disclaimer in part 1

This part is rated hard R or possibly soft NC-17 for violence and sexual content.

Through the highest parts of heaven
and the sweetest part of hell
you come to me like visions girl
I promise I don't kiss and tell.
Your skin and lips,
your sweat and sex,
your breath it covets me.

You know I like my body best when it is on your body.

-Soul Miner's Daughter

Three Doors
by: Rebecca Carefoot

Part Seven

Buffy exhaled softly, her head on Angel's chest, her breath teasing lightly at his skin. Her limbs were heavy, leaden with laziness and the simple desire to lounge against him. She tightened her grip on Angel's torso, but any other movement seemed like far too much of a struggle to contemplate. Her mind urged her to get up, to change her clothes, to help the others plan, to look at the wound on his back, but the thoughts carried no weight with her rebellious body. Angel's hand stroked her back, and she smiled, knowing suddenly why a cat purrs.

She tilted her head up and saw the same contented look on his face that she knew was firmly set on hers as well. He met her eyes and smiled, a slow, spreading smile that turned into a grin. She couldn't help but smile in return. She knew by heart his face and the contours of the expressions it fell most often into. To see his lips turn up was rare enough, but she couldn't remember a time she'd seen such an open smile crease his features. Usually he smirked; usually his smiles were guarded, not so much as though he was hiding something, although she knew he often was, but as though he couldn't quite bring himself to the point of happiness. Usually there was the strain of otherness behind the smile. But now, she smiled again, now it was as if he were free.

She found the motivation to move when she pulled herself further up his body, closer to his face, close enough for her smiling lips to meet his. She sighed happily, and settled back against his body. He placed a gentle kiss on her head, then began to retract his arm. He groaned, his body protesting as he began to sit up. Unthinking, Buffy propped herself up on her elbow and put her arm across his chest, pushing lightly to keep him from getting up. She wasn't ready for this to end, wasn't ready to allow the world to come between them. They had had seldom enough moments alone together, really alone with no worries or fears to intrude on them, and she was going to make this one last as long as she could.

She stroked his right arm, and he trembled under the touch but opened his mouth to speak. To protest, she knew. He would advise caution; he would be rational and remind her of the things they should be doing. She touched his lips with her fingers, stopping the words. Words were unnecessary. Her answer was in the silence. She smiled, reassuring him, and threw her leg over his body. She braced herself on hands and knees, her body above his, not quite touching. She could feel the heat, the warmth that radiated from his skin, feel it through her clothes. And she wanted it, to touch it, to touch him. She lowered herself onto him, the length of her body pressed tight against the length of his. He gasped, and she remembered too late the wounds she pressed herself against. Stricken, she began to lift herself back up, but his arms encircled her and kept her from moving farther away.

She met his eyes and saw in them that he did not want this moment to end either. He wanted as much as she did to be close, their bodies melded so tight together that even the air would dare not come between them. She looked worriedly at the dark stain of blood on the bandage around his arm, but he shook his head. He lifted his face to hers and took her lips in a gentle kiss, then he pulled insistently and brought her body back down on top of his.

Hungry now, she lowered her lips to his and he returned the kiss, his tongue sweeping at her lips. She dug one hand under his head, twisting her fingers in the short strands of his hair. And ran the other hand down the length of his chest. The muscles tensed under her touch, hardening then loosening as he relaxed, surrendering himself fully to her. She broke the kiss and pressed her lips to his chin, his neck. She bit lightly at his flesh with blunt teeth, and he tangled his hand in her hair, closing his eyes. She moved farther down his chest, kissing and biting at his skin, tasting the warmth of him with her eager tongue. He hissed once when her tongue worried a nasty scratch, and she realized she'd reopened the wound, drawing blood. She licked at it gently, trying to soothe the torn flesh. Then she moved again and found herself at the top on his pants. Her fingers quickly undid the button and pulled at the zipper. As it slipped open, his erect cock eased out of its confinement. She placed a soft kiss on its tip, then returned her attention to his clothing. He shifted to help her as she carefully peeled his pants from his legs, wincing when more bruises appeared as the pale flesh was exposed.

The pants discarded, she tore off her own shirt, baring her breasts. She fumbled with her pants, and sat between his legs to pull them off. A giggle built in her throat, but didn't quite make it out of her mouth. When she looked up, she knew he would see the laughter in her eyes, but in his she saw only awe, worship. His eyes were wide, drinking her in, yet somehow wary, as if he were afraid to take the liberty. She crawled back up his body, kissing him as deeply as she could, until they were both breathless. Emboldened by her kiss, he greedily consumed her flesh with his hands, leaving her shaking, wanting, needing.

