He and Buffy had stopped sharing dreams for the most part once his pesky soul went by the wayside. But for some reason he had the feeling that he was needed here tonight. Spike and Drusilla would laugh if they knew he had come to help her rather than to kill her. Confined to a wheelchair Spike would not be checking up on Angelus anytime soon. Dru on the other hand could see things in a vision that might lead her to call Angelus to task once she realized he had not come to kill the slayer.
Just as Angelus was about to enter Buffy's room he saw her walking out pulling her IV stand behind her. The hospital gown she wore left little to the imagination, reminding Angelus of what he had found so appealing about her. She looked as if she knew where she was headed so Angelus followed.
"Buffy?" he called after her when moments passed and she did not seem to notice or acknowledge his presence. She turned toward him but made no response beyond that. The glazed look in her eyes suggested Buffy was not aware of where she was. Was she sleepwalking?
"Buffy," he repeated when she stopped at the doors leading to the children's ward. Angelus had read that there was a flu epidemic in town, Buffy had fallen victim to it as had most of the kids in there judging by the looks of them.
"Celia," she murmured. She was frozen in place with the exception of her hands, which were pressed against the doors. At first he thought Buffy knew one of the children in the room and was merely checking up on her, but as her voice grew into a frantic, frightened wail he knew there was something very wrong.
"Christ," he murmured as he wrestled her hands away from the doors so that she would not get the opportunity to beat the doors down. Any minute now he expected a nurse or hospital security to approach them. "I did not come here to be your babysitter," he said gruffly as she struggled with him.
"Buffy," he growled, his game face falling into place as she started beating her fists against his chest. If she were a regular seventeen year old girl it would not have been too bad, but she was putting a good deal of her slayer strength behind her punches. He grabbed a hold of her forearms and held onto her for all he was worth. "Buffy, look at me," he commanded.
He transferred her left forearm to his left hand so he had both forearms in the grasp of the same hand and slapped her across the face when she still did not respond to him. She was burning up with fever, Angelus knew he had to get her back to her room and fast or she would collapse right there in the hallway.
"I have to save her," she wailed in response to his blow. Realizing there was no getting through to her he took her into his arms and returned her to her bed, unsure what to do from there. From touching her he felt her getting hotter by the minute. The only thing he knew of for certain that could break a fever was something his mother had done when his sister was sick with a fever.
He shed his clothes, removed her hospital gown before taking her into his arms again. He slid onto the bed and arranged her so she lay along the length of his body, drawing the flimsy hospital blanket over them. Body heat, though he had little of it to offer her, worked every time for his mother.
"Come on, Buff," he said as he stared at the ceiling wondering just why he was here doing this. He did not want this girl to live but he did not want to see her die in this way either. He wanted her to die at his hands when he was done toying with her and her friends. He was not nearly done having his fun at her expense.
More than an hour passed and she felt cooler to the touch. Still he remained there, grateful no one had bothered to enter the room. She began murmuring again and he took that as a sign she was coming to. She shifted against him, her hand grasping onto his shoulder as if she would fall.
"Angel?" he heard her ask sleepily. He did not have time to respond as she leaned up and kissed him. His body reacted instantly to the contact, his hardness jutting against her body. "Angel," she whispered against his ear, kissing him there and it was his undoing.
"Buff," he hissed as her tongue swirled along the outer rim of his ear. She did not stop and she made no protest when he shifted her body so that he could enter her. He was aware that she had been delirious no less than two hours ago, but as he slid inside of her and heard her moan of pleasure he did not care. Why should he care? It was no longer his job to take care of her. And he had wanted to fuck her again for weeks. Tonight, he finally got his wish and if he was lucky she might not remember it tomorrow.
She sat up and began to love him back, slowly at first until she built into a crescendo that might have hurt a human boy. Her eyes opened and she laid her head to rest against his chest. He ran a hand through her hair, damp from the fever and the physical tolls of sex. "Mm," she said as she nuzzled against him.
Time to put a stop to this now. "I just didn't want you to die in here, Lover," he said roughly. He knew when her heartbeat picked up that she realized whom she was dealing with. Or rather whom she was not dealing with.
"You're feeling better then?" he asked as he slid out from under her and off the bed. He dressed quickly, glancing at her indifferently. "Has the fever broken?" She did not respond to his second question either as he slid into his leather coat. "I'll send a nurse in on my way out."
"Why?" she asked.
"Don't bother asking questions I can't answer, Buff. But thanks for the good time, I always thought hospital beds would be too small for a good fuck. Good night, Lover, until we meet again. Next time, all of my clothes will be on and you won't be able to kiss your way out of my killing you."
Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com