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Eviscerate Me, My Love	By : jsu1660n Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Angel(us)/Buffy > Angel(us)/Buffy Views: 8793 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I receive no profit from this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Part III.
For reasons that Buffy could not fathom, she felt a sense of unease hours after her talk with Ms. Calendar. She knew that the woman would not tell Giles or her friends what she told her about Angelus. But she still felt…wrong.
But she was being ridiculous. There was no way Angelus could know what she was planning. More to the point, how the hell was she supposed to get enough of his blood without him stopping her? Or worse, without him killing her? And why was she so pathetic to need a charmed necklace to keep her hands off Angelus? Shouldn’t the fact that he’s a despicable demon be motivation enough? Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s proven time and again that he’s not Angel nor will he ever be?
Buffy shook herself out of her miserable thoughts. She plastered on a fake smile and took her place on stage. Her friends approached like a gathering audience and the curtain lifted. It was time for the next scene of her performance.
She ended up spending some much-needed bonding time at Willow’s that afternoon before she went patrolling. They ate pizza, did their nails, talked about Hollywood crushes – all of the things normal girls would do. Several times Buffy came close to confessing her secret to her best girlfriend. Willow was obviously the more logical choice when it came down to telling her or Xander. But Buffy was weak. She was scared. She didn’t think – no – she knew she couldn’t face seeing the disappointment in the quirky redhead’s eyes.
She left Willow’s house and went to the cemetery. She managed to dust five freshly risen vamps when she heard screams coming from the back way of the cemetery. With her stake clenched in her hand, Buffy took off in the direction of the screams. She got there just in time to see Drusilla dropping the very dead graveyard attendant to the ground.
Drusilla smiled, licking her bloody lips. “Uh-oh,” she said in her childlike voice. “Kitten come to play with Daddy’s Princess.”
Buffy quickly scanned the area, knowing it was unlikely the mad lamia was alone. “And where is Daddy on such a nice night for killing?”
Drusilla’s face shifted to normal as she looked towards the stars and whispered, “Daddy’s everywhere. He’s watching us all. Especially you.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the stake. Drusilla laughed giddily and Buffy tackled her to the ground. “Why are you laughing?”
“You won’t hurt Daddy’s Princess.”
Buffy placed the stake over Drusilla’s heart and pressed down hard enough to break the skin. “Won’t I?” she challenged, a dangerous glint flashed in her eyes.
“No,” she said, taking a pained breath.
“And why would I let an insane, homicidal bitch like you spend another moment plaguing the world and playing house with Spike and Angelus when I can end it now?” she hissed, suddenly remembering Angelus’ implying words to her the night she sucked him off behind the Bronze.
“Because it would upset Daddy. And you know when Daddy is upset he makes the world bleed,” she whispered in a singsong voice.
For the first time in her career as a Slayer facing vampires that she held no earthly connection to, Buffy hesitated. Worse than that, she backed down. “Go home, Drusilla,” she ordered, though not really expecting her to obey.
The dark haired lamia gave her a not too gentle push off. Buffy used her Slayer reflexes to backwards flip and land onto her feet. Drusilla stood in the blink of an eye, brushing the dead grass and dirt from her coat. “Okay,” she shrugged.
Buffy watched her almost incredulously before she remembered. “And Drusilla?”
“Yes, Kitten?” she said innocently.
Buffy’s eye twitched at the name. “Tell your Daddy, the next time I catch you hunting in Sunnydale, you’re getting dusted.”
She flashed a childlike smile and skipped out of the graveyard. Buffy watched her disappear into the trees and kicked over a gravestone. “Fuck!” she yelled. Letting Angelus live because she still held hope that Angel would come back to her was one thing, but letting Drusilla go after she killed a man was just plain…
Pathetic? the voice of her conscience, which befittingly enough began to take the dulcet form of Angel, supplied.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Pathetic.”
“You have pleased me greatly, princess. Now take these home to Spike and celebrate,” Angelus said, giving her the unconscious twelve-year-old twin girls. “Daddy has to issue his Kitten a punishment as well as a reward.”
