,” she said, yawning. “When you didn’t come for me, I just came home.”
“I just lost track of time,” he admitted, running his fingers through her tangled hair. “I was so worried.”
“Worried?” she echoed, blinking at him in confusion. “About what?”
“That…fuck, I don’t know. I thought you would think that I abandoned you,” he admitted. His heart was still racing from the hours he had run around town in a frantic search for her. He couldn’t explore what that meant or why he was so afraid of what might have happened.
“I was mostly thinking ‘where the fuck is he’,” she admitted shrugging. “I figure if you want me to leave, you’ll just toss my ass out. Besides, I have a key again, remember?”
“Yeah,” he said, pulling her close for a kiss. He pulled away and looked over her. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” she admitted, smacking a kiss on his jaw. Smiling happily at him she suggested, “Pizza?”
***
TBC
on to part 5