Author: Dark Star
Summary: There is always a time and a place.
Thanks to Jo for the beta.
Stella’s Place looked like a palace against the
dilapidated city buildings. The bright lights of its welcoming bar drew people
in from miles around; a meeting place for all of the lost and lonely souls that
had nowhere else to go.
Heading toward its gaudy entrance, Buffy picked her way
through the dirty alley, her high heels clicking against the pitted concrete.
She ignored the leering stares from the two doormen, and flounced past them
into the hallway, not stopping to check her appearance in the full-length
mirror inside the entrance first. She
knew she looked good. She knew her skirt was too short, her shirt was too
tight, and her hips were swaying too much with exaggerated licentious
suggestion. She took a deep breath and crossed the hallway toward the larger
room beyond. This room held tables and private cubbyholes where couples sat
snugly together. A long counter ran the length of the room, its top was
scratched and worn, but it looked clean.
Several heads looked up as she entered. Several of the men –
and one or two women –stared at her with open approval, but she ignored them,
and instead continued her wanton way slowly over to the bar, where she perched
herself carefully on one of the high bar seats.
The young man in the next seat gave her a long exploratory
“Want some company?” he said at last.
“You couldn’t afford me,” she responded in a bored tone, and
he winced. She had the look of a woman who had been around for too long, seen
too much. It was a look many people carried since the world as they knew it had
crumbled, but there was something more about her that made him nervous.
“Please yourself,” he mumbled uneasily, and hurried away to
find friendlier company.
Buffy rummaged in her bag for a small mirror, checked her
makeup, and was just putting her mirror away again when somebody slid into the
chair that the young man had just vacated.
She looked up into deep dark brown eyes and her breath
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked politely.
Buffy considered his question, before nodding. “Switch.”
Two drinks swiftly materialised in front of them, and Buffy
watched the shimmering colours of the switch dancing in the glass as the
bartender hurried off to his next customer.
Buffy returned her gaze to her seated companion.
“I’m Angel,” he told her, as he sipped his amber-coloured
“What are you doing here, Anne?”
She pouted. “Drinking with you.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it
never properly materialised.
“What would you like to do?” he asked instead.
Buffy casually took a sip of her shimmering drink and
smirked at him over the rim of her glass.
Angel’s eyes shifted from her face, slowly following the
contours of her blouse’s plunging neckline. Fascination made him pause there,
mesmerised by the steady rise and fall of her chest; was that the outline of a
perky nipple under the straining fabric of her shirt?
“Are you working, Anne?”
Buffy dropped her head slightly to one side and stared at
him quizzically. “Depends. Are you paying?”
Angel’s gaze dropped suggestively to her chest and stayed
there while he enjoyed watching the heaving from within. Finally he said,
Buffy nodded once. “Come with me.”
Buffy led him through the back doors of the bar and out into
the alley. The passage looked deserted, dark shadows stretched across the
pathway and the area smelt vaguely of something rotting.
Buffy stopped in a shadowy area next to the outside wall of
the bar. She turned to face him, saying
nothing, and waited. Angel took something from inside his jacket and gave it to
her. Buffy dropped the folded banknotes into her handbag without checking them
and then carefully stood the bag on the floor next to them. She waited.
“Turn round,” said Angel. “Hands against the wall.”
Buffy turned without a word, balancing herself on her very
high heels by opening her legs into a better stance, and braced her hands
against the wall.
Angel stepped closer, running his hands slowly down over her
clothed back, smoothed her hips with rhythmic round movements, and then let his
hands rest against her stomach. He leant in closer to nuzzle at her neck and
then whispered, “We’re being watched.”
“Yeah,” he grunted, his hands moving up again and coming to
rest on her breasts.
“Well, we’re supposed to be distracting them away from the
door. So… do you want to give them something to think about?”
“Be my pleasure,” he responded. “How do you want it?”
She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.
“Make it look good.”
Angel’s grin was wolfish when he pulled back, pushed his
hands up inside her shirt and splayed his cool hands against her skin. She
sighed with pleasure, and then Angel tugged both the thin shirt and skimpy bra
up and over her breasts to let them swing free. Before her skin had chance to
break out in goosebumps in the night air, Angel had her breasts back in his
hands, skin on skin, and squeezed them roughly. She couldn’t help whimpering
when he rolled her nipples in his fingers and pinched on them hard. Yeah.
Reluctantly releasing the inviting warmth of her breasts,
Angel gradually slid her skirt up to bunch around her waist. His actions might
be largely for show, but he was enjoying himself immensely and getting more
turned on at the ragged moans coming from her mouth.
The panties came next, unceremoniously yanked down, and as
Buffy slipped one foot out she heard Angel’s zip go down and tried to push her
backside out to make it easier for him. She still had not removed her hands from
Holding her steady and bending at the knees, Angel
positioned himself between her legs by leaning backwards a little and pushed
up, making them both moan when he entered her and pressed home. Letting them
both savour the moment, Angel paused before pulling back and rammed back in,
enjoying the small sound she made as he closed the distance between them.
Pulling back again, he shoved home again and again, not bothering to hold back
the strength of his thrusts, and each one attempted to push her closer to the
wall. But Buffy had her own strength
and managed to slow the migration towards the dirty brick, and was able to hold
off long enough for Angel to finish with her. His hands clawed around her naked
hips in a grip that would have injured a normal woman, grunting when he came,
and she felt him rest briefly against her back.
Then the pressure was gone, and feeling a little bereft of
his skin, and irritably unsatisfied, she released her hold on the wall and
stood up. She started to turn to face him, and as she did so, stepped slightly
back into the deeper shadows. Angel leant in to give her a quick kiss, and
pulled away immediately, knowing the kiss would not have been seen by their
Buffy bent to pick up her underwear, and when she stood up
again, Angel was nowhere to be seen.
The walk back to her small room was long and depressing. She
picked her way through the sleeping bodies and messy streets, shivering in her
skimpy outfit as the early morning mist rose and filled the air with musty
dampness. Her street was cleaner than most, but decay was everywhere in the
broken city. Reaching her apartment building, she pushed open the outside door
and walked into the passage. Her room lay on the second floor, and not bothering
to turn on the meagre lights in the stairway, Buffy made her way up the steep
staircase, and paused outside the door to her room to look for her key.
Entering the room she closed the door firmly behind her and turned on the
light. Rummaging in her handbag, she pulled out the banknotes that Angel had
given her, and unfolded them. The bundle contained just a single bill, and
hidden inside nestled two folded pieces of paper.
She unfolded the first one, and found that Giles had written
her an address, telling her where she would be able to find Boris’
headquarters, how best to get in, and how many men Bo was likely to have
working. The note finished with, ‘Be careful’.
The second piece of paper held just one word written in a