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*16 March 2009–Sometime in the mid-morning...*

“This place really is beautiful. It looks like these orchards go on for miles.”

Buffy rolled her eyes skywards at Cordelia and it was on the tip of her tongue to tell her old high school classmate not to overkill drama. The apple orchard at Edenscroft was small, not even a full mile wide. Then, she glanced around them and realised they were surrounded by apple trees and she no longer saw the high stone wall with its crumbling mortar bits that ultimately led to the wide wrought-iron gates that opened the driveway  to Edenscroft. An illusion, probably caused by the angle of the incline they walked on, made the orchard look much larger than it was.

“Nice of you to show me around.” Cordelia’s neat Prada pumps glided over the crisp carpet of turned foliage and the occasional fallen fermented apple with deceptive ease. She moved slowly in the unsteady, slightly slippery textures to maintain balance on her high heels. She kept running her fingertips lightly over her glossy dark hair to dislodge the occasional twig or leaves that tangled into it. Somehow, her winter-white angora sweater remained immaculate, clear of debris. “I feel a little out of place, but it’s the perfect place for Angel to keep you.”

*’Strange choice of words.’* Buffy had never known Cordelia to be overly friendly or tactful towards her, but something in the other woman’s tone disturbed her. Cordelia sounded too calm and sincere, without her general trace of sarcasm. Buffy couldn’t see Cordelia’s eyes sheltered behind dark-tinted, thick-framed St. Laurent sunglasses. She ran her tongue nervously over her dry lips and wondered what was wrong.

Cordelia reached into the pocket of her black-and-white houndstooth slim woolen trousers and casually tossed Buffy a flat compact pot of dark red lip gloss.

“Thanks,” Buffy replied, after examining it. “But the colour’s not me.” She preferred more neutral tones, light brown, or pinkish beige.

“Use it!” Cordy urged cheerily over one shoulder. “It’s got good SPF and it’s Angelus’s favorite colour.” She turned her attention back to walking.

Buffy opened the compact and swabbed the greasy lip gloss over her mouth with a fingertip, pressing her lips together to spread the soothing moisture evenly over the sensitive skin. It smelled faintly of cinnamon and Buffy, checking her reflection in the tiny mirror on the compact, noticed the gloss left only the softest stain of natural-looking colour on her lips.

“Thanks.” Buffy walked a little faster to catch with Cordelia. Her dark brown suede hiking shoes with their thick soles crunched into the decaying foliage as Cordy pranced gracefully over it. “I think I see the house a little more to the left,” she added.

Buffy watched the elegantly tapered layers of Cordelia’s chin-length bob swirl playfully around the woman’s face as Cordelia shook her head vigorously. A chilly mist formed slowly along the inside of Buffy’s stomach. *We can’t be lost!* she thought to herself. *That would be ridiculous! The orchard’s not that big. We must be walking in a circle.*

“So.” Cordelia’s high heels tapped hesitantly over raised roots of the skeletal-looking apple trees. In a few more weeks they would be gloriously festooned with soft white blossoms, but, for now, the orchard was a cemetery for last year’s harvest. “Have you been in touch with Wesley yet? He’s been trying to reach you.”

Buffy shook her head. “Haven’t heard from him.” She moved alongside Cordelia and the brunette never glanced at her, kept facing forward. “Ummm, you know. Cordy.” Buffy foundered for a moment, then came out and said what was on her mind. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you and Angel.” She felt a little ashamed for the hint of triumph she couldn’t quite keep out of her voice. Cordelia had always belittled Buffy when they were in school together, saying she could take Angel from Buffy any time she set her mind to it. Buffy felt childishly spiteful even as she was truly sorry Cordelia’s marriage had been an unhappy one.

Queen C snorted derisively. “As if! That was all just a misunderstanding, Buffy.  A *big* misunderstanding!” She touched her lips with her fingers in a soft gesture to stop laughing.

“Misunderstanding?” Buffy echoed. A flirting breeze sprang towards them from the grey sky and she huddled into her wool pea coat, blinking her eyes to filter away dust and loose soil.

