Darker Urges


Author: racheltng



Rating: NC-17

Warning: Explicit sex, bloodplay.  Read only if you're allowed, please.

Summary: Even so often, Angel needs a release for his urges.  Part of the Bared Souls Universe.

Beta: The amazing Kairos.  Thank you so much, sweetie!




Buffy threw the vampire over the gravestone with a crash.  With his partner momentarily stunned, vamp number two jumped into the fray, trading blow for blow with the Slayer.  Pretty good for a newborn.  They had found four tonight, all sprung from neighboring graves.  Thankfully, the vamps had been kind enough to divide themselves equally between herself and Angel, so they each fought one on two.  Almost fair odds.  A glance to her left showed that Angel was taking on his foes handily, dispatching one with a broadsword through the neck.  He looked so handsome wielding that broadsword, like it was made for him. 


The momentary distraction allowed her opponent to land a lucky punch across her face, splitting her lip.  Tasting the copper in her mouth, she turned back with fire in her eyes.  “Now that’s gonna cost you.”  The vamp’s expression went from triumphant to terrified.  Buffy lunged for her stake, knocked out of her hand early in the fight.  She tumbled as she hit the ground and instantly sprung back up.  Her arm darted out and came back covered in dust.  A half turn to the side and Number Two exploded in dust as well.  Quickly, she moved to help Angel, and saw she didn’t have to.  Dust trailed down before him, and he turned toward her.


The look on his face was one she knew well.  His body was still taut from the fight, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.  Still vamped out, his yellow eyes bored into her soul.  Part of her trembled before his intense gaze; part of her throbbed. 


She had known this was coming.  For days she had known.  She had seen it in the tension in Angel’s shoulders, in the short, irritated phrases he uttered, in the unusual viciousness with which he killed.  She had learned over time not to push him when he was like this.  When he was ready for his release, he would take it.  And tonight he was ready.


He let his sword fall out of his hand.  In three big strides, he reached her.  Grabbing the back of her head, he pulled her in for a crushing kiss.  He immediately tasted the blood on her lip, which only inflamed him more.  He ran his tongue over the tiny cut, sucking out every last drop.  Even that small exchange made her feel giddy.  She reached out to trace along his sharp fangs with her tongue, nicking herself in the process, as she knew she would.  The new rush of blood excited him further.  He curled his fist into her hair, pulling her mouth harder against his.


Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he walked her backwards until her backside hit a large, altar-like gravestone.  Suddenly, he spun her around and bent her over the flat surface.  Instinctively, she tried to push herself up.  A strong hand on her back pushed her firmly down against the stone. 


She heard the zip of his pants, felt a hand reach under her short skirt to rip off her panties and flip her skirt up over her waist.  She had known to wear a skirt on patrol tonight.  That way, she only sacrificed an old pair of underwear and not her favorite jeans. 


After a moment, she realized that he wasn’t fucking her, yet.  She turned her head slightly to look back at him.  He was looking down at her hungrily, running his fingertips softly over her ass, as if admiring a prized possession.   He let go of her to pull his pants down just enough, bent his knees slightly, and plunged forward.


She cried out at the sudden intrusion.  She wasn’t quite ready, and he had to work himself back and forth a few times before he was buried to the hilt.  She felt every long hard inch of him, rocking in and out until he hit bottom.  Once there, he did not pause but immediately began moving, hard and short.  Strong hands steadied her hips, holding her still to receive his thrusts.  Her legs slammed against the gravestone with each push.  Tomorrow she would have scrapes on her knees and hand-shaped bruises on her hips, and he would lovingly tend to each nick and scratch. 


But tonight was not a night for gentle loving care.  Tonight was for fucking, for panting, for screaming.  Tonight, Angel plunged the depths of her body, releasing his demons into her, and she gladly welcomed them. 


He wasn’t going to last long, nor did he try.  He sped up, digging his fingers into her hips, grunting each time he slammed into her.  Suddenly, he let out a growl from deep within his chest, and plunged down to her neck. 


His fangs were so sharp that she hardly felt the initial penetration, but when he began to drink, her whole being turned its focus to the point where his mouth met her neck.  He drank and drank, and her pleasure swirled higher and higher, until she came with a scream.  He sucked down every last drop of her orgasm, never ceasing his punishing pace, finally throwing his head back to yell out his pleasure as he released his cool seed inside her.  He collapsed on top of her. 


Buffy turned her head to the side and rested her cheek against the cold, rough stone.  Her heart still raced inside her chest, and she knew Angel could hear it pounding through her back.  Gradually, she caught her breath, and her heart slowed.  Recovering with her, Angel licked off the last trickle of blood on her throat, placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck, and stood back up, pulling her with him.  Her legs wobbled at the sudden change in position, and he pulled her against his chest to steady her. 


She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his waist underneath his leather coat.  Looking up, she was greeted by his smiling, human face.  “Hi,” he said. 


“Hi,” she answered. 


“You okay?” he asked.  He always asked, even though he should know the answer by now. 


“I’m better than okay.  You?”  He nodded. 


“I think that should hold me for at least a month.” 


She frowned.  “I wish that weren’t true.”  No matter her begging, pleading, or cajoling, he refused to bite her more often than absolutely necessary, saying he didn’t want to make her sick or weak. 


He wasn’t retreading that conversation tonight.  Instead, his smile turned indulgent.  “Ready to go home?  I could draw up a nice, hot bath for you.”


She gave him a pat on the chest.  “Only if you join me.” 


He led them out of the cemetery, scooping up his sword on the way, with Buffy still tight to his side.  “Of course,” he replied.  “Where else would I be?”