Angelus was indeed very pleased to see Buffy hesitate in killing his childe. He was even more pleased to overhear her little “playing house” comment. He knew his words to her at the Bronze affected her. He just had no idea it was to this extent. Angelus knew Buffy would never truly let go of Angel. And he was just fine with it. Because if by some miracle or perhaps he should say, some annoying mystical influence, he did regain his soul and Angel reemerged, nothing would ever be the same for them again. Sure, Angel would profess that their lovemaking would draw out the demon and that he was too much to unleash onto the world. But really, Angel would never be able to look at his beloved Buffy again without remembering all of the delightfully wicked things she willingly did with Angelus. And as for Buffy, well, now that she had had Angelus, she could never go back to the tame, gentleness of his soul. It wasn’t bragging. Maybe in the beginning, with Buffy being the naïve and inexperienced child Angel was best suited for her. But now she had had a taste of darkness and no amount of magical intervention or even an attack of conscience would change the growing connection between them.
Yes, Angelus could admit that there was something between him and the Slayer. It might have began with a lingering flicker of feelings – just thinking the word made him grimace – left behind from the soul’s entirely too long vacation in Angelus’ body, but it was more than that now. He had come to think of the Slayer as his own personal property. His to play with, fuck and break at his leisure. He was obsessed. Fixated. Captivated. And worst of all – haunted. Haunted by the power she wielded over his soul. The oversensitive fool would even meet the sun if it would save her life! Angelus was disgusted. Sickened by the soul’s ridiculous disregard for self-preservation.
He lit a cigarette from the pack he stole from Spike. He started the slow walk to the Slayer’s house. His cock had hardened, anticipating the first moment that he would settle himself inside her soaking, hot cunt.
“God, I’m turning into fucking, Darla!” Angelus grimaced. She was just as obsessed and crazed towards the end of their 150-year sire/childe relationship. She hated whenever he “played” with his victims instead of eating them. She killed women who flirted with him in wild fits of jealousy. She even tried to order him to stop going to Drusilla’s bed. He was actually relieved that Angel dusted her. He could only imagine the trouble she would cause him now if she were still undead.
But it was different with him and the Slayer, he thought, exhaling. She would never verbally express her distaste when he wet his appetite, but he would feel it. He would feel her crushing sorrow. Tears of betrayal would fill her eyes and flow like an endless stream and she would look like the perfect picture of a broken girl.
Angelus enjoyed the Slayer’s strength. The fact that she thought she was strong enough to win against him, both physically and emotionally, amused him. Making the decision to break her was not one Angelus made lightly. He didn’t want another Drusilla – one was more than enough. But he wanted her to want no one but him. He wanted her loyal to no one but him. He saw the affection she had for her ill-deserving friends and Watcher. He wanted it all for himself. He wanted her to be his champion. His Slayer. And why shouldn’t she be? In his culture, she was his wife. Angelus chuckled darkly. Married to the Slayer! Fate was a facetious bitch sometimes.
Angelus scaled the tree beside Buffy’s window. He could hear the steady heartbeat of her sleeping mother and the temptation to visit her room and rip her throat out was almost too much. But Angelus was nothing if not a patient demon. He would enjoy Joyce’s death when the time was right, but now she stood to serve an even greater purpose alive than dead. It was all in the timing.
Angelus scented his Slayer’s distress and gazed through her window. Buffy paced aimlessly, obviously still agonizing over her decision to let Drusilla live tonight. Angelus would have intervened immediately if he thought his Slayer would actually harm his childe. He knew she wouldn’t and Dru delivered her lines perfectly. So instead of simply punishing her for conspiring with the gypsy to bring an end to their time together on her terms, he would reward her as well. Not for sparing his childe’s undead life, but for unwittingly acknowledging that she sought to please no other but him.
“Yes, my little Slayer,” he whispered. “You are all mine.”
In her bedroom, Buffy ran a frustrated hand through her hair. Never had she willingly let a vampire walk. Especially one that had killed someone in front of her. Why would she care that Angelus would be a little pissy? Buffy sincerely doubted that dusting Drusilla would have any, if at all, influence if Angelus made up his mind to go out and massacre the residents of Sunnydale.
“I just need to forget it. Add it to the growing pile of need-to-be-forgotten memories,” she muttered.
She stripped off her blouse and headed towards the shower. In minutes, the bathroom was enveloped in a blanket of steam. She stepped inside the shower letting the water wet her hair. She grabbed her bottle of two-in-one vanilla shampoo & conditioner and lathered her hair. The air seemed to change around her and Buffy didn’t need to turn around. She could feel him.
“Angelus,” she whispered.
“As if there would ever be another in your shower,” he said almost threateningly.
