Home Before Dark - Part Fifteen (continued)
by Debbie Nockels
Warning: This version is rated R.
COPYRIGHT: August 2002
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who needs to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
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"So what happens now?" Dawn slumped onto the couch, relieved to be safely back home again. Idly she wondered if Tara had beaten them there and was already up in her room. As they'd all exited the Bronze, Willow had muttered something about spending the night at her folks' house, then taken off without another word, leaving Tara gazing after her. Dawn frowned, hoping nothing was wrong with those two.
"I think it would be a good idea if you went to bed." Buffy rolled her head around, hearing her neck crack. "It's been a long day, it's late, and you have school tomorrow."
Dawn sighed. "Don't be so literal. I meant what's going to happen now with you - with the two of you? How is Angel going to find a way around his curse, like he promised?"
Buffy felt very tired. She tossed her coat across the back of a chair; she'd hang it up later. "I don't know, Dawn. Angel and I need to talk."
Her sister snorted in a very unladylike manner. "No shit."
That earned her a frown and a sharp, "Dawn!"
"Oh, please. Like you never said �shit' when you were fifteen." Dawn rose to her feet. "Which, let me remind you, wasn't all that long ago."
"Wasn't it?" Buffy murmured. The few years separating her and Dawn felt like a century. Had she ever been that young and innocent? That resilient?
Dawn seemed to sense some of what she was feeling; her face softened. She went over to Buffy. "Maybe you're the one who should be going to bed, Methuselah. You look beat." She looked up at Angel. "Don't keep her up too late talking, huh? Or anything else. Make her get some rest."
"I will," Angel promised. They watched Dawn ascend the staircase, then Buffy asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
"I'm fine."
"Well, I could use something." He followed Buffy into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator. To his surprise, instead of a Coke or other soft drink she took out a bottle of white wine. It was almost empty, he noticed. Unconsciously he frowned. "When did you start drinking?"
Buffy glared at him. "Stop looking at me like I've suddenly turned into a secret alcoholic or something. I'm almost twenty-one, in case you've forgotten. Tara and Willow and I each had a glass a few nights ago, that's all."
"Sorry," he apologized. "I was just surprised. I don't think I've ever seen you drink an alcoholic beverage."
"I don't very often." She filled the glass about half full. "But I think tonight calls for one." Perching on one of the kitchen stools, Buffy took a sip of the wine, savoring its cool softness on her tongue. "Want to tell me why you turned up in such a timely manner?" She managed a smile. "Not that I'm not grateful, you understand, but when we spoke last you seemed to be knee-deep in one of Cordelia's visions."
"I was worried about you." Angel took another stool, facing her, their knees touching. "We took care of the problem in the vision, then seeing as how you and I haven't had much luck getting hold of each other lately I decided to come here afterward instead of just calling. Why didn't you tell me how bad it was for you?"
The abrupt change of subject didn't faze her; she'd been expecting that question. Buffy looked down at her glass, swirling the wine absently. "I don't know. It didn't seem important enough, I guess. I kept thinking it was just temporary, you know? That the depression would go away after a while." She looked up. "Plus it's only been really bad the last few days." She took another sip.
"Is that when you started worrying about Cordelia and me?" he asked. She nodded and he went on, "Buffy, you know - "
"Yes, I do," she interrupted, placing her hand on his arm. "There's nothing like that between you and Cordy. I do know it, Angel; I've known it all along. But I just couldn't stop thinking about it, and that's another reason I didn't say anything, because I knew I was being stupid, that there was no reason to get upset about it - "
It was Angel's turn to interrupt. "Buffy." His hand came to rest on hers, so it was sandwiched between his coolness. "At least now we know the reason why you were acting irrationally."
"Yeah, part of me's missing," she said bitterly. "I wonder what else went wrong with Willow's little spell?"
"Nothing else went wrong," Angel told her firmly.
"What if - " She bit her lip.
"What?"
Buffy voiced her secret fear. "What if we can't fix it? What if I never get whole again? I don't want to go on like this, feeling so . . . unstable."
"Don't you trust Giles?" asked Angel softly. "He said he'd find the solution."
"It's not a matter of trust, Angel. I know Giles will do his best, but - "
Again Angel interrupted. "Buffy." She looked at him. "You're the most important person in the world to him. He'll find the answer, if he has to move heaven and earth to do it." He paused. "Just as I will, to find out how to fix my curse."
