Chapter VII

Buffy shrugged and looked at Xander.  They were standing in the middle of the hallway.  Given that it was shortly after nine in the morning, they kept getting jostled around by people trying to get to their offices.  “I don’t know,” she said in exasperation.

“Please just take a look at this algorithm,” he pled.  “I know your background isn’t CS, but you should be able to understand it.”

Buffy repressed the urge to growl.  Xander was right, she probably could have followed the algorithm he was working on and helped him find the flaw, but she didn’t want to.  She didn’t have time to be standing in the hallway going over code.  She had things to do!

A thought slammed into Buffy and nearly staggered her physically.

“Buffster?” Xander said cautiously.  “Buffy?  Are you all right?  You look a little pale.”

Buffy blinked and focused on Xander.  She opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut.  She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose.  “I need to sit down,” she said.

Buffy stumbled into her office and sat down heavily in her chair, her satchel clutched tightly to her chest.  She stared at the dirty, institutional green walls.

Angel absently rolled his chair over to her desk and set a pile of handwritten notes on her desk leaning over them.  “The numbers are well within the range,” he said, staring at the papers intently, “but they ... feel a little off to me.  I’ve been going over them since last night and I want you to take a look at them.”

Buffy turned her head and stared at his profile as he hunched over his notes.  She did not respond, clutching the satchel so tightly that her knuckles went white.

He finally turned his head and looked at her.  She stared at him blankly.  He frowned.  “Buffy?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She shook her head, trying to dispel her stupor.  She looked at the coffee mug in her hand and something clicked.  She held it out to him.  “Here’s your coffee,” she said quietly.

Angel smiled awkwardly and took the mug, proceeding to take a drink.  “Thank you,” he said carefully.  He started to turn his attention back to the papers, but he stopped.  “Are you okay?” he asked seriously.

She forced a smile onto her face.  “Tip top,” she said tightly.  He didn’t look convinced.  “Just leave the papers,” she said, still forcing the smile.  “I’ll take a look at them in a minute.”

Angel’s expression was wary, but he shrugged and went back to his own desk.  Buffy closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.  She forced herself to unpack her satchel and boot up her laptop.  She noticed Angel glanced over his shoulder several times to check on her.

Buffy should have helped Xander in the hallway.  There had been absolutely no reason why she couldn’t spare five minutes to go over his code.  She should have done it without being asked, much less begged.  But even when he got insistent, she balked.  She had things to do.  Important, time consuming things like ...

Angel.

Buffy was short with Xander because she was in a hurry to see Angel.  The very idea that she wouldn’t be there to hand him his coffee, to take those few moments to light on the corner of his desk when she got there, had made her cranky with Xander.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy looked at the handwritten papers on her desk.  She knew the dark, flowing script as intimately as she knew her own writing, probably better, given that he never typed anything.  It warmed something inside of her to see his artistically slanted lettering.  When had Angel become so important to her?

Thunder rumbled in the distance and it instantly pulled Buffy from her thoughts.  Without conscious effort on her part, her eyes shifted to Angel.  He was staring blindly at the small window then turned to look at her and their gazes locked.  She smiled warmly at him and something inside him seemed to click.  He smiled a bit sheepishly and turned back to his desk.  Buffy watched him for several long moments to be sure that he was okay.  Though they had never discussed it, she understood now how deeply the storms affected him.

Whatever it was that had sensitized him to storms had been bad.  In spite of Riley's snarky comments to Lindsey about storms, Buffy instinctively knew it went deeper than that.  This wound was old and had festered much longer than Angel’s association with Riley.  Something inside her clamored for her to assuage that pain.  Of course, Angel would never allow that.  As quickly as she broke through his barriers, he fortified them once again.  But Buffy had never been one to walk away from a challenge.

*****

Later that afternoon, Buffy met her reflected gaze in the ladies’ room mirror.  She had to be honest with herself.  She liked Angel and not in a we-share-an-office-so-let’s-be-friends kind of way.  Part of her wanted to protect him, but that wasn’t her entire motivation.  What she felt towards him might very well be protective, but it damn sure wasn’t maternal.  She liked him.  She wanted to spend time with him – possibly naked time.  She wanted to find out what those bedroom eyes of his looked like first thing in the morning.  Buffy’s body clenched tightly at the thought as she was assailed by mental images of tangled covers, soft moans, Angel’s perfect white teeth clamped into the flesh of her neck, his powerful hips thrusting as he –

Buffy shook her head violently and pushed the thoughts away.  How had she come to this?  In college she was driven and dedicated to her studies, but she still managed to have a lot of fun.  She dated a lot.  She had always been attracted to vibrant, open men with a very good sense of humor and a healthy appetite for adventure.

