There he sits. The mighty Angelus. Ruler of all he fucking surveys. Ordering his little humans around with nothing more than a scowl or a mope. Well, it doesn't work on me. I am equally immune to his displeasure and his remorse. As Spike says, could bloody well care less. Angel annoys the shit out of me ninety percent of the time. He's egotistical, vain, autocratic, and a general pain in the ass. So why do I want to go over there and bite his under lip? I want to suck on it. I want to grind my body against his. I want to crawl up in his lap and just ride the man. That's my reaction to him the other ten percent of the time.
Am I fucked up or what?
I would happily do the most horrible injuries to him; in fact, I fantasize about it. I dream of slashing and cutting and torturing him. Of making him scream and beg. Oh yeah! Me, Angel, and sharp implements - Yum! Hey, it's only just; he did his fair share of torture to me. He's beat me. Treated me like his bitch. Used me as his whore. He's terrorized me. He's raped me. I should want to kill him. I should want to drive a stake right through his still mostly black heart. But I don't. I got past that a long time ago. I've forgiven him, whatever that means. I guess it means I don't actually want him dead. I don't want him hurt. No, I want him naked.
I am so friggin' fucked up! I mean, my God! Angelus? I don't even like him.
Most days I want to kill him, or at the very least beat the crap out of him. The annoying, overbearing sod! He's sulky and moody and secretive and petulant and stubborn. Did I mention annoying? And he slouches. Makes me want to smack him and tell him to stand up straight, for God's sake. He gets that mulish look on his face and puts he head down like an old bull and I wanna just knock the shit out of him.
No, I can't say that I like him.
I trust him. I
trust him with my life and the life of my family. When things get really rotten,
when I have no hope left, I go to him. I run straight to the big Pouf. Let him
make it all better. Because that's what Angel does. He helps the hopeless or
some such crap. Saves the day. He's the original white knight on a fiery steed.
Shining armor, big lance, the whole nine yards. He's fucking Gawaine the Just.
If there's a damsel in distress, he's right there looking all heroic and tragic.
Every teenage girl's fantasy. The Byronic hero; handsome, dark, and broody.
He's a damn Harlequin romance novel come to life. Well, unlife.
But the people he saves don't know that. All they know is that he sweeps in,
that great coat of his billowing in the wind of his own passage, saves their
miserable little lives with a flourish worthy of Errol Flynn, looks at them
with those hooded, dangerous, dark eyes, and sweeps out again. Sometimes he
leaves that little Angel Investigations business card like it was a damn silver
bullet. They treasure the moment forever. Probably tell their granddaughters
about it. Not their grandsons; they wouldn't understand the depth and breath
of it. All they know is that they can say that once in their lives they met
a Hero. Yep, Hero with a capital 'H'. Right up there with the legendary ones
we're all inundated with in our impressionable youth; Theseus, Galahad, Zorro.
A bloody swash-buckling musketeer. Fucking Prince Charming in the flesh.
Oh well, I can't really complain about the histrionics of it. He's pulled my ass out a time or two. Or twenty. I try to return the favor whenever possible. Gotta keep those scales balanced as much as possible. I can't let him get too much of an upper hand, now can I?
I respect him. He's smart and strong and a survivor. He has half the demon world running for cover at the mention of his name. He has the balls to take on most anything. He just keeps coming and coming and coming. He doesn't back down. Do not piss off Angelus. It's a sure plan for self-destruction. He holds a grudge really well. Almost as good as I do. Of course, I piss him off on a regular basis but that's different. That's just me hacking on him. He does his damnedest to piss me off every five minutes or so, too. It's a game we play. Hey, we can't screw each other so we have to do something. And I for one refuse to sit here and moon over him. It's more fun to get him all wound up so that sparks fly from his eyes and you can feel the anger-heat radiating off of him. God, he looks good when he's hacked off. If I get him wound up enough, he grabs me. Puts those big hands of his on my upper arms and lifts me off the floor. Uses those big, strong hand and long arms. Picks me up and shakes me. Gets that look that says he's either gonna rip my head off or fuck me through the floor. Oh yeah, some days l live for those moments.
