TITLE: Renewal


EMAIL: lex@bitchenvy.com


CONTENT: Sexual situations of a Buffy/Angel nature...let's be honest, am I capable of anything else?

DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel do not belong to me. They belong to a bunch of men in suits who don't love them like I do, so for their own good, I'm kidnapping them. I'm subversive that way.

NOTES: I have needed to see this scene for so long, I can't begin to tell you. It's a complete and total PWP, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. For those of you on impure-l, the alley scene should look familiar.

DEDICATED: To my protege, who is leaving me to go on vacation! <sob, gasp, wail>


The beat of the music blaring through the Bronze was thick, rich, erotic. It pounded in her brain, spreading fire throughout her body. Her hips moved uncontrollably, swaying back and forth, as she made her way through the crowd.

She was a bitch in heat, and there was only one man that could ever sate her need. Her ache for him was a living, breathing thing, its heart beating mercilessly between her thighs, tormenting her until she wanted to scream.

He would be there.

She could feel it. She had resisted as long as she could, but no more. She needed. And thus she would have.


Angel stepped through the door of the Bronze, feeling for an instant as though he had gone back in time, to a place where he had been trapped before her, like a fly caught on a spider's web. He could feel her calling him, and as always, he was powerless to resist.

She was in the center of the dance floor, her arms raised above her head, her hips grinding sensually. Her face displayed rapture as she moved her body to the driving beat of the music.

Men were crowded around her, watching the woman before them writhe on the dance floor, making love to an invisible man. They were all hard, all more than ready to give her what she was so clearly asking for. But every time one of the pack would approach her, she would ignore him blatantly, staying within the boundaries of her own world.

Angel passed through the throng of her admirers. He could hear the grumbles of the men behind him as he walked up to her. They were certain he would fare no better than they had.

"Yeah, good luck buddy."

"Prepare to be shot down."


If she concentrated really hard, she could feel him behind her, feel the coolness of his flesh, the hardness of all that muscle. He would press his front to her back, his hands dipping down to grasp her hips, pulling her closer towards him.

She was so into the moment that she didn't realize when fantasy shifted to reality.


With outraged whispers, the men saw Angel step up to her back, and press himself against her, his hands finding purchase on her rounded hips. He pulled her closer to his body, and started to rotate his hips in time with hers.

As his lips drifted to the top of her head, she shivered. She didn't speak, instead entwining her hands in his, sliding her fingers between his. Her head fell back against his chest, and she closed her eyes as relief swamped her.

He was here.

She could breathe again.

No words passed between them as they moved against each other, oblivious to the stares of the people surrounding them. They were a stunning sight, his tall, dark, muscular form contrasting perfectly with her tiny blonde body.

When the song ended, they stilled, standing quietly for a moment, before she slid around in his arms. "I knew you'd be here." She delighted in the feel of his cock, already hard, pressing into her stomach.

He smiled his trademark half smile at her. "I could feel you calling me."

"And so you came," she marveled.

"Did I have a choice?"

Resting her head on his chest, she laughed lightly. "Nope."

His hands came up to tangle in her hair. "I never had a choice where you were concerned." He tilted her head back. "And I never wanted one." The love shone from his eyes, and she basked in it.

"I tried dating again," she said offhandedly as stared at his face.


"And, they weren't you. Took me three guys before I finally figured it out."

"None of them worked out?"

"Not a one."

"Damn." He tried for an apologetic look but failed miserably.

Her lips quirked upwards in a smile. "You look all broken up about it."

"I am. Means less people I have to hurt for touching you."

She raised an eyebrow, then snickered. "You ruined me for any other man, you know that."

"Who, me?"

"Yeah, you. Every time one of them would touch me, my body would say, 'Not Angel' and shut off. It's hell on my sex life."

Angel tensed. "Do you have one?" He wouldn't be jealous over her doing exactly what he told her to do. He wouldn't. He repeated those words to himself silently, refusing to show her how the thought of her lying with other men tore him up inside. It was even worse once Cordelia and Doyle had located a binding spell for his soul, keeping it trapped within him despite any happiness involved. He had resolved not to tell Buffy, so that she could go on with her life, but the decision haunted him.

She looked amused. "A sex life?"

"Yes," he gritted.

