DISCLAIMER: Joss owns them, along with a lot of other folks at FOX, various production companies and a network or two. Joss has publicly stated that BtVS was always intended as a show which would inspire fanfiction. Fanfiction he wanted, fanfiction he’s got. No infringement intended.

RATING: NC-17

SPOILERS: Everything through the end of seasons 5/2.

WARNING TO B/A ‘SHIPPERS: Please remember as you read this that I am one of your numbers. I have a B/A agenda for this fic, but to get to it, I had to write Angel, Dark, the way we were promised he would be in Ats season two, in which he never really got much beyond Angel, Beige. I wasn’t planning on adding the twist that shows up in this section, but Angel, Dark had his own ideas about appropriate behavior. Try not to be too upset, and remember, this is just a stop along the road that leads to the inevitable B/A reunion.
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Storming Heaven  part 4

Mitch Walker had been security captain at Wolfram & Hart for three years. He’d come to his profession late in life, having met with indifferent success in his other fields of endeavor. The one thing he knew himself to be good at wasn’t exactly a saleable talent, or so he’d always thought. Wolfram & Hart thought otherwise. Still, Mitch hadn’t signed on with the law firm until he was close to forty. It was a sweet gig. Instead of having to hide his . . .tastes. . .from an employer, he was assisted in indulging them--discreetly, of course. He hadn’t always been so lucky, which was how he’d come to their attention in the first place. He’d gotten careless, been arrested, and the necessarily gory details showed up in the papers, though edited to the point where the casual reader wouldn’t lose his lunch over them.

Seemingly, Wolfram & Hart could read between the lines.

Mitch couldn’t afford a lawyer, and the Public Defender the courts saddled him with was a real joke. Figuring himself for a dead man no matter what he did, Mitch told the clown to go fuck himself. The next day, a couple of suits from Wolfram & Hart showed up. They could use a man of his talents, they said. They would represent him for free, provided that if they won his case, he would come to work for them.

Given that the police had walked in on him before he could clean up the mess, Mitch didn’t see much hope of that. He expected to end up on death row. He’d never heard of Wolfram & Hart, but they had the jackass from the PD’s office beat by a country mile, so, with nothing to lose, he let them represent him.

He walked out of his trial a free man.

Also, a very grateful one. He started to work for the law firm a week later, and, after spending several years as a regular guard, he’d performed enough "special services" for enough partners to be promoted to captain. Mitch’s relationship with his employer was one that satisfied both parities, and he made it his business to see that things were as secure around the firm as the bosses wanted them to be.

So when the vampire alarms went off, just after 9:00 a.m., he was out of his office and heading for the breached garage-level entrance at once.

Jerry, one of the junior guards, was approaching the intruder, with Nick and Sam backing him up. Mitch gave Jerry points for balls. The kid was pretty new to all this. He’d only been with the firm for a few weeks, and was still getting used to the idea that demons and the other stuff of nightmares were abroad in the waking world. Just what had persuaded Jerry to leave the police academy where he’d been, by all accounts, showing real promise to take on a grunt job with the firm was still a mystery, one Mitch was planning on investigating. The Director under whose purview Security fell knew all the details. She’d said to leave it alone, so Mitch had backed off. For the moment. He liked to know everything there was to know about any of the guys who were supposed to have his back in an emergency, though, so he wouldn’t leave it alone for long. To see how far he could trust Jerry with his back, Mitch would, under other circumstances, have let Jerry take care of matters with a vampire intruder, watching to see how he handled himself, ready to jump in if needed. But Mitch recognized just who it was who had strolled casually into the building--probably using the sewer tunnels to the garage, although no odor of sewage could be detected anywhere near him--and waved Jerry and the others off. The senior partners wanted this intruder, and they wanted him, badly. Undusted.

"Looks like I’m gonna get myself another promotion," Mitch smirked, aiming the gun designed to shoot holy water at speeds high enough to penetrate flesh. If he could just cripple the vampire long enough for the shamans to subdue him . . .

He never got off the shot.

With the preternatural speed of his kind, the vampire pulled something free from the scabbard hidden beneath his long leather duster before any of the guards could react. A flick of his wrist brought darkness--slavering, voracious darkness--hurtling toward Mitch with glaring red eyes and snapping fanged jaws. He screamed as it consumed him.

And kept screaming.

