Buffy doesn�t apologize; she doesn�t say anything, when she moves away from Willow. Those precious few inches give her enough space to take in the softest gasping breath, followed by the wettest series of sniffles her cold has produced thus far. They sound itchy, like they tickle her nose over and over, and Buffy leans in close again to nuzzle between Willow�s thighs. She doesn�t just sneeze once or twice, shaking the tickle from her nose before going back down on Willow. Buffy sneezes and sneezes, muffling strong, wet �heh, h�hetSCHOO!�s against Willow. The spray is damp against her thighs, cool for a second, then hot, like everything else she feels when Buffy nuzzles in closer, licking and kissing and then sneezing again.
Suddenly, there�s a louder, stronger, more drawn out sneeze and the touch of a sniffly nose to her clit and Willow�s not waiting anymore. She�s writhing and screaming, trying not to writhe and scream, worrying for a second what she sounds like, then not worrying because it feels so good. Better than anything else, better than anyone else, better than she could have imagined. So good that Willow�s already waiting for the next moment of pleasure.