"Not for the last, ummm, three years, four months, two days, six hours aaaand," she looked at her watch, "Fifteen minutes. Give or take."

His forehead wrinkled in confusion for a moment, until he realized the significance of the date. Her seventeenth birthday. Relief swamped him, and he was unable to prevent it from showing across his face.

Buffy smiled then, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "You were the one that walked away from us, Angel. Not me. I'm still here. Waiting."

"It's not fair to you, Buffy."

"Life wasn't fair to me. I got dealt a bad hand. All I can do now is play it. And I am. My way."

She would never, ever cease to amaze him.

"This isn't what I wanted for you." He said it quietly, although she knew that it hurt him deeply.

"I know. But it's what I want for me. And just this once, you're going to have to give in and just go with me on it."

He smiled then, a full smile. "It's a hardship."

She rolled her eyes, then slugged him gently in the chest. "Let's get out of here."

"To do what?" His voice was suddenly deeper.

"To discuss that binding spell you neglected to mention to me."

His heart leapt in his chest. "Who spilled? Cordelia or Doyle?"

"Both. Cordelia because she loves us both, and Doyle because I bent over in front of him wearing a really short skirt."

"I knew they couldn't keep it a secret."

"It's good that I can rely on SOMEONE."


She held up her hand. "We'll talk about it. After you remedy the problem I've been having with my sex life."

"You haven't been having a sex life."

"That would be the problem."

His eyes gleamed. "Got any particular place in mind?"

"My apartment. Willow's on tour with Oz for the summer."

"So that leaves you all by yourself?"

"Exactly. And, you know, a girl by herself...that's not a good idea. She needs a big," Buffy drew the syllable out, running it around in her mouth, "strong," she licked her lips, "man to protect her."

"Had any volunteers?"

"Plenty, but unfortunately for them, I'm only interested in one."

The verbal foreplay was having an effect; Angel was so hard he didn't know how the hell he was going to be able to walk about of the Bronze without humiliating himself.

"Really?" he growled lightly, grinding himself softly into the warm flesh of her belly.

She arched closer to him, so that more of her body pressed against him. "You see, there's only been one man for me. Ever." Her eyes were hot, and she slowly ran her tongue around her lips. The smell of her arousal was thick in the air.

"Lucky man."

"I like to think so."

"He thinks so too. In fact, he thinks that he gets the good end of the deal."

"He has his...fringe benefits."

Angel's hands traveled from the small of her back to cup her ass. "Such as?"

Buffy smiled wickedly. "He has a really huge...ego."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that the only thing on him that's really huge?"


"What else then?" Angel's eyes were starting to slip, starting to gleam yellow under the Bronze's florescent lights.

Suddenly, it was too much, to be in front of all those people. She needed to be somewhere quiet, where she could touch him as she was dying to do. She wriggled out of his embrace, grabbed his hand, and towed him towards the door, evading the grasping hands of the men that had gathered to watch her dance.

"Buffy," Angel muttered as she dragged him bodily out the door of the Bronze, "We have to get to your -- ooof!" The words were knocked out of him as she slammed him into the wall of the alley behind them.

"Buffy, what are you -- " He broke off as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her fingers delving into the waistband of his black leather pants. Her blonde hair falling into her eyes, she looked up at him, a wicked grin on her face.

"I had a sudden...craving...for you." She licked her lips and he felt a sudden jolt of arousal flare through him.

"Bu-Buffy," he started again, "This isn't such a-a-ahhhh!"

Her little hands worked their way into his pants until they touched his cock, already immense and throbbing. "Going commando, Angel? I love it." She yanked at the button, ripping his pants open and carefully guided the zipper across the tautly stretched leather. And then her soft hands were on him, cupping him, stroking him.

Angel let out a strangled gasp as his head fell back to rest against the brick wall. "Oh, Christ..."

"Even God can't save you now, baby." Her tongue snaked out to caress the tip of his cock, tracing a gentle pattern on his aroused flesh. Almost imperceptibly, his hips jerked towards her, and with a muffled groan, she enveloped him in her heat.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed as her scalding wet mouth worked his cock. It had been so long since she had touched him, he could hardly bear it. The pleasure rushed through him, and it was all he could do not to thrust into her mouth.

