a.connor  a.doyle  a.lindsey  a.oz  a.spike  a.wesley  a.xander  a.other  three.somes  het.fic  character.study           
Title: Killing the Messenger
Author: Jackie Thomas
Pairing: A/Doyle
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Takes place before 'Heroes' and after 'IWRY'


There was nothing happening on this corner. Nothing had happened and, I was
now certain, nothing was going to happen. It was just a liquor store doing
a little evening business on a corner where a residential street met a main
street. Doyle had seen it as clear as anything in his vision. He had been
given the two street names and the name of the store right before he lost
consciousness. I was sitting here staring at it with nothing to do and
Doyle could be dead.

It was the third time in two days that Doyle had received a false vision.
The first time was yesterday morning when, in the usual way of things, he
had been overtaken by a sudden, searing headache and been shown the location
of a downtown office block. Normally he got more detail than that, a name
or a taste of the danger that would meet us, but we headed there anyway. We
spent the best part of the day talking to people and keeping watch before
giving up and going back to the office worried that we had missed something.
Doyle, going over and over the vision for some small detail that he might
have failed to see the significance of.

The second time was a few hours later in the early evening. Doyle had been
wandering across the office with a coffee. "Jesus H, not again," he had
said, a familiar tension in his voice.

The coffee cup clattered to the floor and he doubled up with a fist against
his forehead. With Cordelia on one side and me on the other, we got him on
to the couch. And when the waves of pain subsided he said he had received a
vision of a beach. But that was it, there was no detail to show us which
beach to go to and no indication of what or where the problem might be.
Hopeless. Doyle and I drove miles along the coast that night until just
before sunrise but we didn't come up with anything.

I couldn't understand what was happening but convinced myself the PTB would
sort out whatever was wrong. Just as if Doyle was a TV needing retuning.
It was stupid and complacent of me.

But we had got through the whole of today without any problems, without
anything happening at all in fact. When it got to around sunset Cordelia
had said something really cutting about nothing coming in on 'radio loser'
and it seemed like a good moment to quit for the day. That was when it
happened.

This time he was knocked clear off his feet. I heard a curse and turned to
see him down on his knees, the colour drained out of him and he held his
head with both hands. I sank down with him holding him by the shoulders as
he fought against the pain of the attack. Then he gave me the address of
the liquor store before his eyes closed and he passed out.

His body was still and lifeless as I picked him up and laid him down on the
couch and for a moment, before I sensed the quickened pulse of his blood, I
thought he was dead. Judging by the small, horrified cry that escaped her,
Cordelia did too, but then we saw him flinch as he fought against
unconsciousness.

"You go," she said, because she knew I had to. No matter how pointless I
now believed it was going to be. "I'm calling 911, I'll phone you."

And that was three long hours ago. Hours that I had spent trying to figure
out what was going on, what might be doing this, trying to work out if there
was any significance to the three locations, any connection between them.
Anything.

Finally my cell phone rang. It was Cordelia from the hospital. She sounded
tired and angry.

"Angel. Did you find anything?" She asked.

"Nothing. How's Doyle?"

"He came round after you left, with one hell of a headache. They did all
kinds of tests and gave him some stupid painkillers. They say it's a
migraine. As if. " Cordelia was evidently not impressed by the diagnosis
but I was not surprised. I didn't think this was the type of condition that
would show up on a scan. "Angel, can you come and pick us up? They say he
can go home."

When I reached the hospital I found Cordelia and Doyle waiting in the
Emergency Room. Cordelia looked out for me in the crowded reception area
leaning against the white-painted wall absently gathering and separating the
ends of her long dark hair. Doyle was sitting on the floor beside her, his
knees drawn up, his head in his hands. I crouched down in front of him and
when I said his name he looked up.

Sometimes I believe that Doyle's demon side shows through in his eyes. I've
never been able to figure out what colour they are, shimmering like the sea
through all the shades of blue and green and icy grey. When he met my gaze
and half-smiled I was captured just for a moment in trying to read their
expression, suggested but submerged at impossible depths.

"How's your head?" I said finally.

"Fine once I get the axe-blade out of it." It had to hurt a lot for Doyle
to make that kind of admission. "So another false alarm was it?"

"Forget about it, we'll figure it out. Lets go." And I helped him to stand
with a hand at his arm.

"So why are they doing this?" Cordelia demanded as we drove home.

"Who?"

"The PTB."

"Them? I hadn't figured it was them."