“There’s not.”
He removed her hands. “Allow me, lover,” he said as he proceeded to massage her scalp with a gentleness she could scarcely believed he possessed. She relaxed under his ministrations, letting herself forget that he was the epitome of evil possessing her boyfriend’s body. Buffy let him turn her around and lean her head back into the stream. She opened her eyes, unsurprised to find his cruel eyes gazing down at her. He had the perfect body. His firm pecs and sculpted abs. Her eyes and fingers traveled lower, raking over his small belly button and the thin trail of dark hairs underneath leading to the small curls above his cock. It was hard and his tip was red and weeping.
Angelus saw the hunger in the Slayer’s eyes and smirked. As much as she hated him, she could never resist him. He reached around her grabbing her bottle of strawberry shower gel. He squeezed some into the palm of his hand, rubbing them together.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
She obeyed, forcing herself to relax with her back turned on the increasingly unpredictable demon in her shower. She felt his lathered hands at her neck, closing around her throat. She knew he could hear her heart picking up pace or how she held her breath when his grasp tightened slightly.
“Your heart is fluttering like a little rabbit running from the wolf, lover.”
His voice held a quiet menace and Buffy could feel something bad coming around the corner. She suppressed the Slayer in her begging her to fight and forced her body to relax.
“There’s a good girl,” he praised, loosening his hold around her throat.
And then his hands were everywhere. Her shoulders. Her breasts. Her back and stomach. The soft globes of her ass. Her thighs. Everywhere but where she needed him the most. Buffy spun around throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist. Angelus growled softly feeling her wet heat hovering above the tip of his cock. Just as she was about to lower herself onto him, Angelus clutched her hips, holding her in place.
“Angelus,” she whined needfully.
“How were you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Get enough of my blood so the little gypsy can give you a cursed necklace meant to keep you from constantly wanting to fuck me.”
Buffy felt her eyes widen and her mouth opened slowly as she came out of the lust induced haze. “I – how –?” she stuttered.
“Oh, I have my secrets, Buff.” He smiled mockingly and his eyes were predatory. “So tell me, how exactly did you think you were going to do it?”
“I was…going to stab you.”
He giggled, amused. “Is that so?” Without warning, he impaled her on his cock with such force Buffy thought she could feel him inside her chest. “You are lying to yourself, lover. You could never live without me inside you.” He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I won’t let you live without me.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped as her muscles contracted around his throbbing cock. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Please,” she panted, kissing and nipping his neck. He hissed, pushing her back against the shower wall. “I need you, Angelus. Please.”
“Your begging is like the darkest melody of unspoken suffering, lover.”
He started thrusting slowly, slower than he ever had with any of his past lovers. He kissed her deeply and gently, reminding her so much of her lost Angel and the one beautiful night they shared. Her nails dug into his back. Angelus. Angel. Angelus. Buffy didn’t know who she was with as she closed her eyes relishing in his slow torture. She worked her hips in tandem to his slow, deep thrusting.
“Oh, god. Angelus!” she moaned, coming apart around him.
Angelus maintained his pace even as her Slayer muscles strangled his cock, begging him to fuck her as if his undead life depended on it. Several orgasms later from the Slayer, Angelus felt her blunt teeth embedded in his shoulder and finally let himself go with a deep growl.
He set her down on trembling legs growling possessively from the sight of his seed gushing down her thighs.
Buffy saw that Angelus had hardened again and she wanted more than anything to wrap her lips around him. She watched him turn off the now cold water and was amazed when he wrapped a towel around her shivering body. Her heart swelled. It was such an Angel thing to do.
Angelus felt her love and suppressed the urge to vomit up the brunette bank teller he had for dinner. And then as quickly as the ridiculous feelings of the Slayer’s love enveloped him, her guilt and sorrow hit him full force. It soothed the throbbing burns her love left behind.
He took her hand, leading her out of the shower towards her bedroom, unabashedly naked, cock bouncing with his every step. He scented Buffy’s growing arousal and felt her heated stare on his backside.
But the instant they entered her room, her arousal, guilt and love, quickly morphed into dread, and at the sound of him closing and locking her bedroom door – terror, lovely, mouthwatering terror. Terror that was so sweet both his fangs and cock ached to be inside her.
“Angelus,” she whispered, spying her stripped mattress. The four sets of chains. The white sheets covering everything as if there would be blood spatter. The candles lit all around the room giving off a mockery of romance. “What is this?”