And now she was standing in the basement of a government building mooning over her eccentric, distant officemate.  In spite of her ‘no co-worker’ rule.  Even though half the building called him “Psycho” behind his back.

The strangest thing about her attraction was that the prospect of being with Angel made her more nervous than she had ever been with another male.  Sure, she used to get first date jitters in college.  The night before her date with Nate, the one when they went skydiving, she had been a nervous wreck.  Or Jackson – she went caving with him even though she was claustrophobic and she was very wound up before that date.  But it was always the situations that got to Buffy, the skydiving or the caving that made it exciting, not the men.  She didn’t need to jump out of a plane or face one of her phobias to make Angel exciting.  He took care of that simply by being himself.  Buffy vowed that she wasn’t going to let the past ruin this, not his past and not hers.

As a rule, Buffy didn’t dwell on her past.  But some things had a way of surfacing in her mind in spite of how much she told herself she was over them.  One was the memory of Pike – not a boyfriend, but a very close friend, closer than anyone else then or since.  He was the one she had shared everything with while they were growing up.  She had always thought they would see each other through anything, but that hadn't been the case.  Later in their teens, when he started having problems at home, instead of turning to her or even giving her any chance to help him, he dropped her out of his life without a word.  She often wondered what she had done that was so wrong that he never confided in her, never even gave her a reason for shutting her out so completely and permanently.

Less than a year later, when her father left home without even saying goodbye, she knew it must be something wrong with her that she just wasn't able to see.  After repeated attempts to include him in her life long after he moved out, she finally gave up, sadly acknowledging to herself that she had been right all along.  As with Pike, whatever it was her father needed, she lacked.

Losing her mother several years later had been a devastating blow.  Buffy secretly couldn't get over thinking that if she had been there her mother wouldn't have died.  She felt in some way that her mom had left her too.  She knew it was irrational, knew how dearly her mother loved her, but a tiny part of her couldn't let the feelings go.  Although she was ashamed of herself at the thought, she had even wondered once or twice how long it would be before even Giles did the same.

Buffy was aware she tended to hide behind false smiles, to keep people away even as she laughed and joked.  But for the first time, she found herself not drawing back, but reaching out.  She firmly decided she wasn’t going to let her past spoil anything that might lie ahead.  She couldn’t think that every time she got close to someone she would get hurt.  Not all relationships worked out like that.  And besides, she just liked Angel.  It wasn't like she loved him.

*****

The next morning when Buffy took her usual place on the edge of Angel’s desk, she had to sit on her hands to keep them from visibly shaking.  Angel looked up at her.  “Good morning, Buffy,” he said.

Buffy nodded, smiling nervously.  Angel widened his gaze on her and looked her over from head to toe.   “You’re not ill, are you?” he asked a bit too gruffly.  “You don’t look …”

“Do you wanna go to a movie Friday night?” Buffy interrupted in a rush.

Angel stared at her blankly for several moments.  “A-a movie?” he asked.

“Yes, a movie, as in moving pictures, surround-sound,” she quipped.  She knew before she asked this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Buffy, I don’t … I don't think I’d fit in with your friends.  I’m not …” he tried to say before she interrupted him.

“You don’t have to fit in with my friends,” she said, “Just me.”

“What kind of movie?”

Buffy sighed.  Blunt.  She was going to have to be blunt.  She didn’t want Angel to have any misconceptions about what she was suggesting since he seemed incapable of fathoming the concept that she liked him in a boy/girl sort of way.  “I’m asking you out on a date, Angel.  You and me.  Alone.  Dark theater.  I don’t care what kind of movie.  The movie is not the point.”

Surprise washed over his features and he leaned back in his chair.  “You’re asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“On a date?” he clarified, still unable to embrace the concept.

“Yes.”

Angel swallowed a lungful of air.

“What?” she demanded.  “Am I not attractive enough?”

“I-it’s not that,” he stuttered.  He couldn’t seem to get one word in front of the other.

“Then what’s the problem?  Are you not attracted to me?”

Angel took another deep breath and let it out slowly.  “You’re very attractive,” he said quietly.  ‘Beautiful,’ he said to himself.

“Then go to the movie with me,” she countered.

It was a damn good thing that there was a desk in the way because the idea of being alone with Buffy in a dark theatre had been enough to elicit certain physical reactions in his body.  Luckily, he had enough presence of mind to not point out that fact.  Fighting for composure, he looked at the papers on his desk, studiously avoiding her gaze.  He knew he shouldn’t … but she was pleading with him.  He looked up at her and his facial features were tight.  She was bracing herself for a rejection when he made a defeated sound, sighing.  “Fine,” he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven since I already know where you live.”

