Indigo Overture – Chapter Three
Rating:
Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – R
It was one of those dreams that she’d never
forget. Wordless whispers of adoration
tickled her ear with heat while warm fingers trailed over her thighs. She was floating in a cloud of satin, Angel’s
arm around her waist and his lips now brushing that tender hollow just below
her ear. And God, it felt good. Her legs slid apart and Angel moved between
them, the weight of his body bringing a moan from her lips. Buffy’s eyes slid open, taking in the pink
sky above them as he brought his hands to her hips.
“I love you,”
“I love you too, Angel.”
As he entered her, the sky exploded into a
prism of color and light, the kind of sky only dreams can bring to life. Her head rolled to watch him, his dark and
beautiful body looming over her. Every
thrust sent frissons of heat chasing one another up her spine. Her hands reached for his neck, pulling him
in because she needed his lips against hers, needed every part of them to
touch. He was so close now; the sky
fading into the darkness until all she could see was the strong lines of his
face and the impossible beauty of his eyes.
His lips met hers and just before her eyes drifted closed, she lost
herself in his smoky stare.
“Good morning
Buffy smacked the
snooze button on the alarm clock that she really
wished she would have remembered to turn off the night before. Her stomach was growling, her teeth felt
gross, and now she had a horrible aching throb between her legs. Fortunately, all issues could be
corrected.
Buffy sat up and
looked at Angel, shirtless and tangled in the sheets. She pulled her legs up to her chest, chewing
on her bottom lip while she surveyed him.
So, the real version was a little less “pink sky” and a little more
“drool on the pillow”. He was still
undeniably swoon-worthy, even if she didn’t feel particularly swoony.
After a quick trip
to the bathroom for a vigorous teeth-brushing, Buffy tiptoed back to the
bedroom, her bare feet padding across the well-worn carpet. She reached the foot of the bed and climbed
up quietly, her legs curling under her like a cat while she slid a hand up his
ankle.
He chortled in his
sleep, his wildly flailing foot almost kicking Buffy to the floor. She dodged his errant limb and rolled her
eyes. Because nothing says sexy like
ticklish ankles. Maybe a more direct
approach was in order. Buffy tried
again, shifting to her hands and knees and placing a trail of soft kisses on
his thigh.
Angel sighed, his
leg pressing against her in a subconscious plea for more. She traced a figure eight on the inside of
his thigh with her tongue and smiled when he sighed. Then she scraped her fingernails down the
underside of his knee, and felt his breathing tense and quicken. That’s when she knew he was awake.
“Good morning,”
she purred seductively, dropping her shoulder to let the strap of her tanktop
slide down her arm.
Angel lifted his
head from the pillow and graced her with a crooked smile, “What are you doing?”
he asked sleepily.
Buffy sat back on
her heels, bemused, “Well if you have to ask, I’d say it’s a safe bet I’m not
doing it.”
Angel sat up and
reached for her, grinning as he tucked her hair behind her ear, “I think I know
what you’re doing,” he corrected.
“Good,” Buffy
said, nuzzling beneath his jaw, “Now, moving along. Less talking, more kissing.”
Like the good
boyfriend he was, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her soundly. Her hands curled over her shoulders and she
pushed gently, trying to move him to the mattress. He landed with an ungraceful plop and a yawn.
“Good thing
gracefulness isn’t high on my list of qualities for the man I love,” she
laughed.
“Yeah,” he said
softly, his gaze and smile both drifting.
“Hey,” Buffy said,
afraid she’d hurt his feelings, “I do love you, you know. More than anything.”
Angel stiffened,
and this time in all the wrong ways. He
tried a smile, but it rang hollow and Buffy felt something cold curling in her
belly.
“Yeah, you too,” he
said, then stole an obvious glance at the clock,
“Shit. Buffy, I’m sorry. I completely forgot I need to be at the
dojo. Remember, I’ve got that meditation
class?”
Buffy shifted off
of his lap wearing a look that spoke a thousand words. Most of them were of the four letter
variety. Angel reached for her, and
frowned when she recoiled from his fingers.
“Baby, you know I
want you,” Angel said.
“Funny, but
somehow I don’t,” she said sharply as she pulled her strap back into
place.
“Why are you acting
like this?” he snapped, “I didn’t plan this out, you know? You know I meditate on Sundays.”
Unbelievable. He was actually choosing meditation over sex? He was
supposed to be a rock star for God’s sake!