Jerry blanched, watching the thing in the vampire’s hand swallow the shrieking security captain, looking for all the world like a snake digesting its prey. For a moment, the thing’s sleek length was distorted by a Mitch-shaped bulge. Then, the darkness shook itself, and the bulge disappeared . . .but did not fall silent. Jerry stared in horror as the darkness coiled outward, looking for something else to swallow.

From the terrified faces of the guards, Angel judged that the gim was having the effect he wanted. With another snap of his wrist, he pulled it back, but didn’t sheathe it.

"I’d like to speak with Holland Manners’ replacement, please," he said pleasantly.

Jerry could still hear Mitch. The writhing darkness was struggling in the vampire’s grip, trying to launch itself at the appalled guards, whining like a dog denied a bone. Though the vampire effortlessly kept it in check, Jerry didn’t want to put the guy’s control to the test. There was no question of taking him on, not with that weapon in his hand. Jerry had the damnedest feeling that, even without the weapon, it wouldn’t be a good idea. He signaled his back-up men to back off from a confrontation that would probably end up with them discovering exactly how and why Mitch wasn’t dead enough to shut-up. That was one discovery Jerry didn’t care to make.

"I, um, I’ll see if Ms. Morgan is in," he stammered, reaching for the console phone, and adding, as an afterthought, a politic, "Sir." Smiling affably, Angel forced the protesting gim back into its scabbard, muffling Mitch’s continued screams.

Nathan Reed was in Lilah’s office when the call came in from one of the junior security guards. The man was clearly terrified as he explained that the vampire who had set off the alarms was asking to speak with Ms. Morgan. An interesting enough development, Nathan thought. Probably someone with information to sell. But there were procedures for such things; procedures which did not include interrupting the Vice President of Special Projects when she was in a meeting with her superior. Irritated by the break in protocol, Nathan leaned over Lilah, and spoke into the intercom.

"Let me speak with Mitch," he snapped.

"Um. Sir. The, uh, gentleman who’s here to see Ms. Morgan? He’s got an. . . he’s got something that ate--is still eating?--Mitch." Lilah barely suppressed a horrified gasp. Realizing what she’d done she glanced quickly at Nathan, to see if he’d noticed. It was never a good idea to reveal weakness before the brass at Wolfram & Hart. That was a good way to end up like Mitch: eaten alive. Nathan, however, seemed to be too interested in what the guard had to tell him to pay any attention to Lilah.

"This gentleman," he asked thoughtfully. "Is he the one whose picture we’ve circulated?"

"It appears to be him, sir." Jerry confirmed. Nathan began to smile.

"And he is asking to speak with Ms. Morgan?" Jerry confirmed that, as well. Nathan's smile broadened. "Please escort our guest to Ms. Morgan’s --no, make that my office--at once. Oh, first ask him if his preference is for O or for AB negative."

Jerry gulped, made the inquiry, and communicated Angel’s response that one of each, heated, would suffice for the moment.

"Good, good," Nathan chuckled. "Bring him right up." He ended the call. "Well, my dear. Congratulations. The pet project assigned to your division has arrived and is politely asking to speak with you, instead of simply forcing his way into your offices."

"If you believe unleashing something that eats our most--efficient--security captain is polite," she replied, evenly.

"A likely unavoidable accident," Nathan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Regrettable, to be sure. But Mitch is easily replaced. Angel, however . . ." There was no need to finish the sentence. Lilah knew exactly how valuable Angel was to Wolfram & Hart. Far more valuable than Lilah herself--or Nathan, if it should come to that--could hope to be. She remembered quite clearly the night that Nathan had explained that to both herself and Lindsay, during that disastrous charity gala just after Holland’s death. Not a pleasant memory. She shook it off, and realized that Nathan was still going on about this turn of events. "The senior partners will be very pleased that their faith was not misplaced, when they gave you your promotion." The smile Lilah managed was sickly, but Nathan gave her points for attempting it, at all.

"Thank you, sir," she added, without too much of a quaver, gaining a few more points.

"Have Rachel take care of refreshments for our guest," Nathan ordered as he walked toward the door, "then join us in my office." Lilah kept her smile until the door closed behind him, then let out the breath she’d been holding on a groan. Unless hell had frozen over, and no one had sent her the memo, she couldn’t imagine why Angel would want to place nice with Wolfram & Hart. Easy for Nathan to accept this sudden volte-face from the ensouled vampire. Nathan had never had to deal with Angel up close and personal. Lilah had. There was no way she was proceeding with anything less than extreme caution. Starting with making sure Rachel had the blood prepared to the vampire’s specifications, and waiting for him in Nathan’s office as soon as he arrived --in about three more minutes. Grimly, Lilah reached for the button of her intercom, even as she opened her desk drawer with her other hand to get the stake her dealings with Angel had led her to keep within grabbing distance.

