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Killed By A Fate Worse Than Death	By : velvetwhip Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Angel(us)/Willow > Angel(us)/Willow Views: 7508 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Killed By A Fate Worse Than Death
- 1
Killed by a Fate Worse Than Death

It’s a hospital. Not high on Angelus’s list of hot spots. The stench of sickness and decay, the reminders of everything he barely escaped by the skin of Darla’s teeth – the frailty and vulnerability of mortal flesh. And those doctors – oh, how they make him laugh. All those pills and potions and pointless surgeries, those desperate attempts to prolong something Angelus can take in the blink of an eye – or that he can extend into infinity if he so desires, the way those doctors only dream of doing.

Here lies Buffy Summers, Slayer powers brought low by the tiniest and most pathetic of foes – the flu. It only shows how inferior she is after all, her flesh still heir to all the discomforts, inconveniences, and illnesses of any worthless human. It’s almost degrading, and not in the sort of bloody and agonizing way he’d fantasized about breaking her, either. He nearly turns on his heel and leaves, allowing her to recover enough to make her inevitable defeat and death a challenge. Still, as much as part of him loves the game, he’s getting bored with it. He’s fucked her – body, mind, and spirit – and frankly, what further amusement can she offer?

So he stays the course, quietly approaching the door to the floor on which he’ll find her room. He’s carrying a couple of roses. He could have gone for the whole bouquet, of course – it wasn’t as if the now glassy-eyed, lifeless corpse of a shopgirl would have charged him extra – but really, how many roses does a shell of a Slayer actually rate?

Much to his complete absence of shock, who should he find attempting to block his way but Xander Harris.

“Visiting hours are over.” That’s it? All that time spent with Buffy and that’s the best quip Harris can muster? Guess he’s been spending too much time staring at Buffy’s tits and not enough time attending to her wit, not that Angelus can completely blame the boy – those Slayer powers include a pretty perky rack. Pity Angel-boy never really knew what to do with them. Angelus could have had some fun with that pair – clamps, a riding crop…oh, well. Unlife always has its missed opportunities and it isn’t as if Buffy has the only tits in the universe. Maybe he’ll get a chance to play with the ones on the next Slayer.

“Well, I’m pretty much family.” He means it to be a threat – albeit an empty one since he’d rather have his soul back than sire a Slayer, especially Buffy – but it goes right over Xander’s head.

“Yeah. Why don’t you come back during the day? Oh, gee, no. I guess you can’t.” Annoying little bastard. Angelus would like to snap the boy’s neck right now. All that’s stopping him is that it would mean admitting to himself that Xander has scored a direct hit – lighting on one of Angelus’s few weaknesses.

His voice is low but not nearly as casual as he’d like when he responds. “If I decide to walk into Buffy’s room, do you think for one microsecond that you could stop me?”

“Maybe not.” Xander is alarmingly comfortable with his own deficiencies. Where is the shame and fear he should be feeling? “Maybe that security guard couldn’t either. Or those cops. Or the orderlies. But I’m kinda curious to find out. You game?” Damn the boy. Because he’s right, of course. Trying to get into Buffy’s room right now would create a scene, and while Angelus would come out of it just fine, he’d come out of it without slaying the Slayer. It would be a colossal waste of time and energy.

Of course, he’s not going to leave without a trophy. And he knows just what it will look like. “Buffy’s white knight,” he chuckles. “You still love her.” Stepping close to his foe, his tone is as soft as a lover’s. “It must just eat you up that I got there first.”

Xander’s voice shakes as he replies with a cliché so hoary that Angelus can scarcely believe it: “You’re gonna die.” He doesn’t bother reminding Xander that he’s already dead; he just waits for the rest of the chestnut to roast. He’s not disappointed. “And I’m gonna be there.”

Angelus hands Xander the flowers, moving in as if he’s about to kiss the boy. There’s a reaction he stores away for later before he departs with words just as clichéd, though sardonic enough to be respectable: “Tell her I stopped by.”

Smooth strides take him quickly back out the door and into the stairwell. Talk about blue fangs. If it weren’t for the little tidbit he now knows about that wretched boy-swain of Buffy’s, he’d have to chalk tonight up as a total loss.

Or will there be something even more glorious than a slab of Slayer meat lying butchered on a plate of sterile sheets? For what to his wondering eyes should appear but a cute little redhead looking ever so dear.

“Well, if it isn’t my high school sweetheart.” His mind wanders back to that night in the hallway at Sunnydale High. Her fear had certainly been a delicious olfactory treat. Let’s see if she’ll oblige with a fresh draught. “What brings you here, Willow darlin’?”

No sooner have the words left his mouth, then she’s running back down the stairs. What is it with these kids and clichés? Of course he catches her in a trice, pinning her to the wall and putting a hand over her mouth to stifle the scream he’s sure she’s foolish enough to bring forth. “Tsk, tsk. Is that any way to behave with an old friend? Why anyone would think you weren’t glad to see me.”

