A/N: Still working on my other fic, but I needed a break since I'm not sure where exactly that one's going. So, just stretching my creative muscles a little and this is what came forth. You know the drill, don't own it, never will, all hail Joss, yada yada - now on to the good stuff!

He wants her, always has. Not the man, but the demon. The demon craved her, hungered for her blood, her obedience, begged to twist and break her. Young, fragile, beautiful, pure, not just physically but in so many ways. The epitome of innocence, his own personal Everest.

He can remember his first awareness of her. Smelling her all over the Slayer, determined to kill the bitch, if for no other reason than to get at the little girl that normally hid behind big sis' coat tails. Of course, his intentions had been nothing more than to drain her then. Too young for anything more, even for the animal lurking inside. He never really stood a chance though, considering those memories are nothing more than fabrications. Bloody monk mindfuck, he doesn't like having his head buggered with, but he supposes it was worth it that time around.

Then she started to grow up. Grew up nicely, she did, and suddenly he was plagued with nightly visions of her. Nothing like his almost pubescent dreams of Buffy. No, these were definitely demonic in nature. There was sex, but there was also pain, torture, tears, blood. Gloriously amazing amounts of mouth-watering, ageless, mystical blood.

When she started hanging around his crypt he nearly lost his mind. She belonged to Buffy, so the part of him that clung desperately to his humanity, the part of him that stupidly fell in love with a slayer, wanted to protect her. But, the biggest danger to her was the darkness that lived in him. She was a teenager and as such, was nothing more that a bag of hormones. Hormones that seemed to spike every time they were alone. She was attracted to him and her arousal called to his demon like a siren's song, the chip in his head barely containing the torment it demanded he rain upon her.

Then the chip was gone, but she kept her distance. Mad at him for the pain he'd caused her sister. If only she knew the thoughts that sometimes still swirled in his slightly crazed brain. Flashes of young naked virgin skin, bleeding, broken, pleading for death. Driving into her, ripping her virtue from her in a haze of screams, her illusions about his leashed status dissolving in the tears that would readily fall at his skilled body and hands.

But, those thoughts were infrequent and despite the years of mayhem and destruction under his belt caused him the most grief. Even as the demon raged at him to rip and shred, the soul had a new interest in Dawn Summers.

Now, years later there's a literal hole in the middle of California, he is risen, yet again, and still he wants her. As he stepped into this new life he swore he'd leave Sunnydale and all of his acquaintances from that world behind. He'd found nothing but misery there and it was best forgotten. Then she'd written him.

He should have known Andrew couldn't keep his gob shut. Within weeks of the clot leaving, a thin envelope had arrived at Wolfram and Hart addressed to him 'care of Angel.' He'd been nervous to see one simple word above the return address - "Nibblet". He was sure the letter would contain pure venom, or maybe a spell courtsey of Red that'd make his willie and bollocks shrivel up and fall off.

Hours of simply staring at the neat and careful handwriting later, he realized he was being a ponce and opened envelope. It was a short, but sweet and honest apology and plea for his forgiveness. Said she'd missed him, that when he'd died she'd regretted every harsh word and wasted moment. He'd replied with his own apology, and they'd kept in touch ever since.

She's in town now, at a Hotel not far from his place. He's been invited to come and see her, or more like instructed, chit's still as bossy as ever. The letters have done nothing to appease the ache he's felt for her all these years. If anything it's worse, but the good news is the bloody, nightmarish images of her mangled and desecrated body no longer haunt him. Soul has more control now, but he's not sure that's a good thing either, what the soul wants, it could never have. The soul wants Dawn.

Wants her writhing, sweating, and begging, not for death, but for his touch. He tries to tell himself she's too young, but that argument doesn't hold much weight anymore. The girl, no the woman, is twenty-three, plenty old enough for all he has in mind. But, she would never allow him to sully her in that way. She deserves so much more than a dead body, a man who can't even walk in the sunlight, a thing that's killed thousands. So no, what he wants, what a part of him has always wanted is just not possible.

He knocks and hears her heart rate speed up as she sprints to answer the door. It swings wide and he's face to face with most beautiful creature he's ever seen, more enticing than her sister ever dreamed of being, and in more clothes even. The child's body has been replaced by luscious curves in all the right places. Her hair's still long, falling silky and smooth halfway down her back. Her crystal clear blue eyes shining brighter than they ever did as a little girl. Those lips, so full and kissable, and Gods how they'd look wrapped around………. No, he won't think about that.

A small sniff tells him she's no longer a virgin, but not by much. Her scent reveals something else that piques his interest, she's happy to see him. Extremely happy to see him, and getting happier by the second. He wonders if his assumption that she would want nothing to do with him may have been a little off. Then she speaks.

"Hey stranger, come on in." Low and sultry, an invitation that holds a whole lot of promise. Now he knows. For once in his godforsaken life what he wants, what he needs, and what is good for him are being offered to him on a silver platter and all rolled into one package. A very nice package that is currently stepping aside and welcoming him in. And bloody fucking hell, she's going to be his.