In the lobby, Jerry slowly hung up the phone, and turned to the vampire.

"Mr. Reed has asked that I bring you directly to his office. Would. . .would you please come this way, sir?" he said, arm extended to indicate the bank of elevators behind him that went express to the highest floors of the law firm.

"Thank you," Angel said, walking in the direction indicated. Angel could smell the fear coming off the young security guard, like the stink of a too-liberally applied after-shave. At one time in his unlife, the stench of it would have aroused his delighted hunger. At another, his deepest sorrow and regret. Now, it just . . .was. Angel didn't care whether the guard--his nametag said he was "Jerry," something else Angel didn't care about--feared him or not.

So, he said nothing either to further intimidate, or to reassure Jerry during the elevator ride. The only sounds were the electric humming of the elevator, the muted tones of some banal canned music, the faint shivering of Jerry's bones, and the occasional moan from within the gim. A moment later there was a soft chime as they arrived at their floor, then the elevator doors slid open.

If anyone had doubted the wealth and power Wolfram & Hart commanded, one look at the executive offices would have set them straight. The runner covering the hardwood floor in the hallway was a luxurious Persian carpet, undoubtedly hand-loomed. The receptionist’s desk was a large and comfortable mahogany affair, and the middle-aged woman who sat behind it was dressed in an expensively tailored suit accessorized with a simple, and quite valuable, antique gold necklace. A Lalique glass vase--one of René’s originals, not something the factory had turned out-- on the curio table behind her held a generous arrangement of fresh-cut flowers. The walls were oak-paneled, and the few paintings displayed on them --the firm did not follow the common practice of hanging portraits of the founding members of the firm or senior partners in the halls of power--were original masters, not reproductions. The woman at the desk nodded pleasantly to Jerry and told them to go right in. Mr. Reed and Ms. Morgan were expecting them.

Jerry led the way to a magnificent corner office, and deferentially showed him in. A man Angel remembered from the gala fund raiser he had disrupted-- ultimately to Anne's benefit, if not on her behalf--rose from his own desk, to greet him. Lilah Morgan was nearby, close to a sideboard where two thermal coffeepots--neither of which contained coffee--sat beside a large insulated travel mug. Lilah, it seemed, was to play hostess. Though she looked relaxed, Angel knew she was anything but. More fear-scent was coming off of her than was pouring from Jerry. However, hers was pleasantly laced with something else: lust. It wasn't an uncommon reaction to get from humans who knew they were dealing with a vampire. Even Nathan exhibited some of it. Power was an incredible aphrodisiac, and there was considerable power to be had from trafficking with the dead. The lust humans experienced during business encounters with vampires usually had little to do with sex, and rarely anything to do with any physical desire for the vampire him or her self. Angel wasn’t sure that was strictly true in Lilah’s case.

She was quite a beautiful woman, certainly a wicked one, and she presented a temptation Angelus would never have been able to resist. If the demon were in charge, Lilah would have found herself pulled onto his lap while he dealt with Nathan. He imagined the older lawyer would let him do any damned thing with her that he pleased, so long as Nathan got what he wanted, himself. Matters concluded to the satisfaction of the two males, the girl would have ended with her skirts hiked to her waist, bent over the desk, or perhaps the more conveniently situated sideboard, --the leather couch in Nathan’s office simply wouldn’t have given Angelus the kind of room he needed for these little encounters--as Angelus made her scream in mixed pleasure and terror. The only question was, would she have lived past her orgasm? Because of course that would have been when Angelus slid into gameface, sinking his fangs into the hot pulse of her jugular even as he sank his cock into her hot, willing--he could make her very willing--flesh. The answer would have depended more on Angelus’ whim than on Nathan’s use for the girl. And, on how she tasted: orgasm imparted a particular spice to the blood, as did fear. A connoisseur, Angelus preferred sometimes one, sometimes the other, and sometimes a delicate mix of both. But he was never known for his restraint, and if Lilah tasted too good . . .

But he was not Angelus, even yet, and Lilah was safe. Or, as safe as anyone was from him now that he’d gone to war with Heaven.

