RATING: NC-17
TIMELINE: Set during BtVS season 3, between 'Helpless' and 'The Zeppo', if you need specifics. Otherwise, just somewhere in that season.
SUMMARY: Buffy and Angel give in to need (or 'Plot is hard' <g>)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So not happy with this, but here it is.
FEEDBACK: sienna_tainted@email.com
DISCLAIMER: I didn't create them, and I didn't break them. I leave that to Joss and his merry band of screw-ups. I mean, writers.

Buffy watches the shadows sway back and forth across her ceiling, like a silent movie being played above her head. And misses him. There's a need tonight, stronger than usual, making her hands clench and her breathing quicken. She sees flashes of skin, hears soft moans in her ears, feels phantom kisses on her lips, and misses him with fierce longing. She tries to sleep but he's there, always there yet never close enough. All in vain.

He was relaxed tonight, lighter than she had seen him in a long time, and it made her smile. Her mood reflected his, like it always did, because they complemented each other perfectly, and he'd been generous with his touches and almost-there smiles. He had pressed playful kisses to her lips and made her sigh and moan, wrapping his arms around her waist and telling all the world that she belonged to him. She could almost pretend that nothing before had happened -- the fighting and Hell and the pain -- but perhaps 'pretend' is too strong a word.

She thinks about hunting, instead; the chase, the leap, the sound of her stake grating through flesh and bone. It's more the sound she waits for, than the dust, though that is satisfying as well. Angel. She frowns in frustration. Not Angel. Angel is off-limits. Better to think about hunting. Better to go hunting, rather than lying in her bed thinking about not thinking about Angel, not thinking about his hands on her and maybe putting her hands on herself. Tempting.

Buffy makes up her mind, or really, if she wants to admit it to herself, her mind forces her body obey. She dresses quickly and climbs out of her window, her blood already pulsing faster in anticipation as she nears the mansion. She senses him inside, resting, despite the night hour. She's up the stairs before she realises how close she is, and stops outside his door, her breath coming out in short, eager bursts.

She presses her hand against the wood, feeling him already, daring herself to disturb his sanctuary. She's still safe, she can still go home if she wants to. No harm done. But then her hand is pushing down the handle and the door creaks once, causing her to freeze, but it makes the rest of the way in relative silence.

The moon is all the light she needs to see him. Angel lies on his stomach, the thick quilt drawn up but not covering his shoulders. She decides that it's safer that way, for what she wants to do. For what she can't do.

Seeing him is like all the things she loves in a single blink -- hot baths ice cream butterflies cool skin orgasms chocolate greedy kisses sex laughter...

It's the same rush of pleasure, the same overwhelming relief. The man she loves more than life itself. She feels like crying. When it comes to him, her emotions are never subtle.

She regrets wearing boots, because the zipper is unnaturally loud in the stone silent room. No breath, save hers. No gentle breeze or sleepy hiss of trees. She unbuttons her jacket, pulls her top over her head, discards her pants. Her heart is thudding and she's afraid he'll wake, knowing that even the silence speaks to his vampiric ears.

She leaves her underwear next to the bed, feeling excitement in her nerves, and faint arousal. She slowly lifts the covers away and he stirs slightly as cool, still air finds his skin. She knows he sleeps nude but it still stuns her to see him bared. She has to draw in a breath because he is so beautiful, so beautiful that it aches inside. And this man is hers. Only hers.

She moves on top of him with the grace of a predator, letting her breasts and hips settle against his back. She rests her head near his neck and straddles his waist, knows he's awake now, but he doesn't push her away.

Angel feels her slight weight against him, the heat of her body warming his skin. She caresses his shoulder in tiny circles, her hair tickling his neck.

"Hi," she whispers, her peach soft lips brushing against his skin.

"Hi," he returns, swallowing, closing his eyes as he tries not to enjoy her too much, feeling a familiar need rise within him. "I thought I was dreaming you again."

She feels tears in her eyes and smiles. "I love you," she says, sliding a warm hand up his side, under his chest and over his heart. Angel shivers, memorising her touch, longing for more. He is addicted to the words, feeling them infuse his being, and almost feels the need to deny their veracity. He doesn't deserve love, not her love, or the feel of her fingers tracing lines of desire on his skin.

"I love every part of you," she says, moving her lips against his shoulders. His back is broad at the top, well-muscled, flawless. She moves to her side slightly, running a strong hand from the small of his back to his shoulders, watching him arch and shift with a pleased smile. He loves to be touched, and she loves touching him, but they don't always get what they want, do they? She doesn't care. Not tonight.

She rests her weight on her hands as she drags her nipples over his skin, feeling them tighten, feeling him tense. She kisses his ear, pulling it between her lips with a soft hum of pleasure. He reaches back suddenly and she mewls as his hand slides down her bare thigh, pulling it higher around his hips. His hands. She loves his hands, their enduring strength, the span of his palm, his long fingers.

Buffy lays her cheek between his shoulders and strokes his skin worshipfully, knowing he likes it, craves it.

"I still think about Halloween night. In my room," she says softly, licking a tiny patch of skin. Angel makes a small sound of pleasure, and tries to concentrate on her words.

He loves that memory. "I remember that I wanted to make love to you," he says with a sentimental smile. "But then, I always want to make love to you."

"You know how I feel about that," she says, tasting more of his skin. "You know I would let you do anything."