She shifted and impaled herself on his shaft, gasping as it filled her. She shifted again, settling herself, becoming accustomed the heat of him inside her. Slowly, then faster, she set a rhythm that grew rougher with each thrust. Hunger, need, sang through her as she rode him. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sensation she had felt only once before; it seemed a lifetime ago. When she opened her eyes, she saw his watched her. His mouth was slightly open; his wide-eyed gaze unmoving from her face. If she had ever doubted he loved her, she knew in that moment it was no longer a question. The pleasure on his face was childlike; it was more than sexual pleasure, it was delight, pure joy so strong it drove him to tears that streaked his cheeks with salt. He cried for happiness because of her, because she was his and he was hers.

She bent to kiss him, wanting to use her lips, the doorway to words to speak to him in a deeper way than words ever could. She cried out as the movement drove him into her at a different angle, and when her lips met his her body shook with orgasm, clenching around him. He came then as well, shaking under her, filling her, healing her. She continued to kiss him, and his arms clasped around her, holding her to him, clinging to her as if he would keep them joined forever. She realized when she tasted salt on his lips that she cried, that she had been crying with him.


i'm looking for you
in all of these faces
i'm looking for you
i think i'm going crazy
i'm looking for love
i'm out of my mind

i'm a mad man
i shook up the world
i'm a crazy man
ain't that right
this ball of confusion
too big for the both of us
get out of my town tonight

Power Junkie
-- Billy Idol

Angelus stood in the shower, letting the scalding water pound against his skin. He lowered his head in the spray, bracing his hands against the tiled wall. The water burned, turning his white skin red and steam filled the bathroom like thick white fog. He washed himself not to drive away the dirt that clung to him from the battle in the caves, but to rid himself of her scent. After he had burned her clothes, he had burned his own. He could smell her in them, her hugs and kisses. He could smell her on himself; like perfume, she clung to him. He knew nothing he did would truly wash her away. The smell he could fight, but she was deeper inside him, underneath his skin. He gritted his teeth, and shut the water off.

He stepped out of the shower and roughly scrubbed his body with a towel. Once dry, his skin sore and tender from rough usage, he threw the towel on the floor and walked to his closet. He slipped on a pair of worn black leather pants that he hadn't put on since he'd come back from hell. He grabbed a black silk shirt off a hanger. He cocked his head as he pulled it on, listening to the soft creak of hinges. Someone was here. He sniffed at the air, but it was too far from the door to identify the intruder by smell. Angel narrowed his eyes and stalked silently into the main hall. His back was tight with tension, but he moved easily on the balls of his feet, giving no outward sign of the sudden excitement that buzzed in his ears.

When he entered the main hall he snarled softly, vague disappointment flooding him when he recognized the brunette Slayer who stood beside the fireplace with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Faith," he said. "Good. I was getting hungry...didn't realize you delivered."

She raised her eyebrow at him, and ran her eyes slowly over the length of his body. "Well, well, don't you look lickable," she leered. He growled deep in his throat, enraged at her insolence. The human mask slipped away, and he leapt at her, glaring with yellow eyes. Her foot drove into his chest. He quickly grabbed it and trapped her leg with his hands, then pulled, setting her off balance. She punched outward and sent him reeling back a pace, but when she pressed her advantage he ducked her swinging arm and drove his fist into her stomach. She bent over as the breath whooshed out of her lungs, but had the presence of mind to bend further and kick up over her shoulder. Angelus' eyebrow split when her foot connected and he roared, barreling into her and sending them both to the ground. She flipped them over, and grabbed his head by the hair. Using her grip on his hair she slammed his head into the stone floor, stunning him briefly. He pulled his legs in and forced her off him with a swift kick upwards. She landed hard on her backside, but stood up immediately. She laughed, and he pulled himself up into a crouch.

"I didn't come here to kill you, you know," she said.

"Then you're a fool," he answered, circling her warily, the smell of his own blood making his senses reel.

"Want to know why?" she asked rhetorically.

"Not really," he said. "I'd rather just listen to you scream." He moved suddenly, and feinted a kick at her head, then drove his fist into her unprotected side when she moved to block his foot.

"You disappoint me," she said, forcing him to jump to avoid a sweeping kick. "I heard you were this big bad vamp. I heard you wanted to kill Buffy..."

"I guess you didn't hear about the fact that I'll kill any Slayer out there, not just blonde ones," he said, punching at her chest with both fists.