“Buffy,” Cordelia declared emphatically. “Angel and I were never in love! We were friends. Best friends and we loved each other, but that’s really not the same thing.” She nodded wisely and her perfect matte-red lips spread into a classic cheerleader smile, open and brilliantly white-toothed. “Two years of misunderstood marriage with Angel while he realised he could never love anybody but you is one of the better things that ever happened to me. I’m half-owner in the Hyperion Hotel and Angel felt *awfully guilty* when we talked divorce settlement. He’s *never* more generous than when he feels guilty and wants to make it up.”

Buffy almost wanted to laugh, but there was something horribly depressing about Cordelia’s jaded comments. It presented Angel in a light Buffy did not like to see him in, a man who was lonely enough to marry a friend for comfort instead of doing–doing–*what had he done?*–to invalidate the curse that made their loving impossible.

Another frigid breeze nipped on their faces and Cordelia shivered, hugging herself .

“I don’t envy you this weather, that’s for sure! Where is that damn house? It’s the size of a museum!”

“It can’t be much further.” Buffy kept her voice low, certain they were lost and not wanting to say it and deal with Cordelia-esque drama.

Abruptly Cordelia stopped and turned towards Buffy. It was slightly creepy, knowing Cordy was staring at her through those huge darkened lenses that covered nearly all of the top half of her face. She cut off a gasp when Cordelia seized her left hand and yanked off the cuddly knitted mitten she wore.

“No ring yet?” she asked, dropping Buffy’s hand. Buffy slipped her mitten back on.

“No.” Buffy was silent for a minute.  “Angel and I haven’t actually discussed the future.”  Buffy quickly thrust out of her mind the moments where Angel had commented on how wonderful it would be for her to stay on at Edenscroft, how their lives were different now and the changes they had made, the battles they had fought and sacrificed for, had led to a different and better world, one where they were allowed at least a little peace for themselves.  She did her best to quench those conversations before they became too involved.  “I don’t know how much will change by–by the things that’ve happened.  I still have a life in Sunnydale.  Kids to counsel, a Hellmouth to guard.  That doesn’t change just because Angel’s no longer cursed.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.  *Lover.*” A heavy bootstep crushed the rotting foliage behind them. Buffy shuddered and an icy teardrop of sweat trickled down one armpit.

*No!  No!  Not possible!* She wanted to whimper in horror as she recognised, all too well, the slanted twist of the hard mouth, the weird hedonistic aura of confidence that made him seem somehow bigger, greater, even sexier than Angel.  It always turned Buffy’s stomach that she felt that way about him. But the feeling never had gone away.

Carelessly, Angelus tossed his cigarette on the ground and smothered it under his boot before he turned his complete attention to Buffy.  His eyes were hard and somehow darker than Angel’s, not hateful, simply burning with ice-cold emptiness.

“You see, in my mind, baby,” he began in that hard, faintly lilting voice.  “I’ve really gone out of my way for you this time. That changes *everything.*”

“Cordelia,” Buffy gritted tersely through clenched teeth.  “Run.”

To her surprise, Cordelia sighed in relief.

“*Finally!* Now I can get out of here!”  The woman managed a well-paced jog in a rather stiffly upright posture on her high heels.

Buffy faced Angelus and allowed all the baleful emotions she felt to spring into her expression.  Genuine surprise and impotent, heartbroken rage.  She was determined not to cry and please him by letting him know his taking Angel away hurt her deeply.  What the fuck had gone wrong?  She and Angel had been as close as two adults who loved each other could get!

“So.”  Buffy kept her voice brisk and calm.  “What set you free?  How did you get out?”  Her brain worked feverishly, weighing options on  what to do.

Angelus’s smirk spread into a cat-eating-the canary grin.  “I’m always around, Buff.  You don’t get rid of me.  I’m part of Angel, I live in him everyday he lives.”

“You’ve got nothing to do with him, Angelus.”  What to do?  Where to go?  Can I outrun him to the house?  Has he killed anybody?  Can I trap him and hold him long enough to get Willow to restore his soul?  A more macabre thought struck her mind like a sledge hammer: *should I just give up?*

“I have everything to do with him!”  Angelus snapped.  “And if you don’t wipe that angry look off your face I’ll smack it off with half the skin on your face.”