*****

Buffy walked down the sidewalk, mortified.  She swore to herself that the next time she would pay more attention to the summaries.  “Le Banquet D’Amelia” was not what she had been expecting.  What amounted to French soft-core porn was not exactly her idea of an ideal first date movie with a guy.  Especially when the guy happened to be Angel.  As attracted as she was to him, he had never made any comment or overture to her that was even vaguely sexual.

“Well,” she said, nervously smoothing down the front of her long floral print skirt.  She concentrated on the sound of her heeled sandals clicking on the pavement.  She wouldn’t normally have worn something so dressy to go to a movie with a co-worker, but it was Angel.  She had rushed home from work and spent a great deal of time on her appearance.  Her long hair, which she usually wore in a knot, was pulled away from her face, but hung loose down her back.  The bright pink tanktop matched the flowers in her skirt and the black sandals were almost three inches high.

“Well,” Angel echoed.  He too, had dressed for the occasion.  He wore a long sleeved shirt that covered his wrists, as usual, but it was a soft, thin cotton knit in a deep, sapphire blue.  His pants were black and molded to his legs in a manner that made Buffy want to sit up and beg.

“That was very ... artistic,” she offered.

Angel didn’t seem quite so impressed.  “Yeah,” he said.

“It wasn't what I expected. I've never actually seen ... Well, from the title I thought it was about food,” she blathered.

Angel looked at her, one eyebrow raised.  “Well there was food,” he noted dryly.

“Right. The scene with the ... the food,” she said, blushing.  Why was she so nervous?  It wasn’t like they were a couple of virgins on prom night.  She’d had sex before.  Angel was an adult and sinfully handsome.  She knew that despite his general aloofness, he wasn’t that innocent.  She sighed.  Being with a guy had never made her this uncomfortable.  “So, feel like getting some hot chocolate? Or some cold shower?” she asked lightly.

Angel stopped walking and looked at her.  “It’s okay, Buffy,” he said.  “I mean, I know I don’t get out much, but I have actually seen a real live naked woman before.”

She cringed and smiled.  “I know,” she said, “it’s just ... “

“Uncomfortable,” he offered.

She nodded vigorously.  “You could say that,” she said.

He took a deep breath and cocked his head at her, frowning.  “This was a bad idea,” he said.

Buffy suppressed the urge to growl.  Defiantly, she crossed her arms over her chest, popping out one hip as she turned to face him.  Absolute, brutal honesty was the only way to deal with Angel.  “Why is this a bad idea?” she demanded.

He pursed his lips together, studying her.  There was no way Buffy could appreciate the volatile waters into which she was wading.  He knew it would be best to spare her the agony of getting close to him.  He had never brought anyone anything but misery.  “I’m not ... “ he started and trailed off.  He looked at the ground for a moment and then met her gaze again.  “I don’t do this, Buffy,” he said.  “I don’t go out.  I don’t date.  I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I can almost guarantee you, I’m not your guy.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “What if I’m looking for you?  What if that is the only necessary qualification?”

Slowly, the side of his mouth curled into a wary grin.  Somehow she managed to give him hope in spite of himself, to make him feel like maybe he did have something to offer.  He knew he should push her away, but for a while, just a little while, he wanted to know what it would be like to be the man she thought he was.  “All right,” he said, still a bit hesitant, then almost shyly asked, “Coffee?”

They fell into step together and Buffy expectantly held her hand out to him.  He stared at her hand for a moment until his grin slowly widened as he grasped it in his own.  Buffy smiled broadly, merrily swinging her free arm as they walked down the sidewalk.

*****

Angel sat rigidly on the sofa in Buffy’s living room, his hands clasped in his lap.  Buffy sat next to him, equally awkward.  “I’d offer you some coffee,” she said, “but we sorta already did that.”

“Maybe I should just go home,” he said.

She turned to glare at him, twisting her body so she was facing towards him on the sofa.  “Do you want to be here?” she asked.

He looked at her for a moment and shook his head.  “That’s not an easy question,” he replied.

“Gee,” she said with feigned delight, “you really do know how to sweet talk a girl, Angel.”

He frowned at her.  “I like being with you,” he said.

“You have ‘but’ face,” she prompted.

“But,” he continued, “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.  I don’t go out anywhere.  I like to stay home.  I like to read books.  I don’t own a television, or go out on Friday nights, or do spontaneous things.”