Sex, more sex, and a little sex on top, right? Granted he hadn’t been the sex maniac he was
when they met, but usually taking charge was a sure bet. Was something wrong with him? Another thought flickered through her mind,
making her chest twinge. Or was
something wrong with her?
Angel sighed and
leaned forward to drop a kiss on her neck, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Buffy felt the hot
promise of tears burning in her throat.
She twisted her fingers together and bit her lip, her eyes fixed firmly
on the rumple of sheets beneath her, “Did I do something wrong?”
He sighed and she
braved a glance, catching him rubbing at his forehead. He pulled her back to his lap and buried his
head in her shoulder.
“No,” he sighed,
“You’re not doing anything wrong at all.
I’m just under so much pressure after the last gig.”
She sniffed back a
few tears that had managed to escape, “But this
is usually a sure fix for all things pressurey.”
Angel chuckled
against her, “Yeah, it usually is,” then he paused, “I just think I need some
time to sort things out.”
Buffy’s palms
slicked with sweat and her throat felt dry.
This was not the first time in recent weeks that Angel had needed alone
time. She tried not to panic, “Is there
something I can help with?”
His smile was
sweet, but his words stung like acid, “I appreciate the offer, Buff. I just don’t think you would understand.”
Before she could
snap at him, he was giving her a megawatt smile while his hands slid up her
thighs, “I promise I’ll make this morning up to you.”
“I’ll do that
thing you like,” he bribed, tickling her side until her frown stuttered on the
edge of a grin. “I’ll feed you
chocolate, too,” he tried and she finally spared him a half-smile, swatting
away his still tickling fingers.
“It had better be
good chocolate,” she relented, as he shifted her aside so he could head for the
shower.
“Only the best for
my girl,” he called over his shoulder, but the moment the bathroom door closed,
Buffy’s smile vanished.
A lot of feelings
and questions were square dancing around in her mind, and Buffy wasn’t
interested in thinking about any of them.
She was even less interested in staying in that apartment today. Because all this “needing time” and “distance”
stuff was starting to bring up phrases like “trouble in paradise”. And she wasn’t ready for that,
wasn’t ready for even the possibility of this dream with Angel ending. Because if it did, she’d have to go back,
back to the place that would never be home again.
A memory of a
graveyard flickered through her and she shivered. Even now with the sunshine pouring through
the windows she could still feel the chill of that day. That awful day in October when she put her
mother in the ground.
Buffy sucked in a
deep breath and quickly left the room in search of a distraction. Passing the living room, she headed left into
the kitchen. After snagging a box of
Froot Loops from the cabinet, she propped herself on the counter and picked up
the phone, dialing a number she knew better than her own.
“Hello?”
“Whatcha doing?”
Buffy asked, picking a few pieces of cereal from the box.
“Waiting for the
hot water tank to refill.”
“Mm,” Buffy nodded
while munching, “Oz had to work this morning?”
“Lots of people
installing satellites this week I guess,” she sighed, “Which is good for the
rent, bad for the prospect of warm showers in the morning.
Buffy laughed,
crunching a few more pieces of cereal, “Got plans for the day?”
“Not until
practice at
“Are you up for
some girl time?”
“Sure!”
“I’m thinking more
along the lines of shopping therapy.”
“Oh,”
“No, it’s good. We’re good,”
Buffy defended, hating the fact that her voice cracked in betrayal and loving
“Okay,”
“Good,” Buffy
said, putting down the box of cereal and trying to figure out her and Angel
fighting had earned the “again” comment.
She closed the box with a shaking hand and tried to cheer herself with a grin, “So, do you want me to pick you up?”
“Only when I’m
feeling down. You and cars aren’t mixy
things,” Willow teased, “I’ll come get you.
How about 10:30?”
“Sounds good,”
Buffy said, sliding off the counter as they exchanged their goodbyes.
Two hours later,
Buffy was freshly showered and wandering through The Glendale Galleria with a
friend at her side and an Auntie Anne’s pretzel in her hand.
“This is why I’ll
never move back to Sunnydale,” she said, tearing off another buttery bite of
pretzel and offering it to
“No, I moved for
the guy,” Buffy said with a grin, “I’m staying for the pretzels.”
“Hey, let’s head
in there,” Willow said.
Buffy’s nose
wrinkled, “So we can pick up something for lunch in the Thunderdome?”
“No,”
“Okay,” Buffy
said, nose still wrinkled as they walked into the store.
Black. Everything in the store was black. The clothes, the racks, the floor…the hair,
lips and nails of the girl behind the counter.
“It looks like a
Spike factory,” she said with a frown.