“You’re awfully confident.”  Buffy bristled at his threat.  “I’ve already dealt with you before, you know.   Don’t think I’m up to it again?”

“Buffy!  Buffy!  Buffy!”  Angelus shook his head and chuckled softly at her belligerant attitude.  “You’d better work on making me happier if you want any happiness for yourself.”  He look down at her with a patronising smile.  A light flared in his nearly black eyes, dark flames burning restlessly.  “You know, I didn’t know the bastard had it in him–I’ve always seen him as a pansy-boy, not much of a credit to me.  But this time–”  Angelus tossed his head and giggled softly.  “All I can say is this is a really soulful love, Buffy!”

“Are we gonna fight or do I just get to listen you enjoy yourself talking?” Buffy sniped.

Angelus stopped laughing and his lips thinned out, his eyes darkening with fury.  Then he twittered again.

“You don’t fool me, little girl.  I smell your needs.  All of ‘em.”

“Yeah?  Don’t smell my need for you to never have existed?  No hope on fulfilling that one, huh?”  She quipped it lightly but the meaning fell flat and Buffy knew it.  Angel could never have existed without Angelus because Angel *was* Angelus without his human soul.  If Angelus had never existed and committed unspeakable atrocities, he would never have been cursed–or blessed–with his restored soul and Buffy would never have known the man she loved. 

Angelus flashed a gleaming smile and his eyes glittered knowingly.

“You have other needs I can fill.  And you don’t have a stake handy–don’t carry one here, huh?  Because it’s Angel’s land and you feel safe, cut off from the world?”  Angelus laughed with genuine mirth as his hand slapped his leather-clad thigh.  “Oh baby! It’s *my* land!  I inherited it from my father after I murdered him!”

Buffy took one step backward and hunkered down, doing her best to feel out firm footing on the ground, and raised her arms defensively.

“Did it escape your notice that we’re in an orchard?  Orchard?  As in large body of trees?  I doubt my stake-less-ness would be a huge handicap!”  Buffy tilted her head to one side, pretending to think about it.  “Or are you really so stupid you think I can’t improvise?”

Angelus lunged for her with a growl.  Buffy rose up from her crouched position and struck him head on with a sharp uppercut that flung his head backward.  He snarled and seized her in a full-body hug and threw himself down, slamming her writhing body between himself and the dirt and the filthy leaves on the damp chilly ground.

Buffy thrashed frantically as Angelus pressed his weight upon her.  She had thrown and vanquished bigger vampires than Angelus before.  But her practice fights with Angel had never been decisive.  They were too well-matched.  Angel had the bulk and the strength and the know-how.  Buffy was strong, incredibly so, perhaps even stronger than he was, but they never seemed to determine *for certain* who was the better warrior.  Sometimes Angel won a scrimmage and sometimes Buffy did.  Winner’s luck, never a decisive victory.

“If you don’t stop wriggling, Buff, I’ll break your legs,” Angelus assured her in a deadly quiet voice.  “Did you know a properly fractured thigh bone will cause all the toes on the corresponding foot to dislocate? That probably hurts worse than the break itself. Trust me, you won’t want to move at all.”

Clammy moisture broke out on her upper lip, her armpits, her back.  Adrenaline was pumping through her body, willing her to fight and buck him off of her.  Keep the fight going until she could figure out what to do with him–*God! She didn’t want to have to kill him!* But if he maimed her, she couldn’t fight–or do much of anything to protect herself.

“Goddamit, Angelus!”  Buffy almost shouted in humiliated anger.  “What the FUCK do you want?”

He slapped her face, open-handed but none too gentle.  His lips had thinned again.  Probably, Buffy thought, he was angry with her for cursing him.  Or maybe not.  He was a card-carrying psychopath from Hell, he really didn’t require a motive to slap her face or break her legs.

She forced herself to stay still, though she quivered all over in anger and fear.  Angelus smirked, pleased with her obedience as well as her rage.

