Rating: NC-17. Too bad that younger folks aren’t allowed to read this. It might be educational.
Characters: B/A
Spoilers: None. This is a PWP, which means it has nothing whatsoever to do with any storyline in any universe, canon or AU.
Summary: Buffy and Angel have a quick bit of fun before going out on patrol.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters. This and other fanfic stories are just my attempt to nurse them back to health.
Notes: I set out wanting to write a piece of fluffy B/A smut, but it just wouldn’t come together. Finally, I decided to post it "as is" and make a game out of it. Can you find all of the problems with this fic?

The "Find Thirteen Things Wrong With It" B/A PWP
By Matt

"Angel!" Buffy called as she burst into the mansion on Crawford Street. No answer. "Angel!" She called again. Silence. "Oh, damn it," she growled, striding to the foot of the stairs. "Angel!" She bellowed.

She had power-walked over from UC Sunnydale in the hopes of getting an early patrol in and then getting to her mountain of homework. Instead, she got here and found him asleep. "Lazy bastard," she growled, not without a certain grouchy affection. She knew she wasn’t really being fair, but she couldn’t help it. Her nerves were pulled as tight as Giles’ guitar strings.

She heard a thump upstairs, followed by several staggering footsteps and a sleep-slurred voice calling " ‘m up, ‘m up…’m awake…whatisit?"

"I need to get done early tonight!" She called back. "Get dressed and come on!"

"Okay, okay…" He mumbled, and then the footsteps returned to the bedroom.

Buffy began to pace. She was being totally unfair and she knew it, but she just couldn’t stop herself. She was completely stressed. Winter Break started in two weeks, which was good. Unfortunately, that meant that next week was Finals, which was bad, and that all of the big projects and papers were coming due this week, which was even worse.

Still, she thought. I shouldn’t take it out on Angel, not for sleeping. He’s only been…whatever he is now…for a little over a year. After nearly 250 years of sleeping all day, you can hardly hold afternoon naps against him.

She paused in her pacing, a grin on her face. Whenever she needed a chuckle, all she needed to do was think of that phone call.


"Hello. Summers residence."

"Hello? Buffy?"


"Yes. I…er, I’ve called to ask you a, um, favor…on Angel’s behalf." He added the last part quickly, emphasizing it, as if he was afraid she would hang up if she thought he was asking for help himself.

"Is he in trouble?"

"No. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just that the Powers That Be prefer giving us instruction on how to make our own miracles, rather than do it for us."

"Feel free to start making sense any time now, Wes."

"Oh! I’m sorry, I was just…the reason I’ve called is, well…we’ve found a cure for Angel."

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. "A cure for his curse?"

"A cure for his vampirism."

Buffy’s knees unlocked and she sat down hard on the couch. She didn’t hear much of the next few things Wesley said. Something about a potion made from Mohra demon blood, plus a few extra ingredients to avoid "the setbacks associated with simply using the blood to restore Angel’s mortality"—such as the loss of his various superpowers. That was okay, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have understood it anyway.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked numbly.

"The, uh, potion requires, well…a few drops of your, um, blood."

"No problem," she said, rising decisively to her feet. "I’ll be there in about two hours—do I need to bring a special knife or anything?"

"No, um, actually you don’t have to bring a knife at all."

Wesley was stammering like Early Giles on a bad day, and she could almost feel him blushing through the phone. "Wesley, is there something you’re not telling me?" she asked suspiciously.

"No, it’s just that…the, uh, potion calls for the, um, blood that…bestows life, not the blood that sustains it."

It took Buffy a moment to figure that out. When she did, she started to blush, too. "Oh," she said in a tiny, embarrassed voice. Then she switched gears back to businesslike. This was something that Angel needed. "Okay. It just so happens that it’s that time of the month for me, so—"

"He was fairly sure it would be."

"Excuse me?" Buffy demanded.

Meanwhile, a familiar voice in the background at the other end of the line hissed "Wesley! Shut up!"



Turned out that Angel had gotten to know her clockwork-regular cycle pretty well back in the day. Vampires’ senses are enhanced, after all, and what they smell best of all is blood. It made her wonder how close he had come to crazy back in high school, hanging out with her, Willow, and Cordelia all the time—and even Faith, for a while. Still, it was kinda creepy how he could remember all this time later.