“Yeah, I
know. But it’s a great place to shop if
you get his name in the Christmas drawing.”
“We do a Christmas
drawing?” Buffy said.
“Well,
technically, it’s a “holiday” drawing, since I’m Jewish,”
“True,” Buffy
said, studying the wallets. One was
black with a long silver chain. One was
black with some sort of metal geometric symbol on it. Buffy pointed to the geometric one and they
moved on to t-shirts.
“Speaking of
Spike, was he still mad at you when you left last night?”
Buffy felt a pang
of guilt, but she held it at bay with a toss of her hair, “Who knows….Spike’s
such a drama queen.”
Buffy pulled out a
microscopic black skirt with a frown, “I don’t get what the big was. It’s not like he cares what I think.”
“Yes, I’m sure
he’s like an onion,” Buffy sniffed, “More offensive and irritating to the eyes
at every layer.”
“Will?”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t he
finish college?”
“Well, I really
don’t know if I should divulge personal information about my bandmates,”
Buffy stopped in
her tracks, waiting for the redhead to turn.
When she did, Buffy tilted her head, knowing she was up to no good,
“Alright, what gives? You’re aiming for
something, here, Will.”
“Maybe a little
information exchange?”
Buffy sighed and
“Yeah, well I’m
creating a club for that if you want to join,” she said as they meandered to
the line, “I’m worried about me, too.”
“So what
happened?”
“Angel turned me
down this morning,” Buffy said with a frown.
“For breakfast?”
“Yeah, lots of
Oh’s,” Buffy said, “As in ‘Oh my God, my boyfriend doesn’t want me,’ and ‘Oh,
this could mean trouble in paradise,’ and ‘Oh, I guess that saying ‘I love
you,’ is the ultimate turn off.’”
“That’s just it,
Will,” Buffy said, stepping forward as another customer completed their sale,
“I keep trying, but he’s been needing all this time
alone. Time to think and sort things
out. It’s scary.”
Buffy shrugged
uncertainly, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Oh, you mean one
that lasted more than a month?” Buffy quipped with a smirk.
“Well, okay,
yeah,”
“I hope so,” Buffy
said as she signed her receipt.
“I know so,”
“Alright, a deal’s
a deal. Now, dish the dirt of Spike.”
“Well, I don’t
know a lot,”
“Girl?” Buffy
asked, but not because she was interested.
She wasn’t at all! She was the
picture of disinterest!
“Drusilla,”
“An
ex-girlfriend?” Buffy asked. Just to
pass the time, because she was still totally not interested. And gossip was
gossip, right?
“The ex-girlfriend,”
Okay, she was a
little interested.
“Apparently he
loved her forever,”
Buffy briefly
entertained the idea of Spike in love.
What does someone like Spike do in love?
I mean, come on! Would he drive
up onto her sidewalk in his big beater car, toting a bunch of irises he swiped
from someone’s garden? Oh, yeah, and
then maybe he’d climb up a balcony in his leather duster and clunky boots, and
hold on. Why was this all seeming pretty
spectacularly romantic?
“I’ll take it
things didn’t work out,” Buffy guessed, trying very hard to forget all about
Spike climbing a balcony with his crinkly-eyes smile.
“No, they
didn’t. Whatever this thing with
Drusilla was, it was definitely of the bad.
The very bad. Oz said that he
lived for that girl. Scary, isn’t
it? Can you imagine pinning all of your hope, you’re whole future on one person?”
Buffy swallowed
hard, because, hello! Right here
obsessing about a few tiffs with her lead singer boyfriend because the world
would cease to turn without him! The lump
that had a stranglehold on her throat wasn’t going anywhere. She nodded numbly, trying not to give herself
away.
“And then
Bam! It’s over and he’s stuck there with
all of the pain,”
“Where would I go?”,
a voice screamed inside
her head, but she forced herself to ignore it.
Buffy shook her
head and resolved not to think about that anymore. She didn’t need to think about it because she
was going to make it work with Angel.
Things were going to be fine; she wasn’t going to give up until they
were. And if thinking about Spike
serenading some girl, while stumbling around her lawn with a half empty bottle
of whiskey was making her sigh with envy, then she
obviously needed to get to work right now.
“Let’s head back
to the food court,”
Buffy stopped in
her tracks, eyeing a button up shirt in the window of a well-lit men’s
store.
“Thinking of getting
Angel a little make-up something?”