He quickly removed the towel leaving her naked and vulnerable – just the way he always wanted her. “Well, just because I rewarded you for releasing my childe does not mean I will leave you unpunished for attempting to disrupt our time together. You didn’t really think I would forget about that just because of a slow fuck in the shower, did you?” he chided cruelly.
Buffy turned to face him. A hard glint flashed through her eyes. Her hands clenched and unclenched down at her sides. Her breaths came in short, quick pants. Her inner Slayer had awakened. And she was ready to fight.
Angelus smiled at the determined gleam in her eyes. He could sense the threat of her inner Slayer coming to life. “Buff, Buff, Buff. I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” she said, evenly.
He nodded. “You think that you have submitted to my every whim and desire. You have never said no to me. But now I’m going too far. Your instincts are telling you to stand strong. To fight.” He stalked towards her, watching as she shifted to follow his movements. “To run.” He chuckled darkly as she shivered. “Tell you what. Because you are so pleasing in your compliance…I will give you three options. One, you can run. Of course, I’ll chase you down, drag you back by your hair and force you to watch me sodomize your mother.” He smirked at the fear and outrage in the Slayer’s eyes. “Two, you could try to fight me. Then I would be left with no other recourse but to torture and kill your little friends one by one. I may even keep one alive just for the entertainment. I wasn’t kidding when I said Willow’s cute and helplessness is really a turn on.”
Buffy swallowed hard. Her skin had paled from his frightening threats – no, not threats, promises – but then her cheeks suddenly turned pink in her irrational jealousy at the mention of Willow. “And option three?” she whispered, ignoring his knowing smirk.
“Embrace your punishment.”
Buffy weighed her options. She didn’t doubt for a moment that Angelus would follow through with his promises. She had no desire to allow herself to be tortured by the Scourge of Europe, but she couldn’t let her friends who were as much her family as her mother suffer because she couldn’t follow through with what she started. It was her fault that things were the way they were. Maybe she deserved his punishment. Maybe for allowing him the sin of replacing Angel between her thighs she deserved his torture.
Angelus smirked, almost tasting her resolve. “Lie on your stomach,” he commanded softly, knowing the battle, if you could call it a battle, had been lost.
Buffy wouldn’t meet his eyes. Ashamed of her acquiescence. She lay on the cool, bare mattress. He was kind enough to leave a pillow for her to rest her head on. She felt him moving behind her. Spreading her arms and legs to secure the shackles.
“I can smell your fear, lover,” he whispered. Buffy felt Angelus pressing down on her back. She shivered at the chill of his bare skin. “I thought long and hard over this, Buff. You see, for some odd, unapparent reason you seem to be under the false pretense that you are the master here. And well, that’s just not going to fly with me, sweetheart.”
Buffy could have begged and pled for forgiveness, but her face was set into a stubborn scowl. Angelus saw her scowl and chuckled, his cool breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “Buff, I am going to enjoy breaking you.” With his dark promise in place, Angelus left her on the bed casually testing her bonds. “Ah, an old standard.”
Buffy glanced over her shoulder not liking the pleased tone of his voice. The color drained from her face. “A – Angelus?” she stuttered.
“The Cat’o Nine Tails,” he said, never taking his eyes from the whip in his hand. The whip was small, but what it lacked in length it more than made up for in feeling. Angelus loved the age they lived. He remembered back when they only used braided rope, now he could use suede. It was thicker and therefore had a stronger…bite to it. The tips of the tails were rounded for the severest impact. But what really set off the Cat’o Nine Tails were the turkhead knots that were an inch above the actual ends. The horsehair was an added bonus. It truly was an instrument of beauty. He cracked it once, feeling the old days rushing back to him. Buffy whimpered and his eyes snapped to her face. “Forgive me, lover. I almost forgot you were here. Memories,” Angelus sighed almost wistfully. He stood to her left trailing the tails down her back in a caress. “How many do you think you deserve, Buff? Ten? Twenty?” But even as he asked her, she knew he would ultimately make the choice for her. “Here’s a thought. How about I whip you until I think I’ve gotten my point across? Does that sound like a plan, lover?”
Before she could blink, he raised the whip, bringing it down onto her back. She gasped and tensed, gripping the chains of her shackles. “Ah, the sweet sound of punishment.”