Anyway, the potion had worked. Angel became human, but he kept his strength, his senses, his regenerative powers—he could even still manifest his game face for a good scare and some nice sharp pointies to use in a fight.

He’d moved back to Sunnydale about a minute later, she moved in with him thirty seconds after that, and they’d been deliriously happy ever since.

Well, deliriously happy on the whole. No one can be deliriously happy all time. Right now was a case in point. She was tired, tense, anxious, irritable, and—

A pair of big hands slipped around her from behind and cupped her breasts. "Hello, lover," Angel purred. Then he bent his still bed-tousled head and began nibbling on her ear.

--and Angel tended to wake up horny. Great. Actually, it usually was great. But not today.

"Angel, no," she groaned.

"No?" He stroked his hands down her flanks and began to chew on her neck.

"No," she answered firmly, taking hold of his hands and removing them from her waist. "I am homework-burdened, test-stressed, and thirty-one other flavors of Not In the Mood."

Buffy couldn’t see Angel’s face, but she didn’t need to. She knew that it had fallen when she’d said that. He’d told her once that she had a whole spectrum of "no". Sometimes no meant "maybe—convince me", or "ask again later". But other times—like now—‘no’ meant "give it up right now, because any further attempts at seduction will just annoy me". Sometimes finer shadings toward the ‘maybe’ end of the spectrum could get confusing, but there was never any mistaking when no meant no.

There was a moment of silence. When Angel finally broke that silence, his seductive purr was gone and his voice was imploring: "Please?"

Buffy sighed. She knew that he’d recognized her tone, or else he would have continued groping her. He must really be hurting to ask again.

"I’ll make it worth your while," he promised, the purr edging back into his voice.

Buffy turned on him sharply and held up a warning finger. "Just so we’re clear, ‘making it worth my while’ doesn’t mean more sex later. It means helping me with my homework and giving me a full-body rub. A relaxing one."

Angel nodded. "Done."

Buffy held up her warning finger for a moment longer, fixing him with a suspicious eye, making sure he knew she meant business. It lasted long enough for him to start raising his hands up into plain sight.

Satisfied, she turned around, took a few steps, and bent over the back of the couch, planting her hands on the seat cushions to support herself. "Okay," she said. "Go ahead."

"Thank you," Angel breathed. While he usually might have stood a moment to enjoy the view, this time he hurried right over. Best not to give her time to change her mind.

As Angel began to undo her pants, Buffy gave a moment’s silent thanks for Depo-Provera. They had gone through a lot of condoms in the early days, but after a day of nausea caused by the Morning After Pill following a night where one of them broke, they’d decided to switch methods. They’d found their options somewhat limited: the Pill or (especially!) the Mini-pill required too much memory, considering the stressful lives they led; and Norplant or the Patch could conceivably be clawed away. Thus, the Shot.

Then her reverie was broken by Angel pulling her jeans and panties to her ankles in one smooth motion. Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He was good at this. Better be, for two hundred fifty years’ practice—of course, most of that practice had involved skirts…

While she was thinking this, she shifted her weight forward to her hands—her ankles were completely hobbled, and depending on them now would leave her off-balance—and raised her rump further into the air, presenting it for him. She knew that making herself almost completely helpless and open like this turned the Alpha male in him on immensely. Which was what she was trying to do.

It seemed to work. She heard a rustling behind her—Angel was still in his boxers, so undressing didn’t take much—and then the blunt tip of his cock was pressing hard against her lower lips, trying to find its way in.

"Ow!" She yelped. She didn’t say ‘Not yet, you clod!’ Not quite yet. If she had to say that, if he kept pressing, then they were done for the evening. She wasn’t as tight as she’d once been (how could she be, after a year of almost-daily sex with Angel?), but she was dry and closed. He couldn’t get in when she was like that—not without hurting her.

She didn’t have to say it. Angel backed away immediately. "Sorry, sorry—wasn’t thinking." he murmured. "What with the half-asleep and the horny and—I’m sorry. You want me to go get some lube?"

"No, that’s okay. Just—"


She heard a soft thump as he knelt on the carpet behind her.

She knew what was coming, but she still couldn’t hold in a gasp when he took hold of her thighs and buried his face in her cunt.