"Ah, Angel," Nathan Reed said, dismissing a relieved Jerry and offering his hand to the vampire. Angel raised one brow. Nathan’s smile faded a little as he let his hand fall back to his side. Lilah, with a smile that managed to conceal both terror and lust, covered the awkward moment by pouring from one of the pots and offered him the mug, as Nathan resumed his seat.

"I thought the O to start," she said, as if this were a particularly sophisticated soirée and she was offering one of her guests a new wine. He accepted it, his fingers unavoidably brushing over hers, and he noted the unusual chill of her flesh. Oh, yes, she was very, very frightened indeed.

"Thank you," he said, lifting the mug to his lips. The temperature was perfect, and the blood was premium: young, fresh, with just a hint of wickedness. Also, a donor: there was no tinge of death in the ruby liquid sliding down his throat. Of course, death had its charms . . .

Abruptly, Angel’s hunger peaked. For a night and a day and another night he had stormed heaven, without rest and without feeding. His reserves of strength were seriously depleted, and only blood and rest could restore him. Under the circumstances, rest would have to wait. Angel finished the contents of the mug in one long draft, and held it out for more. He dispensed with that as quickly as he had the first, and held his mug out again.

"The AB, this time."

"Of course," she murmured, and reached for the other pot.

As Angel drank down the next helping of blood, he realized that someone on Wolfram & Hart’s staff had an educated vampiric palate. This blood was easily as good as the first. Both had seemed more . . .vital. . . than the bagged blood he was used to. He’d bet it had been taken within the past few hours, too, most likely from one of the non-profit blood banks the law firm represented, ostensibly, pro bono. For fast food, it couldn’t be beat.

But it still wasn’t quite as good as fresh from the vein. Harmony’s recent words came back to him: " . . .how can you deprive yourself of the taste? The sensation of rich, warm, human blood, flowing into your mouth, bathing your tongue, caressing your throat. . ."

As Lilah offered him a fourth mug, Angel decided there really was no point in protecting her--or anyone else-- from his appetites. He had denied himself for a century, and what had that gained him, but more heartache than even his inhuman heart could bear? He had denied himself Buffy, leaving Sunnydale so that she could find a man who could take her into the sunlight, but she had only found a boy who ultimately became tainted by the darkness she fought. Angel had denied himself again, when she’d come to him in L.A., giving up the humanity that would have let him help her lead that normal life she wanted. He’d done it so that she could live: A bare eighteen months later, she was dead and buried. Once again, the only thing denying himself had gotten him was the one thing he’d tried desperately to avoid.

Maybe, if he hadn’t denied himself, it would have made a difference. If he had stayed with her in Sunnydale, he could have protected her from that hellgoddess bitch. Or, if he’d kept his humanity, they could have found a way around the End of Days prophecies. And if they couldn’t, at least they’d have spent the last few months of their lives together, dying while fighting at each other’s sides, perhaps dying in each other’s arms.

But no matter how hard he had tried to atone for his sins, no matter how much he had given up for the sake of those he loved, his suffering had increased, not lessened, and the woman who inspired him, the light in his darkness, had suffered even more. Given how little denying himself had gained him in the past, what possible reason was there for him to go on making his pointless, painful sacrifices?

No more. He was through putting the needs of others before his own. Right now, he needed more than Lilah’s coffeepots could supply.

Lilah, herself, on the other hand . . . .

This time, when his fingers brushed hers, he tightened his grip, tugging Lilah along behind him as he took the chair opposite Nathan Reed’s desk. The cool smile Lilah had been wearing was frozen into place as he pulled her onto his lap. Nathan made not the slightest objection to the impromptu seating arrangement.

"Well, Angel," he began. "We’re delighted to see you here at Wolfram & Hart on more--Ah, amicable? Yes, amicable-- terms than usual. But, I must ask. What brought about this change in attitude?"

"Simple thing, really," Angel said, drawing Lilah close, without looking at her. He slid his hand up her side, under her impeccably tailored suit jacket, and then under the cream satin blouse beneath that, absently fondling her breast rather as one would pet a cat. Unlike a cat, Lilah showed no disposition to purr. Yet. For the moment, her delicate shivers of erotically charged terror would do nicely. "Last time I was here, I had an interesting conversation with Holland Manners," Angel continued.

"But, Holland was dead, by then," Lilah couldn’t help exclaiming. Nathan shot her a sardonic smile.

