Title: Fatal Attraction
Synopsis: What Angelus *really* feels for Buffy, from his POV.
Rating: R. Adult language, and the ravings of a madman.
Disclaimer: Buffy and Angelus do not belong to me, they are the property of Joss Whedon and Flunkies. I am just borrowing them to amuse myself.
Note: Be warned -- I'm channeling a loopy 241 year old vampire. Angelus has grabbed my insides and he's not letting go for nothing. I rewatched "Passion" recently, and this emerged from my mind.
I think she's finally ready to kill me.
I had wondered just what, exactly, it would take to get her to the point where nothing would matter but the two of us and a stake.
I think she's finally there.
And I'm so fucking glad.
Finally, *I'm* all she thinks about. *I* consume her thoughts. Not bloody, whining, tormented Angel, but *me*. Finally, she has some inkling of what it's like for me, wanting her forever, a perpetual agony of desire.
You see, I wasn't lying when I told Joyce -- my, that woman just looks older and *older* each time I set eyes on her -- that I couldn't live without Buffy.
And I won't let her live without me.
To me, she is the air that I do not breathe, the sun that does not shine upon my head, the ice cream that does not melt upon my tongue. She is the moon in my endless night, the stars in the sky, the blood that courses through my veins -- well, actually, that is curtesy of the beateous Janna.
She is my everything.
She just doesn't know it yet.
Such a very important word, holding a wealth of meaning to be ferreted out. But soon. Soon she will know.
Spike harrasses me, mocking my little games, mocking my obsession with my blonde goddess. He really has to go. I grow tired of both he and Drusilla. Granted, they are my children; I am responsible for their miserable existances, but should I be forced to pay for eternity? I think not. Once Buffy finally realizes my game and comes to me, I will take her far from my errant children, and the two of us will live and love for a thousand lifetimes.
Even that won't be enough. No matter how much time I spend with her, even with her trying to kill me, it is never enough. There are never enough moments in the day to think of her. I hunt each night, finding girls that resemble her in some way -- some are blonde, or small, or are unusually beautiful -- but not one could ever hope to hold a candle to her.
Not to Buffy.
Not to my unwilling goddess.