"Then they should be stopping it." She said firmly. It was something to
think about.

I dropped Cordelia off first and then parked in the lot below Doyle's
apartment.

"I'm fine Angel, you go home," he said but he was unsteady as we took the
stairs and when we reached his one room place he immediately lay down on the
bed stopping only to take off his shoes and jacket. I went to get him a
glass of water but by the time I got back he had slipped into a deep sleep.

I got a chair and placed it by his bed. I had decided that I wasn't going
to let him out of my sight tonight. The attacks (for that's what I believed
them to be) were becoming frequent and more violent and whilst there wasn't
much I could do against them at least he wouldn't have to go through them
alone.

I also was beginning to wonder how much longer he would be able to withstand
the onslaughts. How many more attacks before he died? He was weakening
very quickly and I didn't think it would take many more. Worse I was no
nearer to finding out where they were coming from.

All manner of beings could theoretically be responsible, another demon for a
start, or a spirit, even a human with supernatural powers. But it didn't
make any sense, there were far easier ways to kill Doyle without going to
the effort of a psychic assault. And also what would be the point? Apart
from the crimes against fashion that Cordelia accused him of, the worst he
ever did was have a few drinks too many and build up some unwise debts.
Anyone who objected to his seer gift must know that if he could not carry
out his role for any reason another would immediately replace him.

I realised that the first thing I had to do was establish the source of the
attack, only then could I fight it. I made up my mind what we had to do
next and having come to a decision I began to relax. I hadn't intended to,
but at ease with Doyle's slow breaths and earthy demon scent I eventually
slept.

I woke mid-morning, sensing the sun bright outside. Doyle was sitting on
the edge of his bed sleepily running fingers through short black hair and
watching me with his solemn eyes.

"Angel," he said. "Have you been here all night?"

When I shrugged in reply Doyle frowned.

"You think I'm really sick then?"

"No, I think you're under attack from something."

He absently pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead while gazing
speculatively at a bottle of whisky on the table. "Any ideas from what?"

I shook my head. "No. But we need to go to Sunnydale."

He raised his eyebrows. "Ah. A holiday in the Hellmouth? That ought to do
the trick."

Like Sunnydale High students he often spoke in opposites. I sometimes had
to stop and translate. Old guy.

"There are people there who can help. At least to find out what's going
on." He nodded and I said. "We should go straight away, as soon as you're
ready."

But then with a sharp noiseless gasp he was struck again. His head jerked
back and he passed immediately into unconscious, I caught him as he fell and
lowered him to the floor supporting him with an arm around his shoulders.
He was alive but barely so and he was fighting. I called his name but could
get no response. I held him for many minutes convinced that he would never
regain consciousness, convinced that he would die in my arms and there would
be nothing I could do to help him.

"Doyle, please wake up, please."

Eventually he won the fight. His eyes opened and he made an attempt to sit
up. "I couldn't see anything, it was just a blur," he said urgently.

"Take it easy, its OK. There isn't anything to see." And he closed his
eyes, laying back wearily against my shoulder.

"Jesus," he murmured after a moment. "That was a good one. I think I'll
have a brain haemorrhage to ease the pain a bit."

He was pale and literally trembling when we left the apartment. He was not
really in a condition to travel and it was possibly the scariest road trip
of my life, watching the road twisting endlessly out in front but with my
mind on Doyle, stretched out in the back slipping in and out of
consciousness.

The mansion was cold and in darkness when we arrived, the air heavy with the
smell of disuse, the furniture sprinkled with dust. Doyle crumpled onto the
couch as soon as we arrived and I started lighting candles and finding
sheets for the bed.

"You should lie down and rest for a while," I said when the bed was ready.
I helped him to stand and he leaned heavily against me as we walked to the
bedroom, all of his energy used up. I sat him on the bed and quickly
undressed him leaving him in his underwear and the long sleeved grey Tshirt
that he wore under his shirt. He stopped me with his hand on mine as I laid
him down.

"Angel, I don't think I'm going to last much longer. I think I'm dying."

"No you're not. Doyle listen to me.I'm getting help for you." The urgency
and panic was in my voice not his. I didn't know why I wasn't keeping my
cool. He shook his head.

"That last attack, that was the killer. I can feel it." He was looking at
me now with still startling eyes. It was as if he wanted to say something
but wasn't sure if he could. Finally he said quietly. "Please don't leave
me alone."