“You’ve gotta learn to get along better with me, baby,” he chided her softly–so softly he nearly sounded like Angel.  “I’m part of something you love.  And if he’s not happy, I’m not happy.”  He tore her warm wool coat open and yanked the zipper of her leather jeans so hard he broke it.  “But I’m selfish, too.  Sometimes I want you all to myself.”

“What–do–you–want?” she gritted, voice muffled slightly.

His eyebrows shot of and he smiled amusedly.  “I want to fuck you from behind with your face in the dirt and your ass in the air,” he answered cheerfully, almost chidingly, like she should have known all along.  “Aw, come on now! None of that!” he scolded her when she bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears.  “I never said I didn’t want you to like it.”

Angelus kissed her then, his hard mouth pressing against her silky full lips, sucking her lower lip between his teeth and nibbling, sometimes digging his blunt teeth a little too hard into the pillowy flesh.  He worked her mouth open with his teeth and tongue, then slowly began exploring her softness, probing with his tongue, sweeping over her warmth, marking it as his own.

“Baby,” he whispered tenderly to her.  Buffy squeezed her eyes shut.  She could almost believe it was– “Open your eyes. Look at me, precious little bitch.”  She looked back up at him.   Angelus rewarded her obedience with a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Now,” he said.  His voice was low and seductive despite its harshness so uncharacteristic of Angel.  “I’m gonna show you something.”  He eased one hand down into the broken front of her leather jeans.  Buffy felt his long strong fingers flutter teasingly on her lower belly, dipping into the elastic waistband of her panties and softly ruffling her pubic curls.  “Mmmmm!”  He actually sighed, a sound of appreciation, approval maybe.  He glided lower, opening the secret folds to access her feminine core, soft, easy.  “You’re hot already,” he assured her.  “And you’re wet, creamy even.  You’re gonna like this, baby.  You’re a sweet healthy girl and you love me, there’s nothing more natural than for you to like it.”  He was assuring, gentle, laughing softly as he turned her over.  “No, don’t get up.”  He stopped her from lifting herself up on her hands.  “Face down, like I told you.  Just bend your knees.”  He peeled her pants down her thighs until they hung just under her knees and Buffy felt chilly air invade the hot slickness oozing at the juncture of her thighs.  Angelus had pushed her thick coat forward to bare her ass and Buffy felt a profound level of embarrassment as she imagined how she looked, still fully clothed except for her naked ass and thighs lifted up for the cold wind to caress while Angelus fondled her.  She breathed shallowly, worried that she might ingest some unsuspecting insect traveling among the mucky leaves and rich soil pillowing her forehead kindly enough.  She heard the hiss of his own zipper, his firm sturdy thighs pressed flush against her smooth ones.  He pushed her coat up further and reached under her belly to cup her groin, ease the lips open and tease the stiffening little jewel of flesh hidden shyly within.  He played with her, skillfully stroking to stoke her passion, inflame her, until her position no longer felt awkward or shameful at all.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he told her in a gruff whisper.  Buffy felt more lava flood her core and leak out onto her swollen nether lips.

Angelus gripped her trim hips and thrust hard, filling her completely in one stroke.

Buffy grunted and bucked backwards against the demon to make certain she had all of his length inside her.  The tears trickled out onto her face as she moaned softly from the feeling of fullness,  the familiarity of his length and thickness, his hard driving strokes, pleasurable friction.

“D’you know why I like to hurt you?” Angelus asked companionably, squeezing her hips hard enough to bruise her.  “It’s not because I get off on it–actually I do,” he amended honestly.  “But there is more to it than that.”  Buffy gasped as his nimble fingers caught her clitoris and tugged it cruelly, stretching it away from her body.  She tried to crawl away but Angelus’s other arm was securely wrapped around her waist, holding her flush against him.  Besides, her pants were all tangled down around her knees and she could barely hold the position Angelus helped hold her in now.  She mewled pitifully and he released the sensitive little pearl of flesh, then reached under her sweater to scrape across her ribcage with his fingernails.