He grinds against her. It’s only a threatening gesture at first, as empty as that hint about turning Buffy, but the scent of abject terror coupled with pure, untouched innocence quickly transforms it into…something else.

“You know, I’ve been wondering,” he says conversationally. “How did you wind up with a werewolf? I mean, I never thought you were that kind of girl.” The hand not covering her mouth strokes her cheek tenderly, even as he grinds against her again. He’s hard now – hard and aching. There’s no leaving this undone.

Green eyes have gone as wide as can be – enough to see the roundness of her eyeballs. Well, at least she has an inkling as to what’s up. “Now, darlin’,” his voice carries more than a hint of his long-ago brogue, “when I take my hand away, don’t scream. Otherwise I’ll be forced to snap that lovely neck o’ yours.” What he says next is as cold as ice and devoid of Irish charm. “Don’t think I won’t. Or are you that eager to see that Gypsy teacher of yours again?”

His words are rewarded with an eager shake of the head. Good girl. Obedience is such an attractive quality in a woman…well, in anyone, really. Still, there’s something about that intense desire to be a good girl so evident in Willow that is making him think. Oh sure, he could fuck her and drain her right here, right now – and yes, that would be quite enjoyable – but maybe he’s underestimated her. With Willow in the mix, the game might just change enough to keep him entertained. The mousy little bookworm could very well be the gift that keeps on giving.

Creativity – it’s one of the things that separates him from the souled pussy he was not nearly long enough ago.

Taking his hand away from her mouth, he’s gratified she’s keeping the promise made by that shake of the head. Such a good, good girl. There’s something to be said for that type; so much more fun to be had breaking them when you can concentrate on the nuances and the artistry rather than having to keep teaching them basic obedience skills. For a moment, he considers taking her home where they could spend some quality time together, but…no. Patience is a virtue and he’ll have plenty of chances to get her away from those wretched friends of hers in the future. For now, she’s much more amusing – not to mention useful – if she stays in play.

That doesn’t mean, however, that he’s not going to sample her wares.

“You know, you really do have such a pretty mouth. I don’t think I realized that until now.”

Now his hand is back at her lips, but not to cover them. Tracing them with his thumb, he’s gratified when a little pressure applied makes her open her mouth ever so slightly – it’s enough for him to slide that thumb between her lips and... in – out – in – out – that’s it, nice and smooth. Mmm…that’s a good girl. No biting, just a tiny whimper that tells him she has a hunch what’s in store for her. That’s a nice bonus because having to explain things is such a time-wasting buzzkill. It’s not as if they have all night in this stairwell. Let’s get this party started.

Both hands on her shoulders, he decides to see how much deeper that intuitive submission of hers actually runs. Will she obey without being asked in so many words? He exerts a small amount of pressure and he can hardly believe it when her knees begin to bend right away. Is this girl a natural or what?

Of course, she’s not perfect. Not yet. “Someone might come in here.” Her voice is thin and quavering and her attempt at not begging him to let her go falls sadly short. The words might be different, but alas the tune is the same.

Angelus chuckles. “And if they do, all they’ll see is an eager little slut giving a guy a good time. They’ll just laugh and move on, joke about it later with their friends – that is, unless you force me to still their tongues. You wouldn’t do that, now would ya, Willow darlin’?”

“N-no.” And she finishes the journey down to her knees. Angel was such a worthless little bitch. He’d been alone in this girl’s bedroom and he hadn’t even considered getting a taste? It just shows that souls and demons should never mix.

“That’s my girl,” his voice is a mockery of cheerfulness as he undoes his fly. “Now let’s put that lovely mouth of yours to proper use, shall we?”

“Please, don’t do this.” She stares up at him, tears in her eyes. He should have known this would happen. All that time with Xander Harris? No chance in hell she’d completely avoid being a ridiculous cliché.

“Actually, I’m not the one who’ll be doing this. You will.” He strokes her cheek in a patently false gesture of compassion. “Now, now. You were always the good student, the one who learned things. This is just another lesson.” His fingers tighten on her chin as he tilts her face up to meet his eyes. “Oh, and Willow? This is one class in which you really want to get an ‘A’.”

Much to his delight, her compliant nature reasserts itself. Almost as soon as he frees his cock, her lips tentatively part to receive it. And while it’s readily apparent that she’s never done this before – Is every demon in this town a pussy? She’s dating a werewolf – that’s not necessarily a bad thing. After all, she hasn’t picked up any bad habits. He can train her properly right from the get-go.

Of course, there is one truly annoying problem already. Those tight braids she’s sporting are a real turn-off. “Next time, wear your hair down,” he instructs her, enjoying the terror his words evoke. There’s something delicious about the fact that her response is fear of his coming back for more rather than relief that his words confirm she really will live through this. He’s greatly missed the days when women considered this sort of thing at least close to a fate worse than death. All that obedience and an old-fashioned girl to boot? This is Angelus’s best night since he jettisoned that putrid soul with a few pumps into Buffy’s cunt.