"I won't. Just take it easy. You're going to be fine." I covered him with
a sheet and then, taking the phone from my pocket, I quickly took off my
coat and shoes and, only briefly wondering that I should do such a thing,
got into the bed with him. I drew him into my arms and he looked
questioningly at me. But then he allowed his eyes to sink shut and he
rested his head against my shoulder. I wasn't really used to the intimacy
but I let my hand wander through his hair and down his back in a way that I
hoped would be soothing and eventually he did seem to relax.

Freeing one of my arms I flipped open my phone and dialled Giles' number.
There was no answer so I tried Buffy and Willow's. There was no answer
there either but I left a message for them to urgently come to the mansion
as I needed their help and for Willow to bring some of her magical
equipment. It was only then that I realised I would be seeing Buffy again.

I held Doyle again and I listened as his breathing slowed into sleep and
suddenly remembered the day that I became human and I had held Buffy in just
this way. I hadn't believed that I could feel as close to anyone as I felt
to her at that moment and I had marvelled at it. I had thought of the long
years of loneliness, watching the lives of others pass in what seemed like
the time span of a sparkling, flashing and fading firework. For countless
years I had felt myself so far removed from humanity that nothing could ever
come close to me. But Buffy had covered the distance without effort.

And here. Now. Doyle. So close to me that I could almost believe that his
steady heartbeat was my own and the warmth from his body came from my body.
That he was transforming me into a human again.

Then that memory of Buffy melted away and I suddenly recalled the moment on
the same day when I had come back to the office after first being changed
back. Doyle had looked into my eyes in that unsettling way he had, seeming
to see in them my fragile soul still in tact, and had whispered 'he's alive'
. It was only when he had taken my hand in his to feel my newborn pulse
that I had truly believed in what was happening.

Since then I had lost Buffy, I had lost my life, I had even lost that day.
Was I now also to lose Doyle? The person who, I began to understand, was
starting to occupy the deserted places?

A long hour passed and I must have drifted into a light sleep because I didn
't hear Buffy and Willow come in. When I opened my eyes, finally aware of
their presence, I saw them standing side by side, their arms folded, their
heads tilted slightly and eyebrows raised in identical expressions of
surprise. One face, Willow's, seemed to be amused at something, the other
face, Buffy's, was not at all amused.

"Hey Angel," Willow said brightly.

I eased Doyle out of my embrace, making him comfortable on the pillow,
disturbing his sleep only a little. Then I went out into the living room
with the girls.

I explained as much as I could about the situation and that I needed two
things from Willow. Firstly a protection spell to lessen the effects of the
attacks and secondly, and I knew this would be more difficult, I wanted to
perform an invocation to force whatever was doing this to reveal itself.

"I can do the protection spell straight away," she said opening her bag and
spreading ingredients and equipment across the table. "That's easy, that's
just, you know, zap zap zap." She smiled shyly. "I can do the other one too.
Giles is out of town but I'll need one of his books and a heap of
ingredients."

She went to work on the protection spell leaving Buffy and me staring at
each other. "What's going on Angel?" she asked, her eyes hardening.

"What do you mean?" I didn't understand what had upset her, though
something evidently had.

She didn't reply just looked at me critically and then, as if abandoning the
sentence on the tip of her tongue, she shook her head and walked away
saying. "Nothing's wrong with me, what could be wrong with me?" Talking in
opposites.

It wasn't the time to deal with this, whatever it was, and I went back to
check on Doyle. His breathing had become laboured and his skin had taken on
a damp pallor, a sign that death was near. I sat beside him and laid my
hand over his, which helped him not at all, and me a little.

Soon Buffy and Willow came into the bedroom and Willow took my place next to
Doyle. She began speaking some familiar words of power and blessing as she
brushed a soothing hand across Doyle's forehead. He shifted slightly but
did not wake. She had prepared a small wooden carved charm on a piece of
leather string which she tied around his neck. Then she took his hand and
began the spell. She sought protection for him from the heavens, from the
earth, from plants, from the air, from the past and from the future and from
every direction. She spoke the words with such quiet assurance, all the
while gently stroking his hair, that for the first time I allowed myself to
believe that Doyle might be saved.

Finally she placed the charm so that it lay over Doyle's heart. She leant
to kiss Doyle's cheek, then turned to Buffy and me and said in her cheerful
way, "That oughta do it. But he'll sleep for a while yet."

We watched Doyle and we saw his body relax and heard his breathing ease
almost immediately. Buffy put her arm around Willow,

"You work some wicked Wicca Will," she said proudly.

