JUST WHAT I ALWAYS WANTED   by Jayne Leitch
C. 1998

     Blood on his hands.  So much blood on his hands; it covered his fingers and palms in
a smooth, shining coat, still wet, still fresh.  As he looked at it, he eagerly breathed in its
smell, the sweet, heady, intoxicating scent of fresh life...on his hands.

     Suddenly he was repulsed by it.  His hands were close to his lips--he'd been opening
his mouth to suck the blood from them, to lick every inch of his fingers until they were
spotless again, but now all he wanted to do was run to a sink and scrub at the sticky
redness until his hands were clean and raw.  He wanted it gone--

     But the smell of it...

     The body the blood had come from was sprawled in a heap at his feet.  More of the
warm liquid streamed out of the wound he had made in the chest, pooling around his
expensive black shoes.  He took a step away from it, then turned his attention back to his
hands.  He'd reached right into her chest, the flimsy shirt she wore proving no obstacle to
his strength.  Her eyes had gone so big when she realized what he had done, and then
she'd simply fallen forward.  She'd twitched for a moment, then lain still.

     Why had he wanted to reach into her?  He couldn't quite remember.  The stickiness on
his hands had captured his attention again, and he stared at it.  Just as suddenly as the
revulsion had come it disappeared, and he brought his hands to his mouth and cleaned
them off thoroughly with his tongue.

     It tasted more wonderful than it smelled.  It was Slayer blood, after all, the finest
nectar available to a palate such as his.  Especially this Slayer...

     He remembered why he'd reached into her.  He opened his eyes and cast his gaze
about the floor, trying to find it.  All the blood was making his task difficult; he kicked
her arm away from a particularly dense puddle, and found his treasure.  He smiled and
bent to retrieve it.  He must've dropped it when she fell forward, but it was still as warm
and fresh as it had been when he first touched it.

     Angel held Buffy's heart up before him, studying it critically.  Perfect.  Purple-red, a
little smaller than his fist, and still full of her warm, sweet blood--if he didn't tip it.

     He turned away from her body, cradling his precious burden.  *It's mine now.  Just
like I always wanted it to be...*

     He smiled.  He had Buffy's heart.  What more could he have asked for?

End.

Go back to Buffy/Angel Fic.