Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Joss Whedon. The original plot is the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Lemon OS. AU of S3E4, "Beauty and the Beasts". Angel returns from hell barely conscious of anything but the very basic instincts. He senses that his mate is in trouble and immediately runs to help her. Upon defeating the monster who was trying to harm her, he turns to take care of his mate's every need.

Thank you to I.T.P and Sri for prereading.

This is to all of you who like a little smut with their Buffy/Angel romance :)

Premise: Xander minds wolf-Oz in the library, but he dozes off. In the morning, the open window in the library causes everyone to suspect Oz of murdering a boy during the night. However, when Mr. Platt (Buffy's mandatory counselor) is murdered during the day, Oz is cleared and the gang looks into Pete Clarner and Debbie Foley as all of the victims are linked to the two of them.

I take over at the end of the episode when Buffy is fighting Pete (who turned himself into a monster) in the basement of Sunnydale High.

The Beast and his Beauty

The half-naked, shivering body on the floor was undeniably male and unbelievably beautiful despite the dirt stains on the sweating skin. In the absolute darkness of the Crawford Street Mansion, the vampire opened his eyes and glanced around.

His surroundings were familiar, but that meant little to him. In hell, they could and would make one see what they wanted one to see, what they thought would hurt one the most. They had used his own memories, thoughts, and feelings against him. They were thorough enough to torture both the soul and the demon that resided in this one body until nothing but the most basic, animalistic instincts remained. After countless years of torture, there was only the beast left.

That animal now cringed at the smallest of sounds, the slightest detection of movement. He growled when a gentle breeze caressed his overheated skin. It was not painful, but he knew that the pain would come. It always did, and he knew better than to hold on to hope of reprieve.

There was only one thing that no torture could ever make him forget, one thought his mind wouldn't forget even as it forgot its own name. It was the only thing that held him together in the endless days of pain.

Buffy.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted himself from the floor, noticing for the first time that his hands where chained to the wall behind him. It was not the first time, and he knew it would not be the last, when he found himself chained. There was no real need for it—he could never escape from hell—but his tormentors enjoyed giving him some measure of freedom only to take it away at random intervals. It was just one more way they had of toying with him.

He strained against the chains, knowing that they would not break. The chains holding him were always magically enhanced. He had never been able to put so much as a dent in them, no matter how hard he'd tried.

Out of nowhere, a sense of urgency overtook him. She was in danger.

Must protect her.

He knew that they had made him feel this way before. They'd enjoyed tormenting him with images of her dying in a thousand different ways while he was being held back by magical chains and could do nothing but watch her die.

He knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from fighting the chains again. His entire being was torn apart at the idea of her being in danger and him not being to protect her. It would be his fault if she died. His fault.

He roared with rage as he struggled against his restraints. She was in danger. He could feel it in every part of his body.

The chains holding him to the wall suddenly gave, and he was free.

Even as a part of his mind reeled at being free, most of his attention was already working on finding an escape route. There was an opening to his left, but he could also smell the sun. It would burn him if he ventured outside.

Underground. He would have to go through the tunnels.

The smell in the sewers was bad, but it was not important enough to do more than simply register in his mind.

There was nothing more important than getting to her, saving her, protecting her from harm.

She would not die this time. They had made him watch her die so many times he wished he'd lost count. Not again. They would not have the satisfaction of watching him crumble under the onslaught of pain as she died and he was helpless to prevent it. No, not this time.

Like a bloodhound on a trail of fresh scent, he followed the pull inside his chest in the maze of tunnels than lay beneath the city until he emerged inside the building that housed his mate. He could sense her there, and he could sense the danger there as well.

As he tore through the door, he could see the monster looming over her. There was no need to stop to think about what he should do. His instincts were doing the thinking for him. He needed to eliminate the threat to his mate, nothing less would suffice.

He used his fists to hit the monster, but the monster retaliated, throwing him across the room on the floor. Even though he was weakened by centuries of torture, the vampire immediately recovered and charged again, pushing the monster against a piece of metal furniture and pummeling him with his fists.

Always aware of where his mate was, he kept himself between the monster and her as they fought. He could hear her heart beating quickly and smell the adrenaline pumping in her veins. He knew there was fear in her, and the scent of that fear only drove him to hit harder. No one would threaten his mate and live. Never again.

More punches were exchanged and several kicks, too, before the monster managed to gain the upper hand on him. The monster picked him up and threw him against one of the walls. The fraction of a second in which he became dazed would have cost him his life had the monster not made one final mistake.

He turned his back to the vampire.

Swinging his hand, the vampire sent the chains that were still attached to his wrists flying. The heavy metal wrapped around the monster's neck, halting him. Pressing his knee to the center of the monster's back, he pulled at the chains until he heard the distinct snapping of bones.

