Stella’s Place

Author: Dark Star

Summary: There is always a time and a place.

Rating: Adult

Website

Pairing: B/A

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 look.

“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 caught.

“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 whiskey substitute.

“Anne.”

“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, “Hell, yeah.”

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.”

“Bo’s men?”

“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. Definitely perky.

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 the wall.

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 eager audience.

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 different hand.

Always.

End.