Angel was one of the few men that Buffy had heard of who genuinely enjoyed going down on a woman. And considering the "locker room" talks she’d had with Faith and even (one surprising afternoon when no one else had been in the library) Cordelia, that was quite a few men. In her own experience, Parker had flatly refused. Riley had been willing enough, but it was clear that he was doing it for her benefit. Which was fair enough, since blowjobs were for his. But Angel loved what he was doing. While eating her out, he made "mmm-ing" noises, like a man enjoying a good meal. Come to think of it, hadn’t he once said something about "how much better everything tastes when you’re alive"?

Then her thoughts started to grow fuzzy around the edges. After licking her lips a few times to ease his way, he’d pushed on, rubbing against her with his nose while lapping at her clit.

He was good. Even if he’d just had his enthusiasm going for him, he would have been good. But the man had skillz, too. Oh, he was good. He was gooooooddd…

Buffy could feel herself starting to melt. Starting. But as stressed as she was, it would take forever for her to get off. And Angel would keep going until she did, unless she told him otherwise. Considerate as that was, she didn’t have all night. Besides, all the blood was starting to rush to her head.

"It’s okay, honey, that’s enough—I’m wet enough," she said.

He paused, then raised his face up out of her. "Are you sure?"

"I’m sure," she purred. "Come on in. The me is fine." She swayed her ass at him seductively—not entirely easy, seeing as how her feet were hovering an inch off the floor with the way he was holding her.

Angel didn’t need to be told twice. Buffy heard a bit of shuffling about behind her as Angel rose to his feet, then his big hands settled on her waist, and he once again fit tip to lips.

He slid into her much more carefully this time, and Buffy couldn’t hold in a soft moan, matched by a much louder one from Angel. She was still a little dry, just enough for the extra friction to pull on both of them delightfully. Angel stroked into her slowly and gently until he was sure that she was warmed the rest of the way up—it didn’t take long—and then he started to thrust in earnest.

Buffy let him. She couldn’t really do much else—she’d tried to push back a couple of times, but all she succeeded in doing was making the couch cushions slip forward.

Angel groaned again, louder, and Buffy smiled to herself. Sure, she was hanging upside-down over a couch with her hair in her face and her ass in the air (with Angel’s belly slapping against it rhythmically) and her pants around her ankles and it was a ridiculous situation that was sure to start her laughing if she thought about it too much—especially if she thought about the faces that Angel was probably making right now—but she had made Angel groan like that, and that was a kind of power, whatever Alpha Male thrills he was getting right now, and she couldn’t help but be proud of herself.

Besides. It felt good. No fireworks, no symphony orchestra playing, but it felt pretty good. She’d definitely feel better after this was over.

Speaking of which…

Angel was panting raggedly (Buffy was breathing kinda hard too, but that was more from the fact that her weight was resting on her belly than from any exertion) and Buffy knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but she decided to hurry him up.


Angel made a choking sound.

Buffy’s grin broadened. Her inner muscles were just as strong as the rest of her, just as totally under her control.


More than once, she’d brought Angel to orgasm with those muscles alone, without either of them ever moving.



Going at it like this? She gave him ten seconds.

Just one last touch.

"Come on, baby," she urged. "Come for me. Come in me. Am I your bitch? Am I—"

Angel came with a loud shout, twitching inside her and filling her up with spurts of hot fluid. Buffy kept squeezing and releasing, milking him out as he thrust a last few spasmodic times, then crumpled forward, supporting himself on the back of the couch.

Buffy’s feeling of triumph only lasted long enough for Angel’s softening cock to fall out of her and for her to stand up (Angel shuffling out the way so she could do so). It was then that she realized that the hot fluid she’d been so proud of coaxing from him was starting to run down her legs.

"Angel!" She squawked, clapping her legs tightly together.


"Toilet paper! Now!"


"The next time you just need to have a quick fuck just before we go out, you are wearing a condom," Buffy huffed as she tore off another strip of toilet paper and wiped up the tacky snail-trails of semen on her left thigh.

"Okay," Angel said sheepishly. Buffy handed him the used wad of toilet paper and tore off another. He wrinkled his nose, but had the sense not to say anything.