He has to fight for control. Her words are too much, and he hates and loves that she gives him everything, because he's forbidden to take it.

"We watched the stars," he says tightly, needing to distract himself from his own arousal, from her bare body against his. "I held you on the roof."

"I didn't think I could be happier," Buffy says, sighing at the memory. "I couldn't sleep after you left." She kisses his tattoo, tracing the 'A' with her lips. "I couldn't sleep tonight, either."

He doesn't reply -- can't reply -- as she presses moist kisses down his spine, feeling her warm tongue dart out to play, and they both moan when she grinds her heat into the small of his back. He turns suddenly and she falls to the side, one leg still resting on his hip. She's panting as his eyes rake over her hungrily, his fingers smoothing her hair back from her face. Buffy kisses him, whimpering into his mouth, but he reigns in his control, giving her what she wants but not taking what she offers. He pushes his tongue into her mouth and she curls her own around it, running her hands over his body impatiently.

She pulls away, panting, and laves his nipple before nipping it gently, enjoying his moans. She runs her hand down his chest and reaches for the erection jutting into her stomach, but he stops her with a hand around her wrist, kissing it before pressing it back against his shoulder.

"It's better if you don't," Angel says tightly, but even as he speaks she fastens her mouth onto the side of his neck, digging her teeth in gently. He can't stop himself from rubbing his hard length against her belly, and her leg curls around his waist more firmly. He squeezes his eyes shut and curses the world, because the woman he loves is wrapped around him so perfectly and he can't touch her the way he wants to.

"Stop," he whispers, pulling her away gently, "Shh."

Buffy frowns with disappointment but understands, soothing him as he soothes her. She runs a hand through his hair and kisses his lips softly, rubbing his back with warm caresses.

"I love you," he says, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I love you so much."

She snuggles against him and closes her eyes, knowing she'll be able to sleep now that he's near. Angel has to think about musty books and dead demons and the stench of sewer tunnels in an effort to quell his desire for her. He pulls the warm quilt over them and she protests quietly at her momentary loss, but he's back against her in an instant, lulling her to sleep with deep purrs and sweeping touches. He falls asleep soon afterwards, dreamlessly, and rests peacefully for the first time since he made love to her.

-----

When she wakes up, he's half inside her, both realising it at the same time as his dark, uncertain eyes meet hers. Buffy is resolved and pulls on his shoulder gently, and he knows what she wants, rolling them over and covering her with his large frame. She sighs at the movement inside her and wraps her legs around his waist, holding him to her.

"Please, Angel," she says breathlessly, pressing wet kisses to his lips. "Just this once."

Just this once, he tells himself, taken by the tight, lush heat sheathing his erection. Just this once they won't talk about wrong or danger or distance. It'll be okay. It has to be okay, because he can't bring himself to stop. He's locked in her embrace and he doesn't think he'd be able to fight if he tried.

Angel's eyes meet hers as he slides his length all the way inside her, and she gasps, arching her back. He captures a nipple between his lips, listening to her heart pound in excitement, and swirls his tongue around the hardened tip. She buries a hand in his hair and bucks her hips into his, wanting him to move, needing the friction. She feels so stretched, so full of him, and pulls him up for a trembling kiss.

He doesn't stop kissing her as he begins to give her long, deep thrusts, their noses bumping in the dark, her breath puffing hot air over his lips. Buffy moans as he pushes a pillow beneath her hips, angling her perfectly as every thrust brings him inside her completely, the base of his cock putting just the right amount of pressure on her throbbing centre. She's seeping wetness and he glides into her easily, swallowing her moans as he builds the pleasure within her. Angel pulls a leg from his waist and lifts it over his shoulder, feeling her inner muscles tighten in response. He shuts his eyes for a second before opening them, whispering her name and increasing the speed of his thrusts.

"Oh god," Buffy gasps, feeling his cock rub deliciously against sensitive tissue. She lunges for his mouth and he returns the kiss hungrily, grinding against her clit with every thrust. "God, Angel...that feels...I'm so close. So close."

She lets out a shout and pushes her hips against his roughly, feeling pure pleasure shoot unbridled through every nerve in her body, every muscles contracting sharply around as her orgasm takes her relentlessly. Angel buries his face in her throat as the deep clench of her muscles forces him over the edge with her, driving into her harder as he spills his seed, moaning as she squeezes him even tighter. Ecstasy overwhelms him for long moments, leaving him sated and dizzy.

Buffy closes her eyes and tries to regain her breath, her core still pulsing with pleasure around his length. Angel slips out of her gently and she clenches around nothing, missing him already. He guides her leg back around his hip, soothing her with soft kisses to her breasts. He knows she wants more and reaches down to caress her wet sex, rolling her clit in small circles so that she cries out and wraps her arms around his neck. She pants as he pushes two fingers inside her, coming apart easily as he nips her lips with a grin.

The edge is off and Angel makes love to her once more, with slow, deep kisses and just as slow and deep thrusts, before pulling her into his arms in the warmth of his bed. She watches him sleep, happy and afraid and in love, until night begins to grow lighter and her body craves sleep. She leaves him only to close the heavy drapes before curling up against him and feeling his arms come around her in a comforting embrace.

He doesn't lose his soul that night, and Buffy knows they were reckless, and lucky. Perfect happiness is too much for them, too easy to attain, but a little happiness, enough to get them through the night, is all they ever needed.

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