“It’s the only way I really have you, Buffy, the only way you’re really all mine.”  Angelus thrust downward hard into her clinging wet channel, hard enough to crack bones in a normal human woman.  Buffy hissed and bucked her rump back against his hips, winning the vampire’s pleased growl.  “He doesn’t like to hurt you because he despises himself for wanting to.  Aw, look!”  Angelus leaned far over her body and threaded his fingers into her hair to pull her head up.  “Cordy’s leaving already.”

Buffy watched through the trees as Cordelia’s rented car moved smoothly down the slightly curved driveway leading from the house to the main gates.  *How funny, we were so close to the edge of the orchard, but I didn’t notice it before,* she thought to herself, moaning quietly when Angelus shoved her face back into the dirt.

He stripped her carelessly, sometimes tearing impatiently at her clothes, tugging off buttons and breaking zippers.  Buffy shivered all over from the cool air on her bare skin.  Angelus pushed her down onto her back and she spread her thighs as he plunged against her. He fucked her in rapid shallow strokes, almost teasing, then occasionally thrust harder until he bumped into her womb and she moaned low at the vibrating shock of pain that stimulated her entire body.  Her nipples stood upright, hard and dark pink, pretty little baubles for Angelus to torment with pinches and nips.

“If he only knew all of you, loved all of you, the dark and the light, there’d be no room for me in your heart.”  He kissed her throat harshly, open-mouthed, digging his teeth into the skin to leave a hurt little mark.  He pressed a softer, more affectionate kiss upon her smooth forehead.  “He’s scared of your darkness just as much as he’s scared of me–” Angelus thrust even harder–somehow it was possible–and Buffy heard herself cry out, muffled against his dark red silk shirt, with each stroke.

“That hurts, doesn’t it, baby?”  His pubic bone struck hers and a cacophony of pleasurable feelings raced and whirled disonantly in her belly.  “Makes you feel rejected.”

Buffy wailed aloud, a passionate, wordless sound, and drew her fingernails hard over his silk-covered back.  The fabric swished and parts of it tore.  Tears, hot liquid silver, gleamed in her soft hazel eyes and Angelus smiled as he lifted a finger to caress her long eyelashes.

“I don’t reject you, sweetheart.”  He rode her like a runaway thoroughbred.  She was screaming now, keening and writhing, uncaring if anyone heard them, indifferent to the cold hard ground.  “I *always* want *all* of you!”

Angelus shoved down against her so hard Buffy wondered if she would leave an ass-print in the soil beneath her. The pressure and friction brought her over the edge and she felt her limbs turn to weak liquid, falling limply out of control while white electric balloons expanded in her deepest center.  Then they exploded, sending hot lightning through her clitoris, her belly, up into her breasts until her nipples tightened and ached, down through her trembling thighs until her toes clenched inside her shoes.  She screamed the demon’s name wildly, tearfully as he purred and watch her panting, a lovely flush sweeping over her golden skin.

Angelus roared as he followed her into the abyss.  His neck arched and his dark golden eyes blazed as he threw his head back and pressed down, down, crushing her, his wonderful cock snuggled as deep inside her pulsing, quivering folds as it could go.  She clasped against him, clenched him, milk every drop of lukewarm seed out of his twitching member until she was flooded and it spilled into pearl droplets on her dark pubic curls.

“Say it, Buffy.”  He buried his face in her bare breasts with a fierce growl, nuzzling his face against her burning racing heartbeat.  “Make me happy too, baby,” he coaxed.

“I–I love you.” Her voice was soft, tremulous, and so very fragile.

He smiled against her flesh–Buffy felt the spread of his lips over her heart–and then he sank his teeth into her and began to suck...

Buffy’s eyes snapped open in the darkness and she covered her mouth to stifle a scream as she sat up in bed and instinctively pulled the dense downy comforter closer around her for protection.   It was daytime, she knew–she’d become a regular night owl since she’d come here to visit Angel and she slept through most of the early daylight hours.  A sliver of golden radiance edged the tightly closed heavy opaque drapes on her bay windows.