She laughed around him, delighted in his response, the rumbling pressure causing him to bite his lower lip hard. Her hands braced on the wall behind him, and she began to bob her head up and down. Against his will, his hands tangled themselves in her blonde hair, cupping her head. He didn't try to force her head down further, for fear she would stop, instead merely holding her closely.

Mere seconds had passed, and he could feel his orgasm boiling up from deep inside, as though he were a teenager instead of a man. He had a moment of embarrassment, before his body's urges took over, and he tried to push her head away. "Baby, I'm going to come," he groaned harshly, "Move."

Buffy shook her head slightly, and sucked harder as her tiny hand slid between his thighs, searching out the soft patch of skin behind his balls, and rubbing that spot gently but firmly.

The added pressure demolished the rest of Angel's self control, and with a howl, he came, his fingers bunching in her hair, unable to resist the urge to buck his hips forward into her willing mouth. Spent, he slumped against the wall supporting his back.

Smirking up at him, Buffy made a show of licking her lips as she rebuttoned his pants and pulled herself up his body to attack his lips with her own. She was unsure of his reaction to his own taste on her lips, but as his tongue delved into her willing mouth, she decided that he didn't mind.

Rationally, he knew his orgasm should have reduced the urgent, compelling need for her, but it didn't seem to matter. He was rock hard again, desperate for her tight heat. He pulled back to look into her eyes. She was nearly blind with need, her eyes dark with smoldering lust.

"Now, Angel, now," she whimpered, tugging at his head.

He swung his head side to side, searching for a place to take her. His body screamed at him to hammer her into the brick wall behind them, but his mind refused to even contemplate making love to her for the first time in years while in the alley outside of the Bronze. When he realized what they had already done in that alley, he cursed.

"We have to get inside, baby."

"Yes," she mewled, "You need to be inside...me...now."

The words nearly did him in. With a quickly muttered prayer, he grabbed her by the hand and towed her out to his car. He jerked open the door and she climbed into the back seat, yanking her skirt up as she went.

"Buffy!" he hissed, "We can't do this in the car! People will see!"

"The windows are tinted. They can't see in."


She leaned out and grabbed him by his shirtfront, pulling him into the car. "I don't care who sees us! It's been more than three years, Angel, have mercy!"

He yelped as she attacked his pants.

"Stop it!" he whimpered, hauling himself into the drivers seat, away from her ravenous hands.

"Angel!" she cried out, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Your apartment," he bit off. "Now."

In a low voice, she directed him to the apartment she shared with Willow. Angel kept his eyes on the road, only looking back at her when he stopped at a light. Upon reflection later that night, he should have never looked back.

She was lying full length on his back seat, her right leg thrown over the back of the seat, her left leg dangling off the other edge, her foot touching the floor. She was spread wide open, with her skirt hiked up around her waist.

She had no panties on.

And her slim fingers were embedded deep inside her swollen core.

Before Angel's stunned gaze, Buffy tilted her head even farther back, and moaned loudly as her fingers danced across her clit. She raised her dripping hand to him. "Wanna taste, Angel?"

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and only his preternatural reflexes allowed him to avoid hitting the car in front of him. Without conscious thought, he pulled off of the main road, onto a dark side street. The car screeched to a halt, and he threw it in park.

And then he was crawling back over the front seats like a man possessed, to get to the woman spread out before him like a feast. Triumph shone in her face as he moved to cover her, his weight pushing her into the cushion beneath her.

"I wanted to wait," he muttered as he worked desperately at his zipper, "I wanted there to be flowers and candles and goddamn romance!"

Her lips twitched, and a chuckle spilled from her throat. Her hands crept up to his face, the fingers of her right hand tracing his lips. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lick at her fingers, and once he caught the taste of her, he sucked those fingers into his mouth, one at a time, cleaning them of her fluids.

The taste of her after all those years spurred him on, his zipper finally parting with a hiss of metal on metal. With a completely ungraceful shimmy, he worked his pants down his hips, exposing his cock, which was already begging and pleading for attention.