He grips the sides of Willow’s head, thrusting slowly into her mouth. “Use your tongue.” And she does. She’s something else, he has to say. Angel picked the wrong whore. He’d have had a better time losing his soul with this one. Of course, she isn’t quite as much in the looks department - though that’s mostly due to her having no idea what to do with what she’s got – and she doesn’t have that rack, but tits aren’t everything and she’s got a more than passable ass. Pity there’s no time to bend her over and give it a ride – not tonight anyway. He’ll be taking it for a spin someday soon, though, and that’s a fact.

This would be a good moment to play with something he does have time to fuck with – Willow’s mind.

“That’s right. Mmm…you’re really good at this. Xander’s an idiot, you know. I mean, you’d probably suck his dick any time he wants and he’s such a loser he settles for hand jobs from Cordelia. If I were him, I’d have the cheerleader on my arm and you on your knees in the janitor’s closet. Hey, you’re not the type a guy wants to be seen in public with, but you do have your uses.”

Tears of shame had already been in her eyes, but now they are streaming down her cheeks, augmented by humiliation. He’d been right…what a toy she will be.“Of course, there is that scrawny werewolf of yours. Bet he’s got you figured out. Probably just waiting for the right moment to pass you around to his pals in that band of his. It’s not like they’re good enough to have real groupies. But a girl like you – you’ll probably be thrilled to let ‘em put it to you.”

He picks up the pace, thrusting harder and deeper and tightening his grip on her head. She’s whimpering and choking, but not fighting him. Damn. He’d love to prolong this; unfortunately, he’s enjoying it a bit too much for that.

Seconds later, he’s flooding her mouth with his release as he bites his lip to keep the noise down. Man that was good. And hey – he didn’t even have to tell her to swallow. Nice to know that all those years in captivity did not destroy his ability to spot talent. This one is definitely a keeper. He’ll be having many good times in the days to come. He just hopes that shame hangs on for a long while. The smell of it is sweeter than the finest perfume.

But first – time to ensure her silence. Besides, the newly-minted whore deserves payment for services rendered.

He tucks himself back into his pants, does them back up, then pats her on the head. “You were great. Of course, you know what they say – the mousy ones always give the best blow-jobs. Guess that’s another old saw that’s been proven right.”

With no warning, he yanks her up to her feet and then slams her against the wall; she just barely turns her face in time for her nose not to wind up broken. “Let’s get those pants off, shall we?” She’s blubbering now; no help at all. “If I have to do this by myself, you’ll regret it,” he growls, and it does the trick. Once she undoes the button and zipper on her jeans, all that’s left is for Angelus to yank them, along with her panties down to her knees.

Another thing he was right about; she has a fetching ass, definitely an E ticket ride. But sadly that’s another night’s fun. “Spread your legs.”

“Please don’t,” she whimpers pitifully, trotting that moth-eaten plea out for another go-round. You know, with her book-smarts, he really had a right to expect something less shopworn.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have time for dessert. I’m afraid I’ll have to wait ‘til another night to taste your cherry. But since you got me off so well…”

He lets his fingers do the talking, reaching around and skillfully working her clit, caressing the soft flesh between her thighs, entering her with a finger just so, finding all the right spots. Even as he does it, he grinds against her ass, hard again. She does get him hot – maybe it’s because he can feel her resistance under her skin, hear it in the anguished whimpers she makes as she tries to keep her body from responding to the centuries-honed skills of a master who knows how to make the most unwilling body dance to his tune.

“No,” she protests, but it’s a moan and it’s the white flag of surrender to his will.

“That’s right, whore,” he snarls into her ear as he thrusts against her, his fingers still working her towards her final degradation. “You love it. Bet you wanted Angel to do this to you all along. Hell, I’ll bet you’ve been desperate for anybody to give it to you. Guess tonight was your lucky night, huh?”

And with that, there’s a strangled cry as she comes hard over his hand.

He reaches down and yanks her panties sharply and she cries out in surprise and pain as they tear and he’s left holding the tattered rag they’ve become. Wiping his hand on them, he then roughly rubs the torn fabric between her legs.

“Good girls never suck and tell,” Angelus tells the still confused and disoriented girl. “If you feel the need to be indiscreet, just remember that werewolves – and Slayers – have a heightened sense of smell. I don’t think they’ll buy it if you try to make up some pathetic story about me forcing you.” With a smirk, he tucks the panties in his pocket and whistles as he heads downstairs. She’ll pay him back soon for the hard-on he has to take back to Drusilla.

After a few steps, he turns back, drinking in the sight of her collapsed on the floor, sobs beginning to build. Pity he can’t stay for the whole show. “Remember. Next time, wear your hair down.”

With visions of future pleasure dancing in his head, he’s gone.

The End.
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Killed By A Fate Worse Than Death