She'd been trying not to think about that. Just the thought that they might soon be able to have a complete relationship made her heart sing with joy, but what if Angel couldn't make good on his promise? What if there was no way around the curse?
"What's wrong?" asked Angel.
"I'm afraid to hope." Her voice sank to a whisper. "I want it so much."
"I know; so do I." Angel leaned toward her, touched her cheek. "But I have to try, Buffy. Every day apart from you seems like a week, and when we are together I hate being afraid to touch you, of having to constantly monitor my feelings: Am I getting too happy? How much is too much? Where do I draw the line?" Pain and frustration etched his features.
"Yes." Buffy knew exactly what he meant; the worry was there for her too, in the back of her mind, every time they kissed or embraced. She drew a deep breath. "And even if . . . if it turns out that nothing can be done about your curse, then . . . "
"Then we'll be no worse off than we are right now," finished Angel heavily. "And at least we'll have tried."
"Yes." Buffy managed a tiny smile. She gulped down the rest of her wine and slid off the stool. Angel did the same. They stood facing each other, and Buffy flashed back to a certain never-forgotten night. "Do you remember the Three?"
Angel looked puzzled. "Of course I do."
"One of them slashed you - here." She traced a line across his shirt. "I brought you home. We went into the kitchen and you took off your shirt so I could bandage the wound. I can still remember standing here looking at you. You took my breath away."
She looked up and Angel felt his undead heart lurch at the expression in her eyes. He stroked her cheek. "I watched you that night while you slept," he murmured, "and I thought to myself that I'd never seen anything as beautiful as your face in the moonlight."
Her lips were warm and soft. After a moment he drew her closer, giving himself up to their kiss. Every point of pressure from her body sent a thrill of excitement through him. Suddenly he swept her up into his arms and carried her out of the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" protested Buffy, laughing.
Angel didn't answer, just started up the stairs.
"Angel, what - "
"Shh," he told her. "We don't want to wake Dawn."
Buffy eyed him uncertainly. "We don't?"
"Definitely not." He took her into her bedroom and set her gently down on the bed, then went back and closed the door. She heard the snick as he locked it. Buffy sat up. What in the world was he doing? She started to ask, but then he turned around again - and she saw his face. She stared, unable to believe what she was reading in it. Angel crossed the short distance separating them, and sat beside her on the bed.
"Angel - we can't." Her voice trembled.
He caressed her lips with his fingertip. "Do you trust me?"
Her eyes grew wet as she met his intent gaze. "You know I do. With my life."
"Then trust that I know what I'm doing." He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. Instantly she felt the difference. As always these days, his lips were gentle and loving - but this time nothing was being held back. All his passion, the pent-up desire of three years, was set free. It hit her like a cataract, crashing through the defenses that held her own longing in check. Her heart gave a thump. Feeling faint, she broke off the kiss, throwing her head back and fighting for breath.
"Angel!" she gasped. Instead of stopping as she expected, he moved his gentle assault to her neck, kissing her on her throat, nipping her earlobes. Then his tongue brushed across the scars from his bite - and Buffy felt the touch through her entire body. Shivering, she gasped again. Angel kissed along the V-neck of her shirt.
Her soft sighs and gasps were music to Angel. The sight of the tiny white scars on her neck evoked a flood of memories: her voice telling him to "Drink me!" . . . her faint cry as his teeth pierced her delicate skin . . . the sweet saltiness of her blood filling his mouth, the power of her essence flowing through him, healing him of the poison from Faith's arrow. Impulsively, he ran his tongue over the marks, slowly, savoring their texture, and felt her shudder, heard another gasp.
He skimmed the neckline of her shirt with his lips, planting kisses on her soft, warm skin, lingering on the gentle swell of breast revealed by the low cut. Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding even harder, filling his ears with its rhythmic throb. Gathering hold of the knit fabric, he began pulling the bottom of her shirt upward.
"Raise your arms," he whispered. Before the shirt was free of her body, however, he glanced down. The bra she was wearing was nothing more than a thin piece of nylon that concealed nothing. Through its filmy covering he could plainly see the dark pink of her aureoles. Without thinking, he leaned down. His mouth closed over one breast, his tongue rasping over her nipple, and that touch also sent a lightning reaction throughout her body. Buffy moaned.
Impatiently she freed herself from the confinement of her shirt. For a moment she looked into his eyes, then she leaned forward and they kissed, softly at first but then deeply, hungrily. Still kissing, Angel reached behind her and unhooked the bra, slipping the straps over her arms and tossing it to the floor. Without missing a beat he bent down to her other breast, suckling it gently into his mouth, working the nipple with his tongue. At the same time he slipped one hand between their bodies and cupped it between her legs, pressing rhythmically.
