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Passion Episode 17

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Seductive music wound its way around the dancers of The Bronze. The club was packed, shrouding the crowd in velvet darkness sliced with warm light.
He was watching her. Through the crowds, gliding from one side of the club to the other, he watched her. The slayer.
His gaze was intense, ebony eyes never leaving their target.
He watched her roll her hips suggestively, shoulders lolling back, hands clasped by her dance partner, red lips stretched to a smile.
Xander looked up, sensing something. Maybe Buffy did to.
But Angelus was already gone.
He was outside drinking his prey. Angelus let the body drop as the Buffy and her friends strode past him, laughing and gossiping.
He followed.
One by one the scoobies drifted off to their homes until it was just her. Buffy slid her key into the front door, quickly closing it and flicking on lights, making way to her room. She took off her coat and hung it in the closet. Went to a table at the side of her bed.
Suddenly she detoured toward the window and peeked outside, sensing something yet seeing nothing.
Dissmissively Buffy turned and unzipped her dress.
The blinds left open.

Buffy peeled back the covers of her bed.
If she glanced at the window, she would have caught him. Waiting.
Instead she clicked off the light and succumbed to sleep.


Angelus was inside.

It was much later when he finally crept his way in. Angelus drew the mother first, waiting for Buffy to reach deep sleep so as not to be triggered by his close proximity. As the vampire slayer, her senses would be shrieking for her to take notice that one was in her room, her home, her lair.
Nothing but the unconscious land of sleep was saving him.
As her eyes rolled behind their sockets, he drew her. The image was not the one before him but of one several weeks ago. It was the last thing it saw, the soul. Her face turned to him, lips swollen, hair rumpled, eyes closed in sleep and satisfaction. His long elegant fingers trembled, trying hard not to slash the charcoal across the page.
Finally it was finished and folded.
He could study now.
Angelus reached out a knuckle to brush a lock of hair from her face. Her sweet face was now hardened and stern. It was because of him, this change in her. Angelus smiled. His black eyes roamed over her lashes, her brow, her cheeks, her full pouty lips. His groin tightened.
Fury clouded Angelus' mind at his body's betrayal. The charcoal in his fist crumbled.
Suddenly, the acrid smell of dawn permeated Angelus's senses and his head whipped toward the window. The faintest of blues was seeping into the purple night sky. He laid the drawing by her head, brushed a finger against her lips.

Angelus crept out the window, not once looking back.