I admire him. He's been through a hell of a lot to get to where he is. He lives through hell daily to stay there. A lesser person would have folded under the sheer weight of it all. I mean, think about it. His human life wasn't so great. It was going to hell in a hand-basket faster than a usher's soul. And then he gets turned by Darla, the fucking Bitch Queen of All Time. I'm a sweet, soft, honeyed thing compared to her. If he wasn't warped to begin with, a century with her would have done it. And Angel-Cakes lost whatever humanity he had as Liam the instant he was turned. He wasn't like Spike. Not one friggin' bit. William was a decent, honorable man and a fair amount of that remains in Spike. I don't know what the hell happened to Liam but he must have been pretty rotten as a human 'cause Angelus is a total bastard and a half. Then comes the whole soul thing. And he just sort of shut down for a century. Angel had to fight all that to become what he is now. That was a hard row to hoe. And unlike me, his soul and his demon do not get along. That's part of the problem. He can't reconcile the two sides of himself. And he's going to be miserable until he does. He thinks the soul is what creates the good in him and the demon is what creates the bad. He can't seem to realize that both good and evil are present in all things and it is up to the individual to choose which he is going to be. Satan was the right hand of God for most of eternity. He just got tired of playing second fiddle. Ambition was the big sin, children, the big evil. Poor Angel. He just can't figure it out. And until he does, he going to stay among the ranks of the Lost.
I fear him. He's cruel and sadistic. And he's kicked the shit out of me more than once. The boy has a hell of a backhand, let me tell you. Been on the receiving end of that. Hurt for days and days. I'm terrified of him, if you want to know the truth. But that doesn't mean I back down from him. I'll let him kill me before I admit that he scares the shit out of me. I have experienced more physical and mental pain at his hands that at anyone else's on earth. I still wake up screaming once in a while dreaming of just how much it fucking hurt when he shoved his hand inside me. So how come looking at that hand now makes me hot and wet?
How come I lust after him? He's good looking in a so-not-my-type way. I admit that. Angel is a handsome man. But there is no way on the face of God's green earth that he can even begin to compare to Spike. Spike is perfection. Spike is wild and free and glowing and beautiful. Spike is an untamed seraph. Angelus is… a demon. He's dark and sensual and forbidden and frightening. Spike likes to talk about being in the Dark. Well, Angel is that Darkness. There you are; my angel and my demon. Between the two of them, they make my world complete. One of them I can have any time and pretty much any where I want. A thing for which I thank God daily on the off chance that He's still listening to me. If I don't show proper gratitude I'm afraid He'll get mad and take it away. The other I can't ever have again. Because I won't hurt Spike that way. No, ma'am. Not gonna happen. Spike has too many hang ups about Angel as is. I won't add to that. So, I make sure that if the Scourge gets a little too playful sometimes, when things get a little bit decadent, when we're all feeling really good, that Angel only touches select portions of my body. Wesley can screw me into the mattress and that's okay because Spike doesn't mind but Angel isn't gonna put himself inside me ever again. Because Spike wouldn't like it. So for me and Angel it's strictly nothing beyond third base. Like the song says, 'I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine.'
And that's okay. I can live with that just fine most days. Today just isn't "most days". I'll get past it. I always do. He'll open his mouth and piss me off and I'll forget I want to wrap myself around those oh-so-long legs and have him wrap those oh-so-long arms around me. He'll scowl at me and I'll forget how good he looks when he smiles and how good his lips feel and how good his mouth tastes. He'll order me around like I belong to him and I won't recall how his voice makes me shiver with soft obscene whispers. He'll make some comment about what a bitch I am and I'll have no recollection of how strong and hard his body feels against mine or how deeply he can fill me. I'll forget that in some unfathomable way I love him.
There he went. He did it just then! Look, you short-sighted, male chauvinist pig, just because I dress like this does not mean I don't have brains. The height of my hemline has nothing to do with my intelligence. My intellect is just as good as yours, you son of a bitch! Probably better. Egotistical bastard!
Yep, ninety percent of the time I want to hurt him.
Ten percent of the time I want to fuck him.
Look at that glint in his eye.
He feels the same way about me.
~Fin~