"So he assured me," Angel agreed, circling a finger around the stiffening nipple of her right breast. "But he was still quite articulate, and we had what proved to be an enlightening conversation."

"How so?" Nathan Reed asked, leaning forward eagerly over his desk.

"It wasn’t what he actually said" Angel mused, "about how Wolfram & Hart wasn’t interested in ‘winning’ anything. It was more what he didn’t say: if you have nothing to win, why target me? So, when I was--more myself--I got to thinking, and I did some research. That’s how I found out why, once the upper management of Wolfram & Hart got involved, the plan changed from killing me, to, how shall I put this? Rendering me more receptive to whatever overtures the firm cared to make."

This time it was Nathan’s smile which remained frozen.

"You found out about the prophecies. The apocalypse?" He and Lilah exchanged uneasy glances.

Lilah remembered the conversation vividly. Lindsey had demanded to know why the senior partners were tying his and Lilah’s hands in their dealings with Angel. Why couldn’t they just kill him? Nathan told them. The prophecies about the coming apocalypse all agreed on one thing: Angel would have a major part to play in the final battle. Only, no one knew exactly whose side he would be on. Wolfram & Hart had been trying to keep that gray area as gray as possible, Nathan said, and went on to say that if Angel stooped to murdering Lindsey or Lilah the firm would take that as a positive sign, indicating that Angel was on the road to joining their own team.

As far as she knew, Lindsey was alive and well. Rumor had it that Angel had even helped him just before the young lawyer had blown off Wolfram & Hart, incidentally assuring Lilah the vice presidency she now enjoyed. And, judging by her position on Angel’s lap, killing her was no longer at the top of his agenda, if it had ever been important enough to him to be on his agenda at all. So, what had happened? Why was this Champion of Good suddenly amenable to the idea of bringing on the end of the world?

Angel, amused by the consternation his comment had caused, gave Nathan an affirmative nod, while he gently rolled Lilah’s nipple between thumb and forefinger. Both her terror and her lust were escalating. He could feel the damp heat of her against his thigh, and imagined that if he kept things up, he’d have a fragrant stain on his pants soon. Fortunately, they were dark enough not to show stains.

"So," Nathan began, trying to understand what was going on, "you found this prophecy, and you came right over here, because--"

"Not exactly." Angel interrupted. "I found the prophecy a few days after my conversation with Holland. However, I’d had myself an epiphany by then. When I read it, I thought the part I was to play in the apocalypse was obvious. You’re attempt to bring me into things on your side had failed, and that was the end of the matter. When it came, I’d be on the right side, and I’d finally get the victory over you I’d wanted."

"And yet, here you are," Nathan observed.

"Here I am," Angel agreed, taking another drink. "It seemed appropriate."

"Why is that?" Nathan asked uneasily, wondering if he had just made the biggest--and last--mistake of his life.

"I had another epiphany."

"Pardon?"

"The first one made me realize that nothing we do matters," Angel said. "I misinterpreted that, though. I thought that if there’s no grand plan, then the only thing that matters is what we do. The smallest act of kindness--without hope of reward, or any purpose beyond the kindness itself--had to be the greatest thing in the world." Angel shook his head, as if contemplating his folly, and took another drink from his mug.

"And you’re second epiphany?" Nathan prompted.

"My second epiphany . . .made me realize, there is a plan. And that those making the plans have an agenda so far outside human comprehension, that all the pain, all the suffering, all the grief in the world doesn’t matter to them. So, what we do doesn’t matter, because no matter what we do, it will never be enough. All the kindness ever done won’t make up for all the loss, all the grief, all the torment that gets dealt out every single day. A moment’s kindness is just a respite until the next wave drags you under, and the one after that, until the final one that keeps you down for good."

"I see," Nathan nodded understandingly. "And so you decided that the world was better off having its apocalypse?"

"So I did," Angel said, setting the now empty mug down on an end table beside the chair.

"You’re here to put the world out of its misery, then?"

"Partly," Angel allowed. "But I have another purpose. I thought Wolfram & Hart would be able to help me with that."

Nathan smiled. This was what he had been waiting for. They were about to negotiate terms.

"Well, as one of the most important players on our team, Angel, I assure you that that full power of the firm will be behind you in any undertaking that will further our mutual plan. So, what is it that you need?"

"Heaven took something from me," Angel said coldly, his fingers going still on Lilah. "They broke a promise, and went back on their word when they did it. I want her back."