She helped him then, wriggling closer to him, her legs wrapping around his waist. Angel tried to shift his legs, only to stop when he realized he was in the back seat of a car built for speed rather than capacity. He couldn't stretch out as he wanted to do, couldn't move comfortably. He rose up slightly, only to hit his head on the roof of the car. "Damn it," he snarled, "This is all your fault!" He glared at her, and had she been less aroused, she probably would have found it funny.

But she was aroused to the point of desperation, and the delay was burning her up inside. To that end, she grabbed at his shoulders, trying to coax him to her. He resisted the movement.

"This isn't going to work," he groaned.

Disbelieving, she stared at him. "People have been having sex in the backseat of cars since the beginning of fucking TIME, and you're going to tell me that we can't? Are you out of your mind?"

Before Angel could respond, Buffy took matters into her own hands. She grasped his shaft roughly, and brought it to the soaked entrance to her core. Her legs grasped him, and with a swift yank, she impaled herself on him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his misgivings were immediately forgotten. He suddenly no longer cared that he was crumpled up in the backseat of his car, hunched over the love of his life. All that mattered was the fact that he was inside her again.

Arms bracing on either side of her head, he began to buck his hips, unconcerned with the awkwardness of the position, just determined to get as far into her as inhumanly possible. Buffy wholeheartedly agreed with his mission, and did everything she could to help him, wrapping herself around him. She was so incredibly wet, and he felt so good inside of her, rubbing against swollen, aroused tissue.

Her hands slid underneath the hem of his shirt, massaging the tense muscles she found there, scratching her fingernails up and down his back. "Come on," she urged, "Harder, Angel, harder."

With each plunge of his hips, something inside her tightened until she was afraid that it was going to snap and break her in half. Answering her pleading cry, he slammed into her more fiercely, unable to hold back, to restrain himself, even for her sake. He had ached for her for far too long, and now he had her, and he was inside of her, and all was right in his world.

"Angel...Angel...Angel," she keened, her breath coming in great heaving gasps, sounding as though they were being torn from her. Her skin was tingling, every nerve ending wide awake, and she felt like she was about to burst open from the pleasure. How had she survived without him for so long?

He was silent, his teeth clenched, his eyes yellow, his face ridged. He was close to the edge, hanging on the frayed, worn edges of his self control, trying to resist the compelling urge to burrow his mouth into the smooth curve of her neck and taste her blood. It would be hot just like he remembered, flowing into his mouth, carrying with it the taste of her desire, her pleasure. Her love.

"I'm close," she whimpered, "Oh god, I'm so close..." Her hands came up to tangle in his dark hair, and she pulled his head down to her neck.

He had enough sense left to whisper, "Buffy, no..." But he wanted it, craved it, with an intensity that shocked him.

"I want it, Angel, now. Give it to me."

Jerking his head back, he stared into her eyes, hazel meeting yellow. He could read her desire written there, and that ended his attempt to restrain himself for her sake. She wanted no restraint, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Solemnly, he licked her neck, tasting the salt from her sweat. His teeth breached her neck, and the blood flowed. The taste was the same as he remembered, speaking to him, telling him what she felt. He tried not to draw too roughly, but he hadn't tasted anything like her in what seemed like an eternity.

The blood filled him, spurring him on, deeper into her fire.

She was whimpering, trembling on the edge of ultimate pleasure, and he plunged into her wildly, unable to control the powerful lunges. Her fingers clenched in his hair, and she cried, "Ohohoh, I'm almost ther--ohhh!"

The climax hit her hard, and she shook violently beneath him even as she clenched around him, squeezing him tight within the loving clasp of her body. The sweet undulations of her body did him in, sweeping him under with a wave of pleasure. He jerked into her roughly a few times, pouring into her, emptying all the bottled up desire he'd had for her over the years. With a muffled growl, he collapsed onto her, boneless in his pleasure.

For long moments, they were silent, lying in the cramped back seat. There were so many words that both of them wanted to say, words of trust and love, vows and promises that had been renewed. But the promises could be discussed later, because they had all the time in the world.

Eventually, even preternatural muscles feel strain. He shifted off of her, trying to hide a smile. "I hope you're happy," he grouched at her, trying to right his pants.

Stretching idly, her body deliciously tired, Buffy grinned. "Oh, I am."

Giving up his pretense of annoyance, he leaned down and captured her lips once more. "So am I, baby. So am I."