“Yeah,” Buffy
admitted. Sometimes you have to give a
little to get a little, right? Well, she
needed to get a lot…which was good, because the shirt wasn’t of the frugal. The
price tag was double what Buffy could realistically afford.
“Yeah?”
“It just reminds
me of him,” Buffy said, wanting to go back to that moment, that perfect moment
in her dream as he kissed her when all she could see was his eyes, “It just reminds
me of him. Reminds me of his eyes.”
Another face
jumped to Buffy’s mind, leaner, paler, shadows hidden beneath razor-like
cheekbones, and of course, blue eyes.
Impossible blue eyes. A little
tick of panic raced through her blood and Buffy backed away from the window.
“I know that,” she
stumbled, “I just…you know, it’s too expensive.
Let’s go get that Cinnabon.”
The band was
standing around in a circle, looking poised to break into a rousing game of
Duck Duck Goose.
Which would have been an infinitely more appealing
option than the one currently on the table.
“I’m not posing
for anyone,” Spike argued, crossing his arms across his chest.
Practice was over,
but Xander was making damn sure none of them were going anywhere. Which was bad on two
counts. First, Xander was trying
to sell the band on a bloody photo shoot, which was definitely not Spike’s idea
of a valid reason to stay and chat.
Secondly, he still couldn’t get the hell away from Buffy. As if her afterthought apology on Saturday
wasn’t awkward enough, she had been acting completely bizarre the entire
day. She had gone to ridiculous lengths
to avoid eye contact with him, while also making ludicrous efforts to drape
every available limb over the Grand Poof.
Not that he cared about it, because he didn’t, mind you. It was just bloody weird to watch her
prancing about, with all the ‘Angel-baby this,’ and ‘Angel-honey that’. It was as if the girl had up and shagged a
stranger over the weekend, which wasn’t very likely considering the Buffy ‘I’m so
pure’ persona.
“It’s a good
opportunity!”
“Uh, if we do
this, your clothing will need to coordinate,” Xander interrupted, “It’s in the
contract.”
“Coordinate?!”
Spike interjected, “With the lot of you?
Like hell!”
“This sounds like
a sell out to me,” Angel said, ignoring Spike entirely, “What’s the benefit to
dressing up like a bunch of pop idols?”
Xander rolled his
eyes and sighed, “How about the benefit of not having to shell out another two
hundred dollars on flyers? The
photographer is looking to expand their portfolio. Live Bait has the look he wants. He’s not asking for us to wear pastel
tuxedos, folks. He just wants us to find
some coordinating outfits that match our present style.”
“Ergo, free
pictures for us,” Buffy added.
“Ergo, free flyers
for us,” Xander said, his smile teetering on the edge of maniacal.
“Less cost is
good,” Oz stated.
“I can’t argue
with that,” Angel sighed, “Since the Brewery closed, we’re in need of gigs and
cash.”
“And once they see
your pretty face, we’ll have the bars lining up for us, instead of the other
way around,” Xander said, locking an arm around Angel’s shoulders.
“So, who’s going
to do all this coordinating?” Oz asked. “I’m not seeing fashion experts here.”
“Oh, I think you
are,” Xander said, smile growing impossibly wider.
Spike was revolted
by the entire conversation, but nothing could have prepared him for what came
next. Xander turned his head slowly and
dramatically towards Buffy and blinked expectantly. Buffy looked left and right, then her
eyebrows zoomed up in pleasant comprehension.
“Oh, fashion
stuff,” she said brightly, “Yeah, I can help with that!”
“Look at the
Buffster’s selfless generosity,” Xander said, “I think she should be in charge
of all things coordinated.”
“I second!” Willow
said with a cheerful nod.
Spike gaped and
stuttered twice before managing, “I am not letting Princess Pink Pom Pom dress me!”
“What’s the
matter, Spikey? Afraid she might drag
you kicking and screaming into this decade?” Xander teased.
“Ha bloody ha,
Harris! More afraid she’ll put me in a
pair of your poofter Dockers.”
“No dockers,”
Buffy said firmly, “This is a rock band, not a chess club.”
“I resent that,”
Xander said.
“You resemble
that,” Oz corrected with a smirk.
After the laughter
died, Buffy shook her head and Spike bit his tongue. He just wanted to get the hell out of here so
he could take a swim in a bottle of whiskey.
If she wanted to coordinate, she could go right ahead. She wasn’t pushing him into wearing anything
he didn’t like. She wasn’t a terrible
dresser, he supposed. Sure, she still
had the French manicure and the little sweater sets, but today she was sporting
a denim skirt, paired with some hot little leather boots that made her petite
legs look a mile long.