Angel’s pronoun usage was not lost on either of the room’s other two occupants. Nathan’s smile faltered just a little.

"Well, Angel, we will of course do everything we can to help you regain your--ah, what you’ve lost. However, I do need to point out that there are certain difficulties. When we brought Darla back . . . well, she was in our own territory, so to speak. In this case--"

"If you’re going to tell me that storming heaven won’t work, save your breath," Angel told him. "You’re familiar with the legends of Gang-Ying? No? Well, have one of your sorcerers fill you in. I have her sword. I used it. It didn’t work. There are only two possibilities; either she’s not in heaven, or, what I did isn’t sufficient to get her back. In either case, I need Wolfram & Hart."

"I’m not sure I follow."

"It’s quite simple, really," Angel said. "I bring on your apocalypse. And with it, release the hosts of hell onto earth. In the unlikely event that she’s in Hell, you give her to me, do whatever you please with the world, and leave us alone."

"The death and destruction don’t bother you?" Nathan marveled.

"Sooner or later, death and destruction will visit everything on the earth, whatever we do here," Angel said. "I’m just taking a shortcut around the eons of suffering mankind has to live through if we don’t speed up the timetable."

"Very altruistic of you," Nathan nodded sagely. "But, what if she isn’t in hell?"

"Then, when the earth is firmly in your grasp, you turn the hordes of hell over to me, and I don’t storm heaven, I lay siege to it. The Powers That Be gave Gang-Ying this sword to prevent that. I imagine if they find themselves faced with the prospect a second time, I can persuade them to rethink their decision not to honor our original agreement."

"And that would be?"

"None of your concern," Angel said, his voice cold, flat, forbidding. Nathan took this in, weighing everything the ensouled vampire had told them. The senior partners were going to know just what agreement heaven had broken with Angel that had driven him into their own welcoming arms. There was bound to be some useful leverage in the information. But, their files on him were pretty extensive. Even if Angel didn’t give them the specifics, Nathan was confident that, with the help of one or two of their . . . security consultants. . . he could put together a fair approximation of what had happened from the files. And, if he couldn’t get all the details the senior partners wanted, it looked as if Lilah might soon be in a position to extract more information from her special project. Several moments passed. Lilah shifted uneasily on Angel’s lap. Eventually, Nathan smiled.

"I must say, your trust in us is admirable," he said . "You’re going to bring on the apocalypse, and not take your reward until after our team has already gotten what we want, and presumably, have no further need of your services. Why are you so confident that we’ll risk ourselves against heaven, once we have earth?"

Angel smiled. "That will be part of the details your sorcerers give you about this sword. I’m sure once they explain it to you, the matter will be perfectly clear."

Nathan settled back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction.

"It seems then, that the only thing left to do is work out the details. I’m assuming you’ll want a new residence, now that you’re, ah, changing teams?"

"I trust you can find something suitable," Angel said, bored. "Perhaps you can begin working on the arrangements now," he suggested. "I’m feeling a bit fatigued. Why don’t I stay here with Ms. Morgan, discuss a few of those details, while you take care of other matters?" Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, and understanding exactly who was expendable to the senior partners and who was not, Nathan Reed jovially fell in with Angel’s plans, and a moment later left the vampire in possession of his own office, and the Vice President in Charge of Special Projects.

Angel returned his attention to Lilah. "Alone at last," he said mockingly.

Lilah licked her lips nervously. From the moment she’d met the handsome vampire in the fight club, she’d felt the unwilling pull of her attraction to him. Drop-dead gorgeous was a term that might have been invented just to describe Angel. And the fact that the term could, in his case, have a literal meaning was not lost on her. The kiss of a vampire was fatal more often than not. Under other circumstances, she might have been tempted to take the risk, but given the sides they had both chosen in the war between Good and Evil, she had tried to ignore her body’s interest in him. And, given their history, she wasn’t sure what to make either of his sudden decision to switch teams, or his even less comprehensible decision to pursue Lilah herself. When he’d pulled her onto his lap, and started caressing her, her first thought had been that she might just get to make every heated fantasy of him she’d ever had come true. But, the thought following that was a whole lot less comforting: Why was he doing this, and what was he going to want in exchange? She knew from personal experience how utterly ruthless Angel could be. She’d been in that vault when he’d locked the doors, leaving everyone inside to the tender non-mercies of Darla and Dru. She tried to remind herself that he was as dangerous to her as he had ever been. Her body wasn’t impressed with her arguments. She could feel that she’d soaked through her underthings. She tried to force herself back into control. "What would you--" she began.