Lightning ran through her body. Buffy instinctively pushed into his touch, wanting more. He complied, moving his hand in small circles while his mouth moved back and forth between her breasts. Her nipples grew hard as pebbles and the scent of her arousal, already noticeable to his acute senses, grew stronger. Suddenly he straightened up and kissed her, deeply, then eased her down onto the bed.
Before she knew what was happening, Buffy found herself lying down again, and Angel was working her pants down over her hips. Fresh air fanned her legs as the pants went flying across the room, joined a moment later by her panties. The small part of her brain that was still working reminded her how dangerous this situation was.
"Angel," she managed to whisper. Then she felt his fingers parting her, and the touch of his cold tongue there, and all thought fled.
Angel couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so close to losing himself. God, it had been so long! Two years had passed since The Day That Wasn't . . . since he'd held her, naked, in his arms . . . since her scent had filled his nostrils, and her taste intoxicated him. Two years since he'd watched the flush creeping over her skin as he caressed her, since he'd heard her gasping cries, felt the tension start to build within her. He eased one finger inside her, then realized his care was unnecessary: She was dripping wet. One finger became two, and his thumb replaced his tongue as he moved his mouth up her writhing body. Again he stopped to suckle her breasts, not as gently this time, pulling them deep into his mouth and flicking the nipples roughly with his tongue.
She cried out and pulled his head up to hers, kissing his mouth and throat with an intensity that almost pushed him over the edge. Breaking free from her hold he found the scars on her neck. Again he rasped his tongue over them, at the same time caressing her with his thumb and thrusting his fingers deep inside her core.
Buffy gasped and moaned, arching her back, as the triple assault sent her headlong into orgasm. Tremors shook her body from head to toe while Angel continued his ministrations, until finally she gasped, "No!"
Instantly Angel stopped. "What's wrong?"
"It's too much!" she panted. "I can't take any more." After a few moments, when she'd caught her breath, she opened her eyes. "If I weren't so spent I'd wipe that smirk right off your face, mister."
The faint, smug smile widened as Angel settled himself beside her. Buffy chuckled and nestled against him. "Okay, I guess you've earned the right to it. That was - incredible." He drew her closer. Buffy snaked her hand down and found, as she'd expected, that he was rock-hard. "But what about you?"
"I'll survive," he told her lightly, although privately he wasn't too sure about that. He was so hard it was painful. His entire groin ached and throbbed.
"That's not fair," she replied, and with one swift gesture unzipped his pants.
"Buffy - " he began, only to break off with a choked sound as her soft hand caressed him from root to base, and back again. To Buffy's astonishment, that one touch was all it took. Angel moaned deep in his throat, and his body convulsed. Icy semen spurted across her hand and over her abdomen, as Angel climaxed again and again. When finally it was over -
"I'm sorry," he murmured, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief.
"Does this happen often?" Buffy took the handkerchief and cleaned the sticky substance from her hand and body - and from the sheet. "I mean, under different circumstances, it could be a real problem." She gave him a teasing look.
Angel smiled faintly. "Pot calling the kettle black?"
Buffy blushed. "True," she acknowledged - and it was. She hadn't come that fast in - she couldn't remember ever coming that fast. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, then Buffy swallowed. "You better go," she whispered. Much as she longed for him to stay, that would only be asking for trouble.
Angel nodded and rolled off the other side of the bed, tucking himself in and zipping up before walking over to her. Buffy hastily grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. They embraced tightly.
"I love you," Buffy whispered, her throat aching.
"I love you too," he replied through an equally tight throat. He kissed the top of her head. "Get some rest; I'll see you tomorrow."
"Do you have a place to stay?" she suddenly asked. During his other visits he'd slept on their couch, but that probably wasn't a good idea tonight. The living room was much too . . . accessible.
"The mansion."
She nodded silently. They drew apart and she walked Angel to her door, unlocking it and opening it. "Good night."
"Good night." He leaned down and kissed her again, then turned and walked away. Buffy listened while his footsteps died away and the front door opened and shut again, until the silence of the house seemed to press in on her. Slowly she returned to her cold bed, aching for his presence but at the same time strangely content. Gathering up the spare pillow in her arms, she pulled it close and fell asleep almost instantly.
END OF PART FIFTEEN (R-rated version)
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