Angel wasn’t in bed with her.  They’d gone to bed together and he’d made love to her passionately until she was grateful to sink into cuddling sleep.  It wasn’t unusual for him to leave her tucked in and got to his office to take care of his business issues and answer mail.  Sometimes he surprised her by cooking for her, serving her breakfast in bed.  He was a pretty good cook, made tender melt-in-your-mouth crepes that he served with chocolate hazelnut spread and sausages and syrup.  A long-stemmed lavender rose on the side of the plate.  Yet his absence in bed was chilling after the vividly real nightmare she’d just had.

*Only a dream...Just a nightmare...Angelus isn’t back....He’d’ve come back months ago.*

She was moist and tender between her legs and that feeling usually brought her a silly joy, memories of beautiful intimacy with the man she loved.  Now she wasn’t certain the hot stickiness on her inner thighs was from Angel’s lovemaking, or a response to the dream (*nightmare*) she’d just had of Angelus.  Buffy felt stinky and slightly soiled: she was more than a little angry with herself.

She decided to take a shower, a long hot shower where she could lather up thoroughly with the softly scented freesia bath gel Angel kept in the bathroom.  Let the heat and steam treat the slight soreness and soap away the stickiness from her sex.  She would be clean again.  She slid out of bed and climbed off the mahogany step-stool to the thickly piled carpet so soft and warm she didn’t need her velour slippers.  Buffy headed to the bathroom determinedly.

If she lingered in the warm steam long enough, she might forget the mind-numbing climax Angelus’s degrading sexuality had driven her to.

*”I’m part of something you love...”*

*”I–I love you...”*

*Not true! Not EVER! Just a dream.* Buffy threw the doors to the double shower stall so hard they slammed against the tile with a bang.

Two doors down and across the hall, Angel heard Buffy stirring and smiled affectionately.  He kept his private office just as it had been when the manor had been built.  IIt was the only room without electricity.  It had no windows and all four walls were paneled in darkly stained oak.  Unless one had superior night vision it wasn’t a room suited for conducting business affairs at all.

Angel worked at a large ornately carved oak desk with huge lion’s-claw feet and gilded scroll work in the table’s border.  No minimal decor/maximum function furniture for him, he’d survived over a century of guilt and misery over his entire existence.

For once, Angel had decided he was going to enjoy himself.

He heard the spray of water, a raindrop melody of sweetness as he imagined his lover, all golden and naked, standing under the sprays as the bathroom filled with scented mist and warm water saturated her body.  Angel pictured her head falling back, lovely eyes closing as they often did when he made love to her, lathering soap in her hands and soaping her breasts.  If she lingered in the shower, he would join her.  He had to deal with this mail, though, it was just piling up too much.

Several large kerosine lamps illuminated the pile of mail Angel sorted through on a simple silver tray.  He hadn’t caught up with the mail in a while.  It never ceased to amaze Angel that human ingenuity and industrialisation, while beneficial, also produced unsettling drawbacks.  It was unbelievable, the amount of unsolicited junk mail one person received in just a year, let alone a lifetime.  Of all the envelopes he sorted through–about a month’s worth–most of it was stuff he burned in the fireplace.  He didn’t like shredders.  Convenient as they were, their modernity affected the feel of his office.

Angel hesitated with a smaller stack of letters.  Some of the envelopes were thick, containing letters at least two or three pages long.  Others were obviously note cards, probably not really detailed or important.  Postmarked from L.A., Sunnydale, even an odd letter of two here in England.  Letters from Wesley, Willow Rosenberg, a thick particularly fine envelope that was probably a birthday card from Dawn.  Other cards from Giles and Xander.

Buffy’s mail.  Words from the outside.  Things that came between the moments he shared with Buffy now.

Angel shrugged, and the letters met their fate in the fire with the other junk mail.  The edges of the paper blackened and curled, and the outside interferences where eaten away by hungry dragon’s tongues, falling against the grate in fine ash.   He smiled softly, satisfied, and shut the office door behind him.

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"Repeat the Sounding Joy" Part Five...

"Repeat the Sounding Joy" Contents...

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