Buffy left immediately to collect the things that Willow needed for the
invocation ritual and when she returned we both worked under her
instructions to prepare the spell. It was intricate work marshalling all
the symbols, magical oils, candles and incense that seemed to be necessary.
It was frustratingly slow going, as Willow had to say blessings and
consecrations at each stage.

We were chalking the magical circle and all its words and signs on to the
floor in front of the fireplace when we noticed Doyle had come out of the
bedroom. He had put on his jeans and shoes and was watching us, his arms
folded across his chest.

"Did I dream it or were you all praying over me?" he asked, fingering the
charm.

"It was Willow," Buffy said. "She does Black Arts with a hint of auburn."

"It's a charm for protection," Willow said. "Its kind of only temporary,
but it ought to hold for a while." She sat back on her heels to assess her
work. "How do you feel?"

"Well, only about twenty thousand times better," Doyle replied.

"That's because I added my own head-healing spell. Like added aspirin," she
was obviously delighted.

"Well you get my vote for Witch of the Year and a lifetime supply of
broomsticks. Thank you."

Willow and Doyle. Nice person to nice person communication.

I found myself smiling as well. Doyle was still pale and obviously in pain
but he was up and talking and the light had come back into his eyes. He
caught my smile and returned it.

"Hey you guys, back to work," Buffy said quickly but without looking at any
of us.

It seemed a long time later when Willow finally looked up from her
meditation and said, "I'm ready".

She lit a candle under the oils in the centre of the circle and placed us
around it; Doyle next to her, then me, then Buffy. She asked us to link
hands and suddenly I could feel the power coming up from the four of us.
From Buffy, with all her mixtures of strength and vulnerability, from Willow
and Doyle, with their channels to the unknown and their heroes' hearts and
from me, because fear has its own power. Willow flung incense into the
fireplace and began speaking.

"The incantation commands whatever force is attacking Doyle to reveal
itself," she said. "How successful it will be depends on how strong its
power is. It may appear, it may speak, or it might speak through me. I
hate that one."

"Go for it," Buffy said. "Magic up something for me to kill." The Slayer.

Lit by only a few candles and scented with burning offerings the room was
already suffused with magic when Willow began to cast her spell. It was a
long incantation spoken with the murmured lyricism of a prayer and it took
me unexpectedly back to my childhood when the nuns in incense filled chapels
would whisper their rosaries for hours on end seeking intercession,
protection and revelation.

But this was not a prayer and this was not a church. After some time
passed, I couldn't say how long, Willow's head jerked back and her eyes
opened. I could see immediately that she had passed into a trance and that
there was something other than her behind her eyes. The force of the magic
in the circle held strong but I could sense that whatever was possessing
Willow was immensely powerful.

She began to silently move her lips, seeming to receive a message that only
she could hear. Then with a gasp she came out of the trance and shouted.

"No, don't!"

At that moment Doyle pitched forward. His heartbeat, which I had spent the
day focussing on, suddenly stopped and he was lying dead in front of me. I
pulled him out of the circle and I heard a voice, which must have been mine,
shout "Willow help him."

Willow came forward, suddenly utterly transformed in her appearance as if
she were lit and made electric by her magic. She pressed her hand to Doyle'
s forehead as his body lay in my arms and began speaking a spell in an
ancient Semitic language, her voice more command than supplication. When
she finished speaking all was silent for a moment and then Doyle's heart
resumed beating, his blood pulsing through his veins, his lungs gasped in
air and his eyes opened. He blinked up at me in confusion and said,
"Angel?" Willow fell back against Buffy exhausted. She had brought him
back from the dead.

I held Doyle against me, needing the reassurance from the sound of his heart
and the warmth of his breath that he continued to live. In a sudden gesture
of surrender he buried his head in my shoulder and put his arms around my
neck. We clung to each other until I was convinced that he was going to
stay alive for at least a little while longer and then he sat back against
the wall and closed his eyes. He seemed fragile and unprotected there and
it was all I could do not to take him back into my arms. But I knew I
still had work to do.

Willow was looking at her hand in amazement. "Wow. Who knew that one would
work?" she said.

She finished the spell off with commands and blessings and by obliterating
the circle. Then she nervously pushed her hair back behind her ear and
said. "I found out what you wanted to know and I guess this isn't over."
She looked at her fingernails, suddenly uncomfortable with what she had to
say. "The attacks are coming from the Powers That Be, they're trying to
kill Doyle."