Her skin had red marks from where he whipped her. Buffy’s shoulders had tensed as she braced herself for the next hit. She gasped each time the tails connected with her skin, but she would not scream. How could she when her mother could walk in and suffer a fate worse than what she was currently experiencing?
Angelus could feel the Slayer’s hate and fear as the skin of her back split open and blood came gushing from her wounds. Inside him, Angel cried and begged him to stop hurting his beloved. Sadly for him, the begging only made Angelus more aggressive and more aroused. Her blood splattered against the sheets and against his chest, bathing him in her crimson agony. He vamped out as his control slipped from the siren’s song of her blood. He could see her biting down on her pillow to keep from screaming. The heavy shackles had cut through her wrists and ankles. Even in the midst of all her pain, her arousal still seeped out between her widely spread thighs. Her lips had swollen and parted and he could see her core open and pulsing. Begging for his cock. And yet, she would not cry. Angelus admired her strength of will, but he wanted to see her broken, even if it was only for the night. Her Claddagh ring glinted in the candlelight and Angelus suddenly had the perfect way to gain her capitulation.
“Did you know that Angel saw you before you became the Slayer?” he paused in his whipping and let the horsehair tails drag across her wounds in a lingering caress.
Buffy moaned in agony, having no strength to even squirm away from the severely itching tails. *“W-what?” she groaned, barely holding in her tears.
*“He watched you,” Angelus said, bringing the tails up to caress the areas he missed. “He saw when Merrick called you. It was a bright afternoon in front of your school…Hemery, I believe,” he said, feigning forgetfulness. “You walked down the steps….and he loved you.”
*“Why?” she whispered, terrified to hear his answer.
*“Because he could see your heart,” he answered, rolling his eyes at his counterpart’s pansy ass Hallmark sentiments. “You held it before you for everyone to see. He worried that it would be bruised or torn. And more than anything throughout his pathetic existence, Angel wanted to keep it safe…to warm it with his own. Which taken literally, would have been a wonderful idea,” he sighed wistfully.
Angelus watched the Slayer. She lay completely still even with the irritable caressing of the tails. He felt it building. Growing. Pulsing. That little ball of pain, anguish and heartbreak. Her sorrow enveloped him almost as warm and as snug as whenever he was balls deep inside her cunt. He scented her tears beginning to fall. One and then another. And then another. Until they fell uninhibited as she screamed and moaned into her pillow. Her emotions left him staggering. He groaned deeply, the cattail falling to the floor discarded as he gripped his cock. Her sorrow was so great. So deep. He had to be inside her.
“Oh, god, Angel! I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, even as she moaned, bucking backwards as Angelus thrust hard into her. He reached back, snapping the shackles around her ankles. He raised her hips, forcing her onto her knees as he slapped into her. The harsh smacks of their skins hitting echoed around the room as Angelus drove his cock deeper and deeper inside her as if he was trying to reach her soul.
He leaned forward, tasting the steady flow of blood from her mutilated back. Slayer’s blood. So sweet. So addictive. He tightened his grip on her hips, knowing she would have bruises in the shape of his handprints the next morning. He laughed harshly as she sobbed for Angel even as she fucked him as hard as he fucked her. Angelus felt his balls tighten, knowing he was about to come. He reached between Buffy’s legs and gave a harsh pinch to her engorged clit. She froze and buried her face in her pillow, screaming his name. Her muscles contracted around his cock in an almost crushing grip and he bit down into her pillow, growling deeply.
Buffy embraced the feel of his cold chest against her burning back and the endless stream of his cold seed coating her insides. Unconsciousness welcomed her with open arms.
When Buffy fell unconscious, Angelus took a moment to bask in the moment of it all. Her wrists were still chained to the bed. Her back was still ripped and healing slowly. And they were still one, connected in the most intimate way. Sadly, he could not stay there much longer. He had an hour and a half before the sun would rise. He withdrew his semi-hard cock from her searing core and shifted her on the bed. His chest was smeared with the Slayer’s blood. He would wear it as a badge of honor all the way back to the factory. He licked away the blood on her back, watching her wounds seal themselves. She would heal, but she would still be terribly sore the next few hours.
Angelus busied himself with restoring her bedroom. Anything to stop from asking himself why he didn’t bite her. She was his. He had every right to drink from her. She would have been powerless to stop him. Not that she would have anyway. So why did he bite the pillow instead like his soft-as-cotton counterpart would have? He glanced down at the Slayer’s pale form. God, he hated her. Only she had the power to bring him to his knees with just a touch of her sweet misery. Angelus knew he would only be making things easier on himself if he just ended it all now.