Buffy frowned at him.  “As wonderful as your confession is, I think I already figured most of this out,” she said dryly.

He looked at her incredulously.  “Then why do you want me to stay?” he asked.

“Because I want you,” she said baldly.  “I want to spent time with you and talk to you.  I want to curl up on the couch together and read.  I want to spend my Friday nights arguing with you about which type of marital arts are best instead of sitting in some bar trying to keep the drunk that smells like gym socks from pawing at me.”

Angel’s brow creased into a frown.  “Riley paws at you?” he asked, gravely serious.

Buffy’s lips curved into a sly grin.  “Jealous?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Good,” she said smugly.  “That’s a wonderful place to start.”

“Start what?”

“This,” Buffy said and slowly inched closer to him on the sofa.  Angel swallowed audibly, but he didn’t move a muscle.  Slowly, she pressed herself against his side.  She smiled at him and the open gesture warmed his heart and soul.  She leaned in close.  "I want to tell you a secret," she said with a grin.

Angel couldn't help himself.  His heart was racing.  He started to speak and found his mouth dry.  Licking his lips, he said, "Y-yes?"

She leaned in so close, he could feel her warm, moist breath puffing against his skin.  “Angel,” she said, "Riley does smell like gym socks, but you …”  She trailed off and he could feel her lips barely brushing against the shell of his ear.  "You smell like chocolate."

He laughed and turned his head to face her.  He stopped laughing when he realized that her lips were bare centimeters from his own.  "I don't smell like chocolate," he said hoarsely.

Buffy smiled predatorily.  "You do," she said, "you smell good enough to taste.'

They stayed like that for long heartbeats, teetering on the cusp.  Ever so slowly, Buffy lifted her hand and pressed her palm against his cheek.  He leaned into the caress and into her, tentatively brushing his lips against hers.  It was gentle at first, cautious and exploratory.  They nipped and sucked at each other’s lips, testing each other’s reactions.  Slowly, Buffy’s hands came up to sift through his hair.  Smiling, she pulled back from him far enough to look into his eyes.  She stared into the molten depths, shivering at the raw desire she saw there.

Angel cupped her jaw and brought her close for another kiss.  Buffy pressed herself more tightly against him, craning her head back as he kissed her.  Her lips parted and his tongue teased gently against her own.  Buffy wasn’t exactly sure where her wonderfully socially inept would-be boyfriend had learned how to kiss, but she wanted to send a thank you card to whoever had taught him.  Her toes curled as he kissed her more insistently, his arms wrapping around her waist and dragging her across his lap.

Buffy let out a small yelp of surprise, but as Angel attempted to pull back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.  His shock melted away and he met her nip for nip as they ate at each other’s mouths.  His hands found her hips and bit into the flesh, pulling her against him.  Buffy broke the kiss, gasping as their pelvises sealed and she felt the full length of Angel’s erection.

She panted harshly, looking at him dazedly for a second or two and then kissed him again.  His fingers twined through her hair as he met her ardor with his own.  Impatiently, Buffy broke away from his mouth, to kiss wetly along his neck.  Angel was breathing hard, his head thrown back, eyes screwed shut as she pulled mouthfuls of his warm flesh into her mouth, nipping her way down his throat.  The nimble fingers of her right hand made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and her hand slipped inside, trailing over his flesh, resting just above his heart.  As her mouth moved lower, she batted his shirt away and started kissing along his chest.  Impatiently, she pulled at his shirt, trying to work it down his shoulders.  He helped her, pushing the offensive garment out of the way, baring more of his skin to her touch.

Her hands splayed over his muscled chest, tickling along his torso.  My gods, the man was beautiful.  His hands fisted in the hem of her shirt but it took Buffy a while to figure out that he was waiting for the okay.  Deliberately, she wrapped her hands around his and together they pulled her shirt over her head.

As her hair fluttered down around her now bare shoulders, Angel stared at her with such an expression of affection and longing that it nearly broke her heart.  His gaze trailed over her skin, across her collarbone, over the gentle swell of her breasts, which were now covered only by a satin demi-cup bra in a dusky pink nearly the same color as her lips.  Buffy felt like the most precious creature in the world, adored and protected.  His eyes seemed to say a million words that his lips could not form.  Slowly, his eyes once again locked with hers.  Leaning forward, he pressed the gentlest of kisses against her lips.  “Buffy,” he whispered softly.

Tears stung her eyes, but Buffy held them back.  No one, in her entire life had ever looked at her with such utter reverence.  She kissed him harder, twining her fingers once again through his chocolate locks.  He obliged her non-verbal request and kissed her more deeply, wrapping his arms around her to hold her to his body.