"Stand up," he said flatly. Wondering what the hell was going on, but deciding that now was not the time to challenge him, Lilah got shakily to her feet. A moment later she was swept off them, the stake she’d shoved up the sleeve of her jacket clattering to the floor.

"Why, Lilah, I’m crushed," Angel said as he kicked the piece of wood out of his way. Lilah found herself dumped on her ass on the sideboard, with Angel unceremoniously pushing her short skirt up to her waist. She gasped. Okay, heated fantasies it was. She wasn’t complaining, although things would probably go better for both of them if he’d give her a chance to take her clothes off.

"If you’ll just--hey!" Angel ripped her pantyhose and silk thong off her body with the impatience of a hungry man unwrapping a candy bar.

"No more pantyhose or panties," he said dispassionately as he quickly undid his fly. "I want you in garter belts and stockings from now on."

Lilah stared at him in outrage, her fantasies cooling in the face of his cold assumption that she would do as he ordered. She was about to tell him that he could find someone else to play willing slut, but he was already parting her thighs, and before she could say a single word, she had what felt like at least twelve inches of cold, hard vampire shoved deep inside her soaking cunt, rubbing over places in her body she hadn’t realized existed. Her objections disappeared in an inferno of terror-tinged lust, and Lilah, in a primal, instinctive and unthinking reaction raised her knees, clamping them around his hips, giving him better access. She clutched his broad shoulders and hung on for dear life as he pounded her against the uncomfortable but convenient surface of the sideboard.

Fifteen years as the premiere cocksman in Galway, Ireland. One hundred and forty-eight years under the tutelage of a vampire whore, with a century and a half’s worth of amatory tricks up her sleeve--or more aptly, beneath her skirts-- before she’d even met him. There was nothing Angel didn’t know about a woman’s body, or how to make it give him the response he wanted from it. Right now, he wanted Lilah to come, hard: quickly, before lust overwhelmed her fear. So, he kept her hips tilted at the angle that would allow the tip of his shaft to pummel her clit from the inside, and ruthlessly fingered the tiny nub on the outside. Lilah gasped, clinging to him as he built her ruthlessly to a peak. And then he felt her shudder, going over the edge, her head flung back as she began sobbing in release. Perfect. Angel dipped his head, fastening onto her charmingly offered throat, and sinking his fangs unhesitatingly into the madly beating pulse there.

Lilah had one moment of overwhelming terror, as astounding pleasure was suddenly mixed with unexpected pain, and the consciousness of mortal danger. Angel growled in satisfaction as the near ambrosial mix of living blood, laced with it’s heady bouquet of riotous pleasure and burgeoning horror flooded his mouth and poured down his throat. Oh yes, Harmony was right, and he had been a fool. How had he given all this up, and whatever had been the point? Not that it mattered, now. He sped up his thrusts into the female writing beneath him, noting that her horror was receding once more. He didn’t mind. He’d had what he wanted, and was perfectly willing to savor the lust that remained.

Lilah shivered, no longer caring how mortal the danger she might be in. She was hitting one orgasm right after another, the multiple she had always thought of as mythic. Death was an occupational hazard at Wolfram and Hart, and as endings went, this one had the other options beat by far more than the proverbial mile. Another skilled thrust. Another exquisite peak. Lilah moaned, exhausted. She wasn’t sure if she had the stamina for---Ah! yes, she did. Lovely. She was going boneless and limp, almost unaware of the continued peaks she was scaling. Her grip loosened from Angel’s shoulders, her knees no longer clenched his hips, but relaxed, so that her legs dangled over the edge of the sideboard. She whimpered when he withdrew his fangs, and, a moment later, pulled out of her still-quivering body.

Angel drew away from the spent woman, neatly tucking himself back into his pants and refastening his fly. Lilah slowly became aware that she wasn’t dead. A moment later, she became aware of several other things. She was sprawled inelegantly across the sideboard in Nathan Reed’s office, a trickle of blood dripping down her neck and staining the cream satin of her blouse. Not that it mattered, as the blouse had been ripped to unsalvageable shreds at some point during the proceedings, along with the bra beneath. Her pantyhose hung in tatters from her legs, and her ruined thong was decorating the blotter of Nathan’s desk, presumably having been tossed there by Angel in his impatience.