"The PTB. What'd I ever do to them?" Doyle complained.

"Well they weren't too happy about being questioned I can tell you. That's
why they just killed you, they don't think they have to explain themselves."
She paused. "But they did though, I made them. I was like, 'I command you.
' and they were like 'no way.' and I..."

"Will.focus babe..." Buffy said encouragingly.

"Right, right," Willow again became deeply uncomfortable. She looked at me.
"You remember Angel when you and Buffy. when you and Buffy."

"Had the sex?" Buffy prompted.

"Yes exactly. And Angel went all evil. The Powers say that couldn't be
prevented, no one knew it was going to happen. They say that they must do
everything in their power to ensure that it won't happen again. To ensure
that a warrior for the cause isn't sacrificed to evil again."

I was confused now. "Buffy and I don't even see each other, how could it
happen again?"

Willow looked at me, her expression softening. "They say that you are in
love with Doyle and that Doyle is in love with you and they think that's how
it will happen again. Not just because of..of 'it'.. but because there is
the potential for true happiness."

The ensuing silence was broken only by a low, horrified groan from Doyle and
by Buffy murmuring cattily, "oh yeah, big surprise".

I looked at Willow in disbelief but she pressed on. "A warrior with your
strength is irreplaceable but a messenger is expendable. They are killing
Doyle as the only way to prevent the cataclysm happening again. They're
doing it this way because if they tried any other you might be able to
protect him or get killed in trying."

"But I'm not.we're not." then I shut up and a few things settled in place in
my Neanderthal brain. I looked over at Doyle and he lowered his hands from
where they had been shielding his eyes from the shadowy light. "Are we?"
His eyes darted over to meet Buffy's implacable green gaze.

"Can we maybe talk about this later?" he said miserably.

But he was slipping away again and I wasn't sure there was going to be a
later. I reflected briefly on what I had learned. Apart from anything else
I found that I wasn't surprised that this was my fault, that I had brought
this threat to Doyle. I should have guessed. But at least now I knew what
to do.

"I'm going to see the Oracles," I said. "I need to communicate with the
Powers." I put my hand on Doyle's shoulder. "Do I get to the Oracles in
the same way as in LA?"

"Yeah," he said with a small smile. "Get me a couple of stamps whilst you're
there, will you."

"Just hold on for me for a little while, Doyle. It's going to be fine."

I gained access to the Oracles from memory of the ritual I had seen Doyle
perform once before and when I faced them I lost another watch through again
forgetting to bring a tribute.

"Why have you come here again?" the golden creatures demanded. "Come here
when the intentions of the Powers have been made plain to you."

"Because I want to make something plain to them." I was calm now because I
knew my enemy and how to defeat it. "I want them to know that if one hair
of Doyle's head is harmed by them they will most certainly lose me as a
warrior. I will stand outside to greet the very next sunrise and it will be
the end for me."

Whether I would have actually done this I don't know but as I spoke the
words I truly meant them. There seemed to be a moment of hesitation on the
part of the Oracles before one of them spoke.

"The Powers see that you speak from your heart. They concede and you win
the messenger's life. They beg you though to know that the messenger's love
for you is strong. As strong as your love for him. They beg that you
remember the risk that you put yourself in."

As if I could ever forget.

With that I was flung back through the gateway, landing on the floor in a
cold corridor. I didn't move, seeking a moment of stillness to adjust to
what had happened. I had saved Doyle and the immediate danger had passed.
Now I had to go back and face him and Buffy. This was an infinitely
terrifying thought.

I closed my eyes and remembered the times I had shared cool star-filled
nights in Sunnydale cemeteries with Buffy, when the white blonde of her
strawberry scented hair had mingled with mine, when all I ever wanted to
hear was the bright, sweetness of her voice in my ear.

These times were immeasurably precious to me, they were times that could
never return and I had arranged my life so that it couldn't happen again. I
had arranged my life so that I would be alone when night fell and I would
watch Los Angeles glimmer in the darkness, arranged it so that there would
be no one to close the blinds when I walked into a sunlit room, arranged it
so that there would be no one seeking safety and comfort in my arms. But I
hadn't arranged it particularly well. I realised, belatedly that, as
easily as a leaf falling from a tree, scarcely noticing it was happening, I
had fallen in love with Doyle. The realisation sent such a wave of peace
through me that I almost gave up my soul there and then.