And why, pray
tell, was he looking at her legs?
Spike jerked his
gaze away from Buffy’s thighs, almost throwing himself off balance in the
process. He tried to tune into the
conversation, but was distracted by Oz smirking in his direction. Before he could ask, Miss Leather Boots was
speaking and his eyes betrayed his will, settling on her like a target.
“You’re not
coming?” Buffy said, a pained expression fixed on
Angel. Since she had arrived with
“No, you all go
ahead. I’ve got some things to work on,”
he said and Buffy’s face dropped, her hands worrying
at the hem of her skirt.
The look on her
face had the rest of the band scattering from the circle to give them
privacy. Spike was still a little
distracted from trying to figure out how the conversation had ended, why Oz was
smiling, and what kind of underwear Buffy had on underneath that skirt. And where the hell were they supposed to be
going, by the way?
Angel and Buffy
were in front of the stage,
Angel moved
towards Buffy until his hands skimmed her thighs. Her bare, tanned thighs. Spike’s mind ticked out a very irritating
reminder at just how long it had been since he’d stroked his thumbs up a pair
of female legs.
“I thought it
would be nice to enjoy the afternoon together, an afternoon that ends in making
things up and chocolate feeding,” Buffy whispered hopefully, a baby’s pout
softening her features while her fingers ruffled his hair.
“I know, Baby, ” he said, pulling back a little more quickly than Spike
would have. If some other nameless
faceless girl had been fluffing with his hair, that is.
Buffy’s frown
showed the hard edge of anger as Angel continued, “I’m way behind on my lyrics
to the new song, but I think I’ve got something. I just need to get it on paper,” Angel said
and unnoticed across from them, Spike snorted. “You know how it is,” he
finished.
Buffy nodded, but
avoided his eyes.
“Hey,” Angel said
more softly, locking his arms behind her waist, “Chocolate is still
coming. Imminently, even.”
He kissed her and
gave her an expectant squeeze to which she offered a half-hearted smile, but
the hurt was clear in the green of her eyes.
Spike shook out his leather duster, trying to scatter his lingering
thoughts on Buffy’s legs and his irritation at Angel’s artistic bullshit. Neither one scattered, so he patted his
pockets for his cigarettes and lighter.
“Are you coming?” Buffy asked, and the change
in her tone made it perfectly clear he was the subject of her inquiry.
He looked up to
see Angel moving towards the door, patting Oz on the shoulder. The idiot was completely oblivious to his
girlfriend who was more than a bit brassed off.
Buffy hadn’t moved other than to turn in Spike’s direction. Which was a bit less than fair, yeah? Angel had made this mess, maybe he should
come back to clean it up.
Spike turned his
eyes on Buffy, catching her direct gaze for the first time all day. Her eyes wavered, but her arms were crossed
forcefully across her chest.
“Sure you don’t
want to run after your boy?” Spike smirked.
Her eyes narrowed
to dangerous slits, “I’m beginning to think I like you less by the day.”
“Your concern is
touching,” he retorted, “I didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t,” she
deadpanned and the ice in her gaze told him she wasn’t in the mood for joking.
Spike rolled his
eyes and exhaled loudly, “Where are you all off to?”
“Clothes
shopping. We need to figure out what
you’re all going to wear.”
“Just because I’m
a college drop-out does not mean I’m prone to taking fashion advice from
someone who thinks frosted lip gloss is a good idea,” Spike teased, and Buffy
pulled in a breath, ready to fire back.
But she
didn’t. His smirk fell away when he saw
the promise of tears glimmering in her stare.
Spike’s mouth softened and for a fraction of a second, he felt her pain
as if it were his own. It had been once,
hadn’t it? He knew what it was like to
be slowly forgotten, to slip away unnoticed from the one who loved you
most. And in that instant, his eyes
conveyed too much.
Buffy’s eyes
widened and Spike snapped his eyes away, his expression shifting to complete
disinterest.
“Are you going or
not, Spike?” she asked, back to her bitter, razor-sharp attitude and clearly
out of patience.
Spike smirked at
her quick change. A real firecracker,
that one. Of course, he wanted to
refuse, for show’s sake, but he knew he wouldn’t. The alternative to this little shopping trip
was a night alone with cable tele. And
as tempting as that might have been, it paled in comparison to walking around
with a brassed-off blonde in a pair of come-fuck-me
boots.
“Sure,” he breezed, “Not much else for a bloke
to do.”
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