And, considering the other thing she had become aware of, she had to wonder just why he had been impatient.

"You didn’t," she began, but found herself as awkward as a schoolgirl, and unable to complete the thought. He understood it anyway.

"No, I didn’t," he said pleasantly. As if it didn’t matter, at all. Lilah felt more awkward than ever.

"Would you-- should I--" and then she couldn’t help herself, and blurted it out: "Wasn’t I--"

"You were--delicious," Angel said smoothly, licking the last of her blood from his lips. "Perfectly delicious." He looked directly into her eyes as he said it, his gaze meeting and holding hers. There was no passion in his gaze, nothing she could even fool herself into believing was mild interest. His eyes were--dead. That was the only way to describe the complete coldness, and indifference she found when she looked into them.

And then Lilah understood. He hadn’t come because it hadn’t been about sex for him. One of the firm’s vampire clients had explained to her once that blood was flavored by the emotions and feelings of the victim. Seemingly, Angel was no longer interested in instant food. He was going back to fresh. To judge by what had just happened, he had certain dietary preferences in that regard. She remembered his earlier order, and realized that he had decided that she would be supplying that particular need in his diet for some time to come.

Lilah experienced a moment of humiliation so deep, it came perilously close to shame. However casual her sexual encounters, however purely physical, rather than romantic, they had been, she had never felt so completely, calculatedly, cold-bloodedly used before: a convenient piece of meat, not even valued for the quality of her flesh, but for the blood inside. It was a devastating concept, and another woman would have been emotionally crippled by it.

But, Lilah had not clawed her way to her current position as a VP with Wolfram & Hart by allowing mawkish sentiment to get in her way. Angel wanted to use her? Fine. He was going to come in pretty damned useful to her plans for promotion within the firm, and to her plans for survivign the coming apocalypse her bosses wanted. And, considering how he liked his food seasoned. . . Lilah shivered, her body still tingling from the effects of so many intense climaxes in such a short time. Oh, yeah. There was definitely an up side to letting herself become Angel’s fuck-and-feed toy.

Angel smiled sardonically as he saw understanding light in Lilah’s eyes. He saw her initial chagrin at being used quickly replaced by avarice and opportunism. He could almost see her calculating the advantages her new relationship with him would bring in her incessant climb to the top at Wolfram & Hart. Angel didn’t bother to point out that no matter how high she climbed, there would always be a higher place, just out of her reach. He doubted that would matter to her, anyway. She was in it for the climb, not the arrival, whether she understood that about herself, or not.

"Why don’t I leave you to . . .freshen up . . .while I consult with Nathan about the progress he’s making on my new living quarters?"

"All right," Lilah said evenly, accepting the polite mask he’d put on his dismissal of her.

"Oh, and Lilah? I’m a tall man. Sensible heels might be practical for the courtroom, but I think you’ll find yourself more comfortable in spikes. Six inch should be adequate."

"Of course," Lilah replied as a fresh wave of lust poured over her in a vision of herself, pressed up against a wall, balanced in an impossibly high pair of come-fuck-me-pumps while the gorgeous male in front of her screwed her into countless orgasms and fed from her veins. Six-inch heels were going to be a bitch to walk in, but definitely worth the inconvenience.

Angel favored her with another sardonic smile, then left the office.

Lilah stared after him, wondering if her trembling legs were up to the task of carrying her over to the couch. She didn’t think so, although in another few minutes, she should be recovered enough to make her way to the private bathroom attached to Nathan’s office. Sighing, she wriggled around on the sideboard. Fortunately, there was an extension phone at the far end. She leaned over and reached for it.

"Rachel? I’ve had a slight accident in Mr. Reed’s office. I’d like you to go into my closet, and get one of my spare suits. Better make it a complete change of outfit. You know where to find everything? Good. Bring it up here, in, say, fifteen minutes? Oh, and cancel my appointments for the rest of the day. Something’s come up." The efficient Rachel assured her that she’d be there with everything that was needed, and Lilah hung up the phone, contemplating the shopping trip she was about to make. Perhaps Angel would appreciate a lace bustier with attached garters, instead of a simple belt? She imagined that learning the answer would prove a real pleasure. Satisfied with the way things were turning out, Lilah stretched like a contented cat, eased herself off the sideboard, and walked languidly over to the shower in Nathan Reed’s private bathroom.

________________________________________________________________________

Not nearly the end.

FEMFIC     PART3c     PART 5      FEEDBACK

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