But there it must end, it must never be recognised, must never be admitted
because if it was I would have to go away again. I didn't want to go away.

When I reached the mansion a tranquil scene greeted me. Doyle was restored
to his old self, all traces of the pain that had almost destroyed him gone.
He looked up and his eyes burned into me but he didn't speak. He was
playing cards with Willow while Buffy watched, her head resting on her arms.
When she saw me she slipped out of her seat and came over to me, she took my
hand.

"Is everything OK now Angel?" she asked with soft smile.

"Yeah, it is."

"Doyle's teaching Willow how to cheat at poker. Which I think is a fair
exchange for doing that Lazarus thing." She looked down at my hand, enclosed
in hers. "I'm sorry I've been a brat." When I tried to speak she stopped
me. "We both know that you left Sunnydale because you loved me. It was
just kind of a shock to see you with someone else. But it isn't fair of me
to expect you to stay always alone."

"Buffy."

"I'm still jealous as hell," she said, rambling on good-naturedly. "I mean
he's not as cute as me. Obviously. But he's got that half-demon,
half-abandoned-puppy vibe going for him and an excellent shirt. But, you
know, I can't help but like him. And I like you and him and." here she
faltered ".you know he's a guy, right?"

"Buffy." I touched the silk of her hair for a last time. "I'm still cursed,
there can't be anything more than friendship between Doyle and me."

"Oh no," she said. "There's far more than friendship between you."

Buffy and Willow left soon afterwards leaving Doyle and me alone. I asked
him how he was.

"I could use a drink but otherwise fine." He wandered off to look for his
shirt and I watched him dress, it was an excellent shirt, pink, green,
indescribable. I suddenly wanted to run my tongue along the skin of his
throat until I found the life beneath the surface. Doyle looked at me
curiously. "What happened with the Oracles?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Angel?"

"I told them I'd die rather than."

He stared. "They would know if you were lying."

"I wasn't lying, Doyle. I'm not going to have any more deaths on my hands.
Especially not yours." I stood stupidly in the middle of the room looking at
my presently death-free hands. "Especially not yours." I looked at the
charm still hanging around his neck. It reminded me of the damage that
could be visited on anyone who got close to me.

"This wasn't your fault Angel," he said, unravelling me with his beautiful
gaze. "I should have.I should have been more careful with you."

But he wouldn't have been able to stop me falling in love with him, that was
one thing not in his power.

I had easily given up two chances at having daytimes recently and at least
now I knew why. I would rather look at one of his shirts than at twenty
sunsets. I must have said this out loud because he smiled and echoed the
words he had said just before I crushed the ring of Amarra "Its spectacular
I know. But I do promise there will be another one exactly like it
tomorrow."

He carelessly offered me a promise of tomorrows. The potential for true
happiness. Again. What were the chances of that? I closed my eyes.

"Doyle, what are we going to do?" When I opened them he was facing me. It
seemed as though it was going to be one of those moments when everything
that we knew fell apart and pieced itself together in a different
arrangement. But then it wasn't.

"Do?" said Doyle. "There's nothing to do." He took a step toward me and
took my hand as Buffy had just done. He continued in a low and even voice.
"There's obviously been a mistake, a misunderstanding. There was this one
time I was talking to Cordelia and I said that I was attracted to you but it
was just a joke." Doyle spoke with longing in his voice but in opposites so
an old guy would understand.

He took a step closer to me, suddenly the scents of sex mingled with all his
others set me alight. He touched my face with his free hand. "That must
have shook up the PTB but it was just kidding around. We all know that in
our little ensemble piece its Cordelia who's my love interest and Buffy
who's yours."

He cupped his hand around my head bringing it closer to his and kissed me.
At first a tentative brush against my lips, then a slow exploration, it
became harder and faster. I pulled him against me and kissed him back,
until I tasted his blood, as he devoured me with his lips and tongue and
teeth. It seemed to go on for hours but then the kiss ended as it had
started tenderly, gently then not there at all. I held him tightly, his
head pressed to my chest, my hands through his hair and he held me. I
couldn't bring myself to let go, because I knew that once I did, it would be
the end of our love affair. That it was impossibly dangerous to touch
again, even to speak of it.

"So there isn't anything more to be said or done," he said pulling away from
me, his skin flushed his breaths rapid. His demon eyes locked on mine and
I finally understood the strange expressiveness in them. But the only thing
I couldn't believe in was the promise of tomorrows.

-END

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