"I don’t mind tossing you a quickie if you really need it," she continued, wiping herself as best she could. "But that doesn’t mean I like walking around feeling all sticky."

"Whatever you say," he agreed, taking the final wad of toilet paper and holding out a pad.

"Good thinking," she muttered as she tore open the pad’s package. "Now go throw those away and get dressed."

"Yes, ma’am." He started up the stairs, but halfway up, he stopped and turned around.


"Yeah?" She asked without looking up from folding the pad’s wings around her panties.

"Thank you."

In the year that they’d been living together, Buffy had learned a few things about reading Angel’s tone, just as he had hers. This wasn’t a standard thank-ya-ma’am after a slam-bam. He recognized and appreciated the favor she’d done for him. Good enough.

She raised her head, smiled at him, and pulled up her underwear. "You’re welcome. Now go get dressed."

He tossed her a quick salute and started back up the stairs, but she called up after him again.

"Oh, and Angel?"

He looked back over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"You’re taking out the garbage when we go."

Angel rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was grinning as he did so. "Yes, ma’am."

He disappeared into the upstairs, and Buffy sat down on the couch to wait. As she did so, she glanced at her watch. Half an hour wasted on Angel’s libido. He’d better not take too long.


Did you find all of the mistakes?

    1. Angel’s de-cursing involved neither Willow nor divine intervention. In almost all stories like this, Willow finds a way to remove the "Happiness Clause" from Angel’s curse or discovers that she (or Ms. Calendar) left it out of her original casting. Either that, or the PTB decide that it’s Angel’s time to Shanshu.
    2. Angel is horny, Buffy is not. Their sex drives should be in perfect synch—preferably set at "constant". After all, they are in True Love.
    3. What is this bargaining crap? Angel should A) Just take her anyway, as a passionate, jealous, romantic hero would. She’ll like that. B) Keep seducing until she gets turned on. They’re in True Love—it shouldn’t take long. Or C) Break off his attempts immediately, with no hard feelings, at the first sign of reluctance from her. He’s a considerate guy, after all.
    4. Since when does Buffy care this much about birth control? Sure, it’s not much of an issue when Angel is undead and thus can’t father children (oops…wait a second), but every time Angel has managed to get himself a pulse, legions of unplanned children result.
    5. Oops. I forgot that Buffy is still as tight as a virgin despite years of sexual activity. How silly of me.
    6. Have you ever, in any story, heard of any BTVS or AtS woman being dry, even for a moment?
    7. Angel make a sexual mistake? Impossible.
    8. Lube? Saliva for lube? Gross!
    9. What’s so funny? And why is Buffy hurrying Angel along? Shouldn’t every sexual encounter between people in True Love be a nightlong, mystical experience?
    10. Sex mess? Toilet paper? I mean, it’s one thing if he bites her and there’s blood everywhere—that’s okay. But do we have to talk about that…goo? And toilet paper. How unromantic. How mundane.
    11. A condom? While it’s true that on one of the extremely rare occasions Buffy even thinks about birth control, condoms are almost always the method used, this is still a mistake. After all, she’s with Angel (see no. 4) and—the reason for it? See no. 10. How mundane!
    12. A pad? Again, how mundane. Besides, between this and the phone conversation, you could get the impression that Buffy menstruates.
    13. Take out the garbage? Downright banal.

In case you couldn’t guess, this story is one big, steaming heap of satire. All fanfic in all fandoms is written by amateurs. How much of a bad sign is it, then, that B/A fanfic has developed a particularly bad reputation:


Part of the problem, I think, is that Buffy and Angel’s grand, star-crossed, True Love has a tendency to evoke purple prose. In the process, True Love becomes a twisted mutant I call Twue Wuv. The only antidote I can think of is a large dose of Real Love, like the one I just gave you above. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with writing their story in epic or romance-novel style. Just remember that Buffy and Angel are "real" people involved in a relationship, not set pieces in your "perfect love" fantasy. They have flaws that they will have to accept or at least get past in each other, and they will have conflicts—some of them as simple and mundane as who has to take out the garbage. Every real person in a relationship does.

Also, remember that while cliches became cliches for a reason, they are now played out. That’s why they’re called cliches. Do something new, or at least do something new with them.


Matt Fic