Buffy broke off the kiss, panting harshly.  Eyes still closed, she pressed her forehead to his.  Angel followed her lead and simply held her, his hands tenderly sifting through her hair, offering her silent comfort as the surfeit of emotion raged inside her.

She took one final steadying breath and pushed herself back off his lap.  Rising to her feet, she stood in front of him, the fabric of her skirt brushing against his legs.  Slowly, she extended her hand to him in open invitation.

Angel stared up at her.  Her eyes flitted to the open door of what he knew was her bedroom and then back to him.  He swallowed audibly.  The words crowded at the back of his throat.  He needed to make excuses, to tell her that they didn’t need to rush things.  He needed to remind her that she was too good for him, that she belonged with someone steady and normal without all of his emotional baggage.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Angel wanted this – wanted her with an almost unearthly hunger.  And for the first time in his life, he let the selfishness take over.  He could bear any burden.  Time proved long ago that he could live with the crushing knowledge that Dru’s death was his fault.  He could go to work every day knowing that he was a mere shell of his former self.  He could resign himself to the almost unendurably lonely, desolate existence he so richly deserved.

But not now.  Not tonight.  For this one moment, he couldn’t bring himself to push Buffy away, even if it meant saving her.  He wanted so badly to lose himself inside her bright, shining warmth.  Just this once.  He grasped her hand in his own and stood up.

Buffy smiled up at him beatifically, looking for all the world like she was the angel.  Turning, she walked to her bedroom, her fingers twined through his, leading him behind her like a helpless puppy.  He knew in that moment that he would follow her anywhere, even into Hell itself.  The realization that she was leading him not to a fiery death, but into her most private sanctuary made his chest ache with longing.

The room was dark, but he had vague impressions of a large, welcoming bed.  Even in the dim lighting he could tell the room was slightly cluttered, like her office, with all of the tangible items that Buffy needed to feel at home.  His heart pounded in his chest, causing his breath to come in short, ragged bursts.  He loved the fact that she needed to keep constant visual reminders of the people important in her life.  He loved that some delusion on her part made her want him too.

Leaning down, he twined his fingers through her hair, tilting her face up to meet his own.  She sighed as their lips met and Angel took the opportunity.  His tongue snaked out to duel with hers and she raised up on tiptoe, deepening the kiss.  He was mindless, lost in her sweet taste until he realized she was urging him down onto the bed next to her.  He complied quite willingly, following her down and half blanketing her body with his own.  One of his legs was insinuated between hers as he propped himself up on his elbows over her upper body.  One of his hands gently traced the graceful line of her cheekbones, her jaw as he continued to kiss her deeply.

Buffy’s fingertips skimmed over the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders.  They caressed his chest, the washboard definition of his abs, committing every texture to memory.  She tickled across his hip and then circled around following the indentation of his spine.  As he drew one of her lips into his mouth, nursing roughly, her fingernails bit into the muscled wall of his back and a heady whine broke the silence.

He broke off the kiss, his lips working their way across her jaw and down her neck.  He peppered soft kisses across her collarbone and then laved wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of her breasts.

“Angel,” she whined breathily, her fingernails digging in deeper as she pushed herself against his sinfully decadent mouth.  “Please,” she said softly, moving restlessly under him.

His hands slid under her body, searching for and finding the clasp to her bra, his lips brushing against her own.

“Yes,” she hissed, shifting again.  Angel had unhooked her bra, but not removed it and her restless motion twisted the dusky pink satin material downward so that one of her nipples was visible.

He moaned at the sight, ducking his head to catch the pebbled flesh gently between his lips.  She let out a tender wail, clasping his head to her chest with one hand as he tenderly suckled her aroused flesh.  He laved the area with long sweeps of his tongue, wetly kissing and sucking.  As he carefully bit down, her breath caught sharply and her leg twined around his hip in a gesture of raw, physical need.

He couldn’t help himself.  His hand found the ankle of the leg thrown around his hip and he slowly traced upward, feeling the silken skin of her calf, the vulnerable indentation of the back of her knee, the lush wonderland of her thigh.  The material of her skirt kept him from venturing higher and his hand abandoned its quest, coming up to cup her breast as his mouth sought out hers.

Her hand covered his where it massaged her breast and as they kissed, Buffy rolled them onto their sides.  Gently circling his wrist with her fingers, she guided his hand to the back of her skirt.  Angel took the cue and drew the zipper slowly downward.  When it was completely undone, he stopped kissing her, pulling back far enough to look at her face.

