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Christmas Eve 2010
~Edenscroft Manor in Devonshire, England~
Late afternoon

“I can’t get over how sexy Wesley *still* is!” Anya  trilled as she sauntered back into Buffy’s bedroom.  “He’s two years older than the last time I saw him, and he still looks incredibly hunky” she added, carefully arranging a huge bouquet of white roses nestling with exquisite winter greenery in an ornamental glass vase stained red.  “Xander always said he was a geek, I think his manhood was threatened by Wesley’s rough good looks.”

Buffy shook her head, stifling a giggle.  “Actually, An, Wes really *was* a geek.  A big monster geek.  A long time ago in a galaxy far far away...”

Anya snorted disbelievingly.  “I just walked in on him in the bathroom.  He was shaving. *Topless,*” the vengeance demon added provocatively with a delighted smile.  She shook her head at Buffy's blank uncomprehending look.  “Xander was *obviously* threatened.”  She glanced away from her work towards Buffy’s vanity where Fred was setting Buffy’s hair in hot curlers.  “Why do you fuss with all of that?  You’re wearing a veil, no one will notice your hair.  Nobody noticed mine when I almost married Xander.”

“Oh, I used to do my sister’s hair all the time.  It’s just a little extra pampering for the bride!”  Fred said shyly.  “Sorta pre-wedding anti-stress therapy!”

“Hmmmph!  Angel is as rich as Midas, he could’ve just hired a hair dresser for you.”  Anya trimmed away a bit of rotting leaf from one rose.  “Then we could be real wedding guests.”

Fred sighed very softly.  She actually liked the vengeance demoness but sometimes she reminded Fred of a female Pinnochio.  “We’re Buffy’s wedding attendants, Anya.”

“I thought wedding attendants just organised a bridal shower and made sure the bride reported to her groom on time.  I don’t recall hairdressing requirements.”

“I didn’t want a hairdresser,” Buffy replied stoically.  “I just wanted it to be us.”  It would be nerve-rattling enough to go through with the ceremony without having a stranger pawing through her hair.  Her stylist had come in a week ago to work on her hair and it shone like rich honey streaked with wheat-golden highlights.  Very subtle and natural, very like how she’d looked in the days when she’d first met Angel.

Neither Giles, Willow, nor Xander were attending Buffy’s wedding. She felt more alone than ever because of that.  Willow had joined Giles on a paranormal investigation in central Czechoslovakia. Xander could not spare the time, his construction company was awfully busy at the moment.  Buffy knew he resented her decision.  She’d tried not to think too much about it but she knew he’d always been hoping that something could work out between them.  Buffy blamed herself because she knew she had encouraged him a little.  Perhaps–if she was willing to be cut-to-the-marrow honest with herself–Buffy had hoped their friendship was growing into something more intimate, something that would last.  Something preciously ordinary.

But that was before Wesley and Willow had explained everything to her about how it was with her and Angel.  How they could never really be free of each other.  And Buffy had given up on hoping any part of her life would ever be normal again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas Morning  2008
Hank Summer’s home in Los Angeles, CA
About 2:00 a.m.

He came for her in her father’s house that night and she almost was not surprised.  They had both been too good at light nonsense-talking, saying lots of nothing to be attentive to each other but still avoiding what they felt.  She congratulated him on his accomplishments in business and he commented on her career choice in children’s sociology.  They had danced and Buffy had felt electrical impulses burn her inside out and she wanted to shriek in frustration, curse the Powers That Be.

*I can’t have him!  Fate made sure of it so, damn it, WHY do I have to feel like this?  WHY can't I just love him like a friend?  A man who meant so much to me in my past but has no place in the here and now?* 

It was relief to return to her father’s house–he’d allowed her the use of it while he was in Europe–alone.  Spike longed to see L.A.’s nightlife with Anya who, for all her millennium of years, had never gotten around to visiting that particular city.

Buffy never lost the feeling of Angel, though, the sense of him, throughout the cab ride home.  She kept glancing at the empty sidewalks and porches of the homes flashing in her windows expecting to see him there.  Somehow she always missed him, never caught sight of him, but she knew he was there.  It was frighteningly intense, they had stayed parted for so long, each hoping the distance between them would affect the bonding they’d felt before.

But it was like those years had never happened.  When they were together, the world was nothing except Buffy and Angel.

So the arms embracing her from behind as she locked the front door didn’t frighten her, although she wondered what Angel had done to secure an invitation to her father’s house. 

“You belong to me, Buffy.”  His voice alone was aphrodisiac, a sensual bass that penetrated her skin and sank into her tense muscles while he drew her tenderly into his arms and they moved, slowly, her flesh imprinting him with warmth no one else could give him.

“No!” she moaned it, half-hearted, when his long fingers gripped the hem of her skirt and drew the lightweight silk up, freeing her hips.  He cupped the sweet mound between her thighs through a knitted silk thong that matched her dress while his other hand worked the zipper behind her.  She moaned again–his name–and rubbed her groin against his cupped hand.  Liquid flame built within the aching depth of her feminine core and she whined low in her throat, turning her face towards him for a kiss.

“We can’t!” she protested, almost weeping when Angel easily undressed her and she stood before him in only pumps and thigh-high stockings.  His hot gaze ran over her, fondling her as surely as his hands and he swept her up into his arms without a word.

“Where’s your room?” He was hoarse, gruff.  His warm brown eyes were loving and filled with heat.  Buffy sensed something dark and dangerous in him as well, desperation.  She felt certain that, even if she outright refused him, he would not stop. 

She closed her eyes, ashamed as she whispered it to him and he carried her there in seconds, laid her on the bed.  She wasn’t a teenager anymore, why didn’t she have better control of herself?

*Angel, don’t!* her heart sobbed. *I destroyed you once because I loved you...*

“Your soul!” she managed to rasp as the broad-shouldered man who’d haunted every ill-lived relationship she’d had as an adult knelt over her and spread her trim thighs. *I love you so much, Angel, and it’s bad!  I'm not supposed to do it!*

“You are my soul,” he whispered against the sensitive little crease where her hip, her thigh, and her sex met.

She climaxed instantly, her nipples stiffening and aching, her center weeping when he had yet to touch her.  He smiled, smug male pleasure at the proof of her urgent desire for him, lovingly whispered her name while he kissed her swollen nether lips softly, as though he coaxed an innocent young girl to surrender what she’d already given him years ago.  She sobbed while he made love to her with his mouth and caressed her with his hands.

“Sweet,” he murmured.  “So sweet.”

His mouth, his velvety tongue, nipping teeth worked on her, coaxing more passionate nectar from her body and she whimpered to him that he had to stop, that they couldn’t do this, that she couldn’t bear to destroy him and couldn’t bear to be separate from him because, without Angel, something inside Buffy slept and died away.  Without him she was barren.

He disrobed slowly and Buffy felt like crying because his body was still so beautiful