Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project
Secret Slasha – The Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Angel Slash Fanfiction Secret Santa Project

Best You Can Get
By Cas
For Robin The Crossover Junkie


Your words echo through the room as I gently close the door, and pause, my hand against the handle. Eyes closed, I knew where you were, where you always fucking are when you asked me to you. Naked, leaning against the wall next to the window, shrouded in darkness as you smoke a cigarette.

The ember always catches my eye when I turn around.

It's how it always starts, every single time. You call me and ask to see me, your fucking enraging smirk always apparent in your voice, because you know, know damn fucking well that I'll come to you. Smugly know that I can't stop myself.

And you know, know but don't care that I don't know why.

Or more accurately that I'm unwilling to admit why.

I fucking hate you.

Despise you. Loathe you. Everything about you makes my skin crawl. Inhuman, disgustingly perverted. You were a pathetic man in life and were so fucking desperate to be more than nothing as a vampire that you let the only creature on the planet worse than you twist you into his partner in crime.

Partner in other ways too, surely. You can't pick up mind-blowing cocksucking techniques from the shitty pornography films you caught me watching and mocked me endlessly for.

You taught me that.

He made you who you are and I know you hate him for it. Know it in the way that you look at him, the way that you were always so eager, eagerness that bordered on desperation to take him out, to kill him, to win back the girl you were with for decades and never really had.

You think I'm so stupid that I don't know. But I do.

Know what it's like to be with, in the presence of someone you deem perfection, deem your perfect fucking soulmate, to be near them, touch them, but never be able to have them. Drusilla was Angel's bitch, pure and simple, and she used you when Angel was busy being Darla's bitch.

I know how it works because it works that way everywhere. Every-fucking-where.

My hands fall to the hem of my shirt, and I lift it slowly, tugging it over my head, muscles rippling slightly with the effort. My hands go to my belt and I slowly undo the buckle, looking over to you and I catch your eyes in the darkness and shiver. A shiver which turns into a shudder at the simple fact that I enjoy you watching me.

Disgust has always been so delicious with you.

You saw, observed us all with the same smoldering intensity in your eyes that you have now, as my pants hit the floor. Saw enough to know that every single person in Sunnydale was one of Buffy's bitches. Her fucking worshipping posse. We all let her do anything and everything she wanted to us because we all knew, knew and loved how good she could make us feel when she wanted to.

But it was never enough.

I step out of my pants, watching you watch me, knowing that your hand will lift, a fingertip will curl, motioning me towards you. I stand, patiently waiting, feeling your eyes roaming my body, bathed in moonlight, making my skin look as pale and sickly as yours.

Making me look like a fucking demon I often wished to be, just so she would look at me like she looked at all of you.

Your hand lifts and fingertip curls towards your body, and I find myself wanting to smile at the fact that you're consistent enough to never disappoint.

Not like her.

My feet move, shuffle soundlessly across the carpet, until I'm standing right where you want me to be, a hair's breadth away from your naked body. Nakedness I can't clearly see in the darkness, away from the moonlight that had bathed me, but have experienced enough to know without seeing that well-chiseled muscles are twitching slightly in anticipation. Your hand comes up, running across my chest, impossibly cold, unfathomably clammy.


I shudder again at the enjoyment I feel for that fact, as your hand continues upwards, across my shoulder, against my neck, wrapping around it and gripping my hair tightly in your fingers, tugging my head hard enough to make me wince. Hard enough to make me moan. You smirk, that infuriating smirk that makes me want to rip your throat out with my bare hands and watch you gurgle and shrivel up into dust before my very eyes.

Instead your hand, gripping my hair, urges me to my knees, to a position I more than willingly take, and your other hand drops down as my lips open. You guide yourself into my mouth with no preamble, no warning, just one deep thrust, taking me, claiming me as yours.

Just like her.

Taking exactly what you want, without question or consent.

Just. Like. Buffy.

You know you don't need it.

My lips adjust around you, mouth relaxes as I slowly move my head, taking more of you into me. And I know that she did this to you. Know that you had her on her fucking knees in front of you in a dirty crypt.

And I know that I walked in on you two fucking.

You had the decency to stop. But she didn't have enough respect for me to keep her hands off of you for two fucking seconds.

She sucked your cock in front of me.

I know that now, as I move backwards, my tongue gently gliding over the head of your cock, my eyes looking up to see you make that same soft little gasp, as your eyes slip shut in pleasure, your grip in my hair impossibly tight as you push agaisnt my scalp, urging me to take you deeper again.

I comply. I always fucking comply.

And I despise you because you had her. Had her just like this, on her knees sucking your cock. Had her in a sick, abusive and perverted way that wasn't ever what you wanted with her, but all she was willing to give. And you took it, but always wanted more, wanted something loving, and beautiful.

You'd been enough of someone's bitch for one lifetime.

But she fucked you up. Fucked you up and over, just as Angel, Drusilla, and whoever else, dead or alive, you let under your skin. She used you for depraved acts of sex and you let her. You're a fucking masochist, but it pales in comparison to my own level of it.

She made you her bitch. There was no other option for you. Love gave you no other option.

I let you make me into yours.

And there's no fucking love here.

Maybe part of you knows that I come willingly when you call because you're the closest thing I'll ever have to getting to be with Buffy.