She was breathless, her eyes huge and luminous.  Her hair streamed over her shoulders, her bare upper body a sensual riot.  Her lips were slick and swollen, parted slightly as she panted.  She was a goddess.  She was his goddess.  Once again, his protestations fought to break through, but he could not give them voice.  He was being offered salvation in the form of this glorious fey creature and he could not turn it away.  She smiled at him and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips before lying back on the bed to watch him.  Her expression was a heady combination; half seductive temptress and half scared little girl.  She bit down on her bottom lip nervously as she waited for him to make the next move.

He smiled and took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and socks before once again blanketing her body with his own.  She giggled as he nipped playfully along her ribs before tracing a line of fire down her stomach.  His tongue circled decadently around her bellybutton before giving it a long, sensuous lick.  As he ventured lower, Buffy’s hands found his shoulders, biting anxiously into the corded muscles, but not attempting to stop him.

Angel could feel the tension in her body, almost as if she were waiting for him to judge her.  It was an absurd thought.  He was the one who should be judged, not her.  Buffy was perfection, absolute perfection.  With his face pressed against the warm, fragrant skin of her abdomen, Angel had never possessed a truer thought in his life.  Buffy was perfection.

He kissed her flesh, tasting the distinctive flavor that belonged only to Buffy.  Tentatively, his fingers found the waist of her skirt and gently tugged at the material.  There were no demands and he gave her every opportunity to change her mind.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Buffy lifted her hips and allowed him to skim the material down her legs.  Her shoes had been lost some time ago and she now lay before him wearing only a pair of dusky pink panties that matched the long forgotten bra.  Angel swallowed audibly.

She waited, silent and still, for him to do something.  She wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe a smart assed comment to break the tension or perhaps some seductive, meaningless words.  She expected him to act in the same manner as her previous lovers and when he did move, her earlier expectations shamed her deeply.  Angel crawled up her body with an expression of pure adoration.  He stared at her mutely before lifting his fingers to touch her cheek, her jaw.  His thumb brushed softly across her lips before he leaned in for the most reverent of kisses.  Tears pricked Buffy’s eyes.  How had she ever considered that he would treat her like the former nameless, faceless men from her past?

They kissed for long, glorious moments, losing themselves in the taste and feel of each other.  Their upper bodies were pressed tightly together and Buffy could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with her own.  But the moment wasn’t perfect.  The rough texture of his slacks distracted her and she broke off the kiss abruptly.

She looked at him, once again biting down on her bottom lip, only this time the expression was mischievous.  She grinned at him, her nose crinkling up in an adorable manner before she reached for his belt.  Something at the back of Angel’s mind screamed for him to tell her no, but when he looked at the blissful, teasing expression on her face, he could not do it.  He rolled over onto his back, pillowing his head on his hands as he let her do as she wished.

Buffy smiled, rising up on her knees.  In an act of sheer bravado, she straddled his hips, looking down at him.  His gaze traveled over her body, making her feel hot and needy.  She reached down and unbuckled his belt.  As she moved to the button of his slacks, Angel took a sharp, shallow breath.  Buffy’s gaze shot to his face.  His expression could only be described as lustful and it filled Buffy with a power she had never before known.  Emboldened, she abandoned the button and scraped her fingernails lightly over the tented fabric of his pants.

Angel groaned, his eyes falling shut as she touched him through the material.  He was hard, his flesh begging for her touch.  Her fingers followed the rigid outline of his shape, stroking him lightly.  She took mercy on him and returned to the button, freeing it before carefully drawing the zipper down.

She grabbed the hem of his boxers as well as his pants.  She looked at him and he took a deep breath before covering her hands with his own and helping her remove the garments.  As soon as he was free, Angel tumbled Buffy back on the bed, glorying in the feel of his nude length pressed against hers.  Almost nude.  Angel hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties and soon she was as bare as he was.

She giggled as they kissed and Angel swore it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.  One of his hands found her hips, his fingertips lightly skimming over her abdomen to rest on the downy curls.  He stroked her lightly.  She was damp already, moisture wetting her curls and she whined plaintively, nudging against his exploring fingers.  He parted her gently, his fingers caressing her sensitive flesh.  His thumb circled her tender nub and Buffy gasped, her hips thrusting as she buried her face against his shoulder.  Angel smiled, urging her to part her legs more as his fingers lightly traced the entrance to her body.

“Angel,” she wailed softly, pulling at his shoulders.

Though he thought it impossible, her quiet plea made him even harder.  This beautiful goddess wanted him.  She knew him better than any person on the planet and still, she wanted him.  He could not deny her.