But he couldn’t. For all of their time together, killing her now without allowing his plans to come into fruition would be…anticlimactic. Normally, he would have left her naked. But she had lost enough blood to run the risk of going into shock overnight. So he dressed her in one of his – well, his counterpart’s – old shirts, cursing her for forcing him to care for her as he did so, and remade her bed. He extinguished the candles and packed them away. He folded the bloody sheets and with one lingering glance at his sleeping Slayer, climbed through her bedroom window, and hurried off to the factory before the sun came up.
“Daddy’s home!” Drusilla rejoiced dancing over to him. “And he has been a naughty boy,” she said, inhaling the scent of the Slayer’s blood on his chest.
He allowed her to lick the column of his throat and down to his collarbone, as she shamelessly rubbed her body against his without the slightest regard for her lover who watched sullenly from his wheelchair. Only when she started to unbutton his shirt, eager to lick away every trace of the Slayer’s blood did he push her away.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished, wagging his finger. “A good princess does not go to town on her daddy without his permission.”
“Dare I say it?” Spike grumbled from his chair more annoyed than anything else that Drusilla could never keep her hands off their sire, even in his presence.
Angelus groaned exhaustedly. All he wanted to do was watch the Slayer’s blood swirl around his shower drain and crawl into bed until sunset. Was that so much to ask for? “Yes, Spike. She is still alive.”
“You know, Sire, you may have no problem playing Russian Roulette with your own bloody undead life, but when you drag me and Drusilla into it, then it becomes my problem.”
“Is that so?” Angelus said, not at all appreciating the tone his childe had taken. “Spike, my boy, I am in a good mood tonight. I will overlook your disrespectful attitude and discipline you another night.” He approached his petulant childe, pleased to see the fear and regret in his eyes. “And in the future,” he said, whispering so that the words only reached his ears. “Don’t bitch at me because your lover seeks gratification elsewhere.”
Angelus had tried being patient with both of his childer. If they would ever function as a family again, he needed them both fully committed to whatever he wished for them. He knew insulting Spike was not the best way to achieve diehard loyalty, but sometimes they liked to push each other’s buttons.
“I’m going upstairs. Don’t disturb me.” Angelus dumped the bloody sheets on the floor and stripped off his clothes to shower. Again.
He let the hot water scorch his skin, telling himself that he was not comparing it to the way Buffy’s hot cunt felt around him. He shook off those thoughts and lathered up, staring almost entranced as her blood swirled down his drain.
Angelus almost hoped she made mistakes like that again. The Slayer was so much fun to punish. Even more so than he imagined. She held back her screams and even refused to cry. Only when he mentioned his worthless wretch of a soul did her lovely tears finally flow. She was magnificent in her pain and desire.
Unwillingly, his cock began to harden. Angelus pushed away his thoughts of Buffy and her punishment. But just as quickly as one memory left him another reemerged. Fucking her in the shower. Her soft, supple body lathered and compliant in his hands. Without meaning to, Angelus slowly slipped his hand around his cock, jacking as the memories of her whimpers and tears drew him closer to completion. Angelus imagined finally tasting the golden flesh of her throat and nearly bit off his own tongue to keep from screaming out her name as he came.
“Fuck!” he yelled, punching the wall as the debris fell onto the shower floor. “What the hell is she doing to me?”
Downstairs, Spike pulled his fangs from Drusilla’s breast as they looked to the ceiling having heard their sire’s furious shout. “I can’t tell who’s doing the breaking anymore. Angelus or the Slayer.”
Drusilla giggled. “Oh, my Spike, they will break each other,” she said, knowingly.
Spike met her demonic gaze and tilted her head. “You’ve got a secret, pet.”
“I’ll never tell,” she sung.
“Oh, go on, tell me about it.” Drusilla leaned over and whispered in his ear. Spike’s expression shifted from mildly curious to floored. “And you’re absolutely certain about this?”
“The stars never lie to me.”
He laughed, tickled at even the thought of it all. “We’ll all be damned…but it will be one hell of a party.”

*Buffy/Angelus conversations taken from Buffy/Angel in ‘Helpless’ from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Season 3
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Eviscerate Me, My Love