TITLE: Interstitial Angel Ficlets AUTHOR: Katriena Knights RATING: PG13, innuendo SUMMARY: Bits to go in and around, after, before or during episodes. NOTES: This is a WIP. I don't normally post WIPs, but I didn't really see any other way to do this one, since it'll be going on for a while. SPOILERS: Mild for "Some Assembly Required." MORE FIC AND ART AT: http://www.bewellweb.com/dknights/fanfic.html ARCHIVE: Ask it nicely and it'll follow you anywhere. DISCLAIMER: Not mine, just playing. Angel had no idea why Cordelia had insisted he ride home with her. She seemed perfectly capable of handling the car--probably knew more about these new, fancy vehicles than he did. And there was no reason she should be in danger just driving home from the school. But as soon as she looped her arm through his, he felt a sinking sense of doom that told him he had no other choice. In spite of the smirk on Xander's face, and the hurt in Buffy's eyes, he was going to have to accompany Cordelia home. "I'm just so glad you're here to escort me, you know?" She turned to him, still hanging onto his arm, and smiled. That smile was killer, almost enough to make Angel smile back. "I mean, with the vampires and the ghouls and whatever--Buffy really attracts a bad crowd, you know what I mean?" They stepped out of the school, into the parking lot, and Angel hoped she might let go of him, but she just tucked his arm a little tighter against her and kept walking. "Not you, of course. You're not like those geeky freaks she hangs out with. You're..." She gave him a look of coy embarrassment that he knew was put on. "I mean, you're hot." "I'm...hot." He considered telling her he was actually ambient temperature, but something told him she wouldn't get that. "Yeah." She crinkled her nose. "And look at you, so adorable, don't even know it." Hard to judge your personal level of hotness, he thought, when you can't see yourself in a mirror. Though he must not be particularly ugly, considering how many women he'd managed to lure into dark alleys with a smile and an eyebrow twitch. He resisted the urge to ask what color his eyes were. He was pretty sure they were brown, but it had been a long time. She stopped next to the car and opened the door for him. "So, what's your story?" "My story?" With apparently no other option available, he got into the car. "Yeah. How come I haven't seen you around before?" She circled the car and got in on the driver's side. "I usually know all the hotties." Winking at him, she started the car. "I'm pretty new in town." Interesting, he thought, that she was coming on to him so hard, yet she wasn't the least bit aroused. Interesting and possibly a little insulting. "Really? So where did you live before?" "Los Angeles." The smile appeared again, cranked up a notch. She really was remarkably pretty. Good, slow heartbeat, like an athlete. O positive. A sweet, warm smell. She glanced toward him and their eyes met a moment, and, just for a second, that even, steady heartbeat stuttered. He smiled a little. "Oh!" she said, maintaining her outward composure. "You know Buffy from the LA days, then." "No." Her smile faded and she turned her attention back to the road. No fear, still. "So you two just met?" "Pretty much." "So you're not, like, steadies or anything." "No." He sucked his teeth. He had a sudden urge to grab her, tear into her throat. Talking to her--or, rather, listening to her talk--was a chore, but drinking her-- He studied her, taking her in, letting her smell fill his head. There it was, finally. Fear. A subtle waft of it, quickly quelled. And followed immediately by arousal. So, she liked the bad boys. Good to know. She laughed suddenly, almost nervously. "Here we go. Here's my house." She pulled into the driveway, parked, and turned to him with a look that oozed sex. These girls, none of them knew what they were playing with. "Silly me," she went on. "I guess now you're kind of stranded with all the oogly booglies out there in the dark. But I'm home safe, at least. You'll be okay, though, huh? You're a big guy, you can take care of yourself, right?" "I'll be fine." She got out of the car and he followed suit, watching her in the darkness. He had no idea if her bravado was the product of chutzpah, true courage, or plain stupidity. She tilted him a look over the top of the car, her bow-shaped mouth twitching toward hints of that devastating smile. "So, if you and Buffy aren't actually a couple, maybe you and I could get together some time." Old instincts took over--the smirk, the flirt, the look, all bait for the trap, and he leaned over the hood and caught her with that plus a quirk of one eyebrow. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She tilted her body into a blatant invitation. "Yeah, I think I would." Angel straightened, regarding her, sizing her up, then said quietly, "Maybe if you were nicer." He turned to go, and couldn't help smiling at the sound of her righteous indignation. Spike. Angel strode down the school corridors, hands shoved into his coat pockets, barely aware of where he was going. Spike. Spike was here, and if Spike was here, Dru wouldn't be far behind. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories. # "She'll not be able to teach you, William. I saw to that before I Turned her. She sees things none of us can see, but the present's not one of them. Her hunting ways can never be yours. I know this and so do you. So love her all you like, but remember what I can teach you, boy." Dark nights watching while Spike's lean, pale body claimed Dru's, watching him take what had belonged to Angel by Sire-right--but Angel had claimed Sire-right to Spike, and let him have Dru. He'd had little interest in Dru, after breaking and Turning her. He'd taken what he wanted from her as often as he'd wanted it, had taught her to like pain and humiliation. Once she was broken, she bored him, and he went back to Darla. "Are you done with her? Are you finished with leaving me here while you fuck your little piece of crazy artwork? You'll pay for this, Angelus. I'll make you bleed." And she had, and it had been very, very good. But now there was Spike. Spike who had come to them mewling and weak, but with some kind of fire in him that had come to the surface within weeks of having been Turned. Spike, who needed to be broken. As devoted as Spike was to Dru, it hadn't taken him long to realize Angel was right. She couldn't teach him. Her world was not a place where he could go, and she couldn't come out of the web of her fractured sanity to meet him where he was. "You teach me, then," he told Angel, his voice already dark and blunt, unlike the voice of the spurned poet Dru had found in the alleyway. "Of course." Indolent, smug, he let his gaze sweep Spike's lean form. "You're mine, then." "And you'll give over your right to Drusilla?" "I will." Spike nodded. Angel was certain the once-timorous poet had no idea what exactly he'd just agreed to. He found out that night, when Angel came to his bed. "You've given over Sire-right to me," Angel told him, as he tied Spike's wrists to the bedpost. "You're mine now, every bit of you." He ripped Spike's shirt open and examined the smooth flesh. Licked his chest, his throat, his face. "Tomorrow, I teach you to hunt. Tonight--" He bared his fangs. "Tonight I teach you to bleed." But Spike had never broken. As Angel had never completely yielded to Darla's ownership, Spike never completely yielded to Angel's. It became a game--how far could Angel push him before Spike's temper snapped, how much could Angel force upon him before Spike responded with unacceptable violence. How many days could Angel spend in Spike's bed before Darla brutally reclaimed him as her own. A game, and finally a frustration, until the play ended at the hands of an enraged gypsy elder. # Spike had taken two Slayers. He wouldn't easily pass up the opportunity for a third. Technically, Angel still owned him. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. He hoped he could. Otherwise, he didn't hold out much hope for Buffy's chances of coming out of this alive. END.