He slipped between her legs, which she parted gladly.  His weight supported on his elbows, he kissed her deeply as his hips nudged against hers.  She wrapped a leg around his waist, silently urging him to assuage her need.  He broke off the kiss, panting raggedly.

“Not yet,” he managed to gasp, reaching for his recently discarded slacks.

Buffy watched as he fumbled around the pockets frantically before finding his wallet.  With a strangled groan, he fell back onto the bed next to her,  “I, uh, don’t have any protection,” he told her in a low voice.

Reaching over him, Buffy groped through the drawer of her nightstand before setting a little foil package on his chest.  He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“I believe in being prepared,” she said.  “And … I bought them with you in mind.”

“Really?” he asked.

Absolutely serious as she pressed a kiss to his lips, she said, “Really.”

Angel kissed her back before taking the packet and tearing it open.  With Buffy’s assistance, they had the condom rolled on his rigid length quite efficiently.

Once again, she tugged at his shoulders and this time Angel did not hedge.  Slipping between her legs, he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly slid inside.

They both hissed as he stretched her deliciously.  When he was seated to the hilt, he stopped.  He stared down at her and she met his gaze unashamed.  She brought one of her hands up, to trace along his jaw.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so much she needed to understand.  She needed to know how absolutely precious she was to him, how much he loved her.  But the words would not come.

Buffy seemed to understand and she drew his head down for a kiss.  Their tongues tangled wetly as he began a gentle rhythm of thrust and withdrawal.  Buffy keened, breaking off the kiss as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  Angel couldn’t take it anymore.  Burying his head in the pillow next to hers, he concentrated only on feeling as he thrust powerfully into her tight, hot warmth.  She was so damn responsive, her internal muscles massaging him, her short fingernails biting into his back as she moaned his name.  She was perfect in a way that not even his most heated fantasies could match.

One of his hands found her hip and then the place where their bodies joined.  The pad of his thumb roughly rubbed the swollen bud of moist flesh and her internal muscles clamped down on him, just as her legs did around his waist.  She thrust up against him, wailing as her climax overtook her.

Angel wanted to last longer, but the sweet siren call of her pleasure was too much.  He had been alone too long and Buffy was too perfect.  With a roar of pure male animal satisfaction, he joined her in bliss.

*****

Angel felt every muscle and bone as they coalesced into pleasurable perfection.  A feeling wholly unfamiliar to him.  He was full to the brim, in body and soul, sated and sleepy, not even capable of forming a thought.  He had made love to her more than once, unable to get enough of her unforgettable essence. There was no room in his heart for anything or anyone except the small world in his embrace.

Falling fast over the edge of consciousness, he forced his eyelids open once more to gaze at the wonder he held close.  Buffy was curled against him, her hair a glowing wave of gold that covered his torso, her face inches below his own.  One small hand lay possessively over his heart, the other he felt the fingers of tucked warmly inside his own much larger one, holding his tightly, even as she slept. Angel had never seen a more precious sight.  The corners of his mouth curved at the sound of a soft snore as she nuzzled against his skin.  She fit so perfectly against him.  His arm gathered her even more securely against him, she could never be too close.  He tried to stay awake, just wanting this moment to keep on happening.  Even as he fought, sleep finally claimed him.  He carried her into his dreams with a peace he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

*****

Buffy woke to a warm muscular chest pillowing her head.  She felt an arm wrapped protectively around her and her fingers held in a tight clasp by the man beside her.  Rain was falling lightly against the window.  She couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe and sound, like being wrapped in a gentle cocoon.  Lifting her head only far enough to look into the face above hers, Angel lay sound asleep with the most beatific smile she had ever seen.  And on an already beatific face it made her heart skip a beat.  He was beautiful.  Not just his face, she thought, but all of him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d slept with someone, but she wished it were.  It had never been like that with anyone else.  Angel had treated her as if she was a special treasure.  She couldn’t believe how hands that large could be so gentle and she flushed as she remembered how they caressed every inch of her.  He had been so tender and loving he’d brought tears to her eyes.  No one had ever made her feel so unique … as if he cherished her.

Deep inside she knew he had shared himself with her in a way he had never done with anyone before her.  How could she not know he loved her?  It had been in every touch, every whisper, the way he looked at her and held her.  And she’d never known until he made love to her.  She wondered how long he had known, if it was the same for him, just discovering it.  Gazing at him dreaming, the lop-sided smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, she knew she loved him.

Without changing her position, she curled back into his chest, smiling as she felt his arm unconsciously pull her tighter against him.  She drifted back to sleep still smiling.