"What about Slayers that're on your side?" she asked, turning to avoid the punch, then kicking to the side. He ducked under the kick and leaned on one hand to give himself the leverage to kick upwards, sending her sprawling.

"You telling me you went rogue after all?" he said. "Save Buffy's life from Trick to throw off suspicion?"

"More like even the score. Now I don't owe her jack," Faith said. She looked up at him, propped up on her elbows, lounging on the floor where she'd landed. He moved closer, looming over her.

"And I should believe you just because you say so?" he said, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No dice, sweetheart, I wouldn't put it past Buffy to use you to trap me." Faith smiled, flashing teeth, then lifted her hips and latched on to his waist with her legs. With one swift movement of her legs, she pulled him down on top of her. He braced his fall with a hand on either side of her body and found his torso pressing against her, his face inches from her chest. His growl rumbled deep in his throat, and Faith released the grip her legs had on him only to twist her hand in his shirt and yank him closer.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she breathed. Her lips claimed his, and her hands ran down his back to grab his ass. He growled again, taking control of the kiss with a harsh bite. She moaned, and he delved into her mouth with his tongue, her blood staining the kiss with copper. She rolled, flipping their positions. She grabbed both sides of his shirt and pulled, grinding her groin against his.

"You think you're evil now?" he asked. "You think fucking me makes you evil?" She scratched her fingernails across his chest, drawing blood, and his eyes narrowed.

"You got no idea," Faith hissed. "I'm in good with the mayor, and he's on track to destroy this whole stinking town."

He put his hands around her, rose to one knee and lifted her body easily. He took a few steps and slammed her up against the wall. Her feet locked behind his back, and he ground his hips against her.

"And Buffy?" he asked.

She ran her hands down the sides of his face, and reached between them to his pants. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper a moment, then his cock sprang free. He snarled as she ran her fingertips against the side of its length.

"She's ours," Faith whispered.

"Mine," he growled. He slammed her against the wall again, then used it to hold her up, freeing his hands to tear at her jeans.

"Whatever," she said angrily. "The stupid bitch won't figure out I've gone over to the other side until it's too late. We can do whatever we want. Kill her, the other Angel, all of them." Angelus stopped moving, her zipper half undone.

"Other Angel?" he said.

"There's two of you now," Faith said, licking the side of his face. "The human one is with her right now, probably doing exactly what we're doing." She grinned. "It's been a long time for him too." Angel snarled, finishing the zipper and entering her with one harsh movement. His teeth were bared, his eyes furious, as he pounded her against the wall again and again, his rhythm hard and fast. Faith took every stroke, her eyes clouding with pain and pleasure, her breath coming in ragged pants. She closed her eyes, and he continued to thrust into her, his eyes unfocused, seeing not her dark hair, not her face, but another's. He could smell the other on her, and he buried his nose in her neck.

He bared his teeth again and bit down, his teeth breaking the skin, tearing into her vein. He swallowed the blood greedily. It was powerful, invigorating, Slayer. He heard her moan, then attempt to scream, her eyes open now, fear making her squirm weakly against him. She tried to throw him off, but he was imbedded too deep. He pulled away from her neck, his teeth red with blood, and whispered into her ear.

"You're nothing, Faith." He smiled into her hair. "You've never been anything. I had to pretend you were her just to get it up." He blew lightly against her neck, her weak struggles barely straining his hold on her. Her eyes flew to him, wide with fear, and useless anger, and his favorite...horror. The deepest sort of horror that came from her worst fears being realized, her most secret self-doubts being spoken. He laughed and kissed her, smearing her own blood over her lips, then he moved to the other side of her neck and bit again, draining her. The last of her blood was laced with everything he loved, death and fear, yes. But also the hopelessness and horror she had died feeling. He pulled out of her, letting her body drop limp and boneless to the ground. She stared, sightless, empty as he zipped his pants and wiped at his mouth. He thought he might as well change his shirt since this one was torn. Or maybe another shower, to wash away the scratch marks on his chest. He laughed again, the sound sharp and bitter, to think that she had tried to mark him with her shallow grasp. To think she had believed she could uproot the other's claim on him with her hollow body.

But she would serve her purpose. Buffy would find the body, not knowing of Faith's decision to give herself to the dark. Buffy would mourn her friend. She'd feel once again the guilt and grief that overwhelmed her with each failure. Her mind would be consumed with him as his was with her. Sad that he would not be here to watch, but he had plans to make, and a witch to catch.