The monster collapsed to the floor. Dead.

Now that the threat to his mate had been eliminated, he could finally focus his attention on her. Lifting his eyes to look at her, he felt his face shift back to their human façade for the first time in longer than he could remember.

He watched her face and saw the small trace of blood on her lips where the monster had hit her. He saw tears in her eyes and noticed the look of shock on her face. Despite everything, he thought that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

One word passed his lips then, a whisper that broke the sudden silence in the room. "Buffy."

Then he was on her, his arms wrapping around her small figure as he held her tightly against his body. He heard her sharp intake of breath and felt the stiffening of her body. He was instantly on alert. She was hurt.

Now that the instinct to defend had been satiated, another rose. Tend to his mate. Check her for injuries. Fix what was wrong.

His fingers began running over her body—hands, arms, shoulders, and waist— and when he could find nothing wrong on her upper body, he kneeled before her and checked her legs. Trailing his fingers from her thighs down to her calves, he looked carefully for scratches or bruises, going as far as ridding her of her shoes and inspecting each of her ten toes.

Part of him was slowly becoming aware of the fact that wherever he was now, this could not be the hell dimension where he'd been locked up for so long. If not for the fact that his chains were easily broken, then for her presence. He knew that it was she. None of their attempts at imitation had ever been able to feel the way the real Buffy did. Not a single one of the countless illusions that they'd mastered to torture him with had caused the right feeling in the pit of his stomach, in the deepest part of his chest.

This was the real Buffy. This was his mate.

And she was hurt.

"Angel?" she murmured, stunned.

Her voice was the sweetest sound he'd heard in centuries, but there was a tremor in it. Get her to a safe place, his instincts told him. He wanted to see every inch of her body and make sure that none of it was left untended.

It wasn't safe here. Where one monster had been another could come.

Get her to safety.

He tore the chains away from his wrists and picked her up before she could speak another word.

She gasped in surprise but wrapped her arms around his neck. He was breathtaking beautiful, and Buffy couldn't believe that she was actually seeing him again, feeling him again. After months of guilt ripping through her, of believing him gone beyond her reach. Forever.

He was there, and he was holding her, protecting her like he always had.

She could hardly believe her eyes, so she reached up with her fingers to touch his face, to prove that this was not some dream she would wake up from or some illusion her mind had conjured for her.

He felt her hand caress his cheek and leaned into her touch even as he made his way out of the darkened room where the monster's body lay on the floor.

It was more instinct than a real sense of direction that had lead him to back to the mansion. He didn't think as he rushed up the stairs to the bedroom he had used so long ago, still carrying her in his arms. Unconsciously, he was gently growling under his breath, the concern for his mate was too great to hold in his reactions.

Closing the door with his leg behind him, he finally put her on her feet. His fingers were on her skin in the next moment, gently caressing her from her neck to her shoulders, his eyes following. He knew that he would catch even the smallest scratch on her this way.

"Angel," she sighed, her head falling slightly to the side as his fingers reached the base of her throat. Buffy knew that she should say more, but she was completely unprepared for this sensual assault on her senses.

He gave a gentle growl that was almost like a purr and reached for the hem of her shirt. She didn't resist as he quickly undressed her. Something very basic inside her understood what her conscious mind couldn't. He needed to see her, needed to touch her, needed to make sure that she was all right. It was because the slayer in her—the same demon that had been inserted into her bloodline in order to create it in the first place—had the very same need.

She had not seen him in months. She had been the one to send him to hell. Her soul had cried out to him countless times each night, even as the nightmares plagued her. Seeing him this close, feeling his hands gently caressing every inch of her body was soothing the ache deep inside her.

His touch was almost too light for her to feel it, but it left a tingling everywhere it made contact with her skin. He caressed her arms, across her belly, and cupped her breasts with extraordinary care. By the time he reach for her pants, Buffy thought she would go mad.

"Oh, god, Angel," she cried out, pressing his head closer to her when he kissed just below her naval.

He went down on his knees and pulled away the last article of clothing from her body. She was now bare before him, her head thrown slightly back, her hands threaded in his hair. Satisfied that he could find no mar on her skin, his instincts took another turn. From offering her care as they'd instructed him to do so far, now he would offer her pleasure. He would erase the last traces of the attack form her mind.

He was drawn to the hidden heat between her thighs, so he pressed his nose to the already damp curls and gave out a satisfied growl. She was already beginning to grow damp for him, her body recognizing his and preparing for him.

He heard her cry out when his tongue made the first contact with her sensitive skin, and as he began to lick and suck, he felt her grip on his hair tighten. He smiled against her heated flesh, pleased. Never stopping the movement of his mouth, he held her hips with one hand and traced her thighs with the other, loving the strong muscles he could feel just under the smoothness of her skin. He drank her, drove her absolutely mad with desire, and when his finger slipped into the tight grip of her body, she exploded in his mouth.

He held her as she shivered, gently encouraging her release with his finger and tongue. He wanted her crazy with lust, mindless of everything but him.

A few moments later, when he felt her going lax, he pushed the dusty covers away from the bed and lay his mate on the silk sheets, turning her to lie on her stomach. He quickly rid himself of the leather pants he wore, not caring for the tearing of the expensive fabric. He needed her scent on him, all of him, their bodies touching from head to toe.

Kneeling on top of her on the bed, he began inspecting her back as meticulously as he had her front. Every small scratch, every shadow of a bruise was bathed with his tongue. Not only would it help her heal much faster, it would also serve to alert anyone that she was his. No one would ever dare hurt her if he could help it, and the scent would serve as a warning of his protection.

He pressed himself against her back, loving the way her body was firm and hot beneath his.

Buffy stiffened when she felt his slide between her thighs. "No, Angel," she murmured, turning her head to the side and trying to slip from under him. "We can't."

She wanted him, wanted him so much that she wanted to scream in rage even as she forced herself to try to stop him. They couldn't do this. There were consequences…

He growled and moved to the back of her neck. Baring his teeth, he pressed them against her skin. There was no way he could accept her denying him. She was his mate, and he would make sure to mark her as such before another threat could come.

He was rock hard against her, pressing between the cheeks of her buttocks. He could smell that she wanted him, knew that her body yearned for his as much as he yearned for hers.

She moaned. The feel of him against her, even his teeth holding onto her neck, was so erotic…

There was a reason why they couldn't do this. There was something that she needed to remember. She didn't want to remember. The slayer inside her had given herself to this vampire, had taken him as her life mate, and she didn't want to deny herself and him. Having tasted his passion once, she wanted it again, hungered for it.

He moved against her again, lifting her to her knees, but he didn't let go of her neck. He scraped his sharp teeth against her, drawing another moan from her. Angling himself, he began slipping into her, a constant growl in his chest. She was so tight, so warm, so perfect for him.

His hand slipped up toward her breasts, and he began to massage the soft globes of hot flesh. His fingers were gentle as he tugged at her nipple, making her arch her back and press herself further into him, into his touch.

Pleased with her reaction, he began making love to that spot on the back of her neck where it met her shoulder. He loved the sounds coming from her as he slowly moved in and out of her body, filling her and then retracting from her warmth.

As the pace of his penetrations picked up, he moved his palm away from her breasts and down her body. He heard a sound of protest escaping her before his nimble fingers finally reached their target. He spread the petals of her body and pressed the tips of two fingers against the gentle bud of nerves at the top of her sex.

Buffy jolted at the touch, a deep, guttural moan escaping her mouth. He'd never touched her like that, so freely, so boldly. She hadn't known that she would love him touching her like that.

Smiling against her neck, he began circling that sensitive place, eliciting more moans from her.

She was trembling beneath him, and he knew that her hands wouldn't be able to keep her up much longer. He felt the orgasm building inside him and knew that he was just as close to that sweet ending as she was. It took only a few more thrusts, a few more presses of his fingers, and he felt her flying in his arms.

The decision to mark her had long ago been made, so when he felt the beginning of his release, he bared his teeth once again and sunk them in her neck. A roar exploded in his mind as the taste of her hit his tongue, and he purred with pleasure and satisfaction as he filled her with his seed, taking her blood in exchange.

Moments later, he was curled up behind her, his mouth still on her neck. He was licking the wound closed and purring deep in his chest. One of his hands was under her head; the other was still between her legs, caressing her. He wanted to please her one more time before he allowed sleep to take hold of both of them. Sliding his leg between hers, he opened her up for his fingers to slide inside her.

Hearing her moan he added a second finger inside her and proceeded to place kisses up and down her neck. He loved hearing her breath hitch and feeling her heart beating rapidly under the thin cover of her skin. Alternating between thrusting his fingers inside her and circling the sensitive area at the top of her sex, he nibbled at her ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. He knew that she was already on the verge, already tethering on the edge of another release. Gently, without breaking skin, he bit down on her neck and held on to her as she exploded in his arms.

He waited until the last tremors left her body before pulling the sheet over them. Still curling her in his arms, he buried his nose in her hair and closed his eyes, satisfied that his mate was safe, protected, and very much satisfied by him.

- Fin -

Thank you for reading,

Alley Cat