*****

Silent black clouds had winged their way closer, hiding the coming storm under the cover of night.  Building up fury and power, it streaked through the dark air and struck without warning.

Angel felt the lightening bolt’s shock wave run through him and the ground as if they were one.  The cold ate his soul as viciously as it ate at his body.  He tried to roll over, to huddle into a ball, but she was there as always, resting against him, trapping his arm.  She was cold, so cold and he couldn’t do anything to warm her.  She had depended on him for so long, clung to him for protection and he had failed her so miserably.  It was all his fault ...  Lightening flashed through the trees and he looked down.  Long tendrils of blonde hair spilled across his chest.  Her hand rested in his, lifeless and gray in the pale light.

But he wasn’t looking into Drucilla’s dead stare.  The hazel eyes that always danced and twinkled with life gazed blankly through him.  Skin that was so recently flushed in passion was waxen and pale beneath his fingers.  Air once hot and sweet against his face no longer puffed through the silent lips.  The warm, pliant body that had molded around his and become a part of him lay cold and still in his arms.

What had he done?  He had let her die!

For the second time in his life Angel stood on a precipice, teetering on the edge of sanity.  He saw the dark, cold abyss yawning open, ready to swallow him whole.  A searing flash of electricity lit the room like the negative of a photograph.  Somehow the trees had given way to walls and a ceiling.  He felt a small movement and looked down.  The hand, that had lain chill and quiet, curled its fingers in his.  Angel’s breath caught in his throat.  He stared blankly in terror at the small fingers twining more tightly through his own.  By degrees, the world righted itself as he felt the soft form nestled beside his fill him with its heat.

He was lying in bed next to Buffy.  There was no drenching rain or keening, brutal wind, no hard forest floor.  And she wasn’t dead.  Thank God, she wasn’t dead!  He released a painful, shuddering sigh as tremors violently wracked his body.  Thunder rumbled far in the distance.  The storm was already losing its momentum as he desperately pushed the shards of the cruel nightmare away.  He took long, even breaths, deep in his lungs, waiting for the blood racing through his veins to slow.  He lay there for long moments, letting her warmth seep into his shivering frame, chasing away the cold.

Helplessly, he clapped his hands to his head, raking his fingers through his scalp as dark images and imaginings twisted and tore through his mind.  What if that were to happen?  What could he do to protect her?  Why would it be any different than before?  He choked back a silent sob.  How dare he let the coldness inside him even touch her.  It was a part of him as much as the scars on his wrists.  He had no right dragging her down into his own frozen depths.  He had been foolish to let things go so far.  Never should have even gone out with her, let alone …

His gaze fell to the slumbering figure pressed against him, the sight alone inundating him with love.  His lips drawn taut with terror segued to a soft smile.  He dropped his hand to the cloud of spun gold, so soft and silky against his fingertips.  Even filled with such a vehement hatred of himself he couldn't find a single cell in his being that regretted being one with her for those few incomparably precious, perfect hours.

He wanted so much to stay there and curl around her, to take shelter in her warmth, but he didn’t dare.  He couldn’t remain with her.  He knew that.  His muscles tensed at the thought of leaving her.  Staying with her any longer would end as badly as everything else in his life.  He couldn’t allow her life to be wasted with his for a moment more.  He’d already done enough damage.  Buffy was vitality and light.  She had no business in his darkness.

At the thought his resolve strengthened.  Carefully, he disentangled his limbs from hers and slipped from the bed.  With a heavy heart, he desolately searched the darkened room for his clothes.  Once dressed, he padded softly to the door.  He turned, taking one last longing look as she slept peacefully, a smile curved on her lips.  His heart ached at the sight, but he forced himself out of the room.

Once home, Angel kicked off his shoes at the door.  Tugging his shirt off as he entered his bedroom, he tossed it on the floor.  His pants and socks followed after as he stretched his long frame on the bed.  He threw one arm across his eyes, but the visions refused to be put away so easily.  He was drained from the past crowding in and overtaking his mind.  He no longer fought  it, waiting for the ghosts of long ago to finish their dismal dance.  But even they couldn’t keep her away.

Since the day they met her name had been pressed into his heart without him even knowing.  "Buffy", he whispered to the cold darkness.  To him it held the resonance of all that was warmth and light.  Now, after loving her, that sound was his whole world – and he couldn’t live there.

Pulling his arm back over his face even tighter, he wept.

[end chapter 7]

Feedback to trammie

On to Chapter 8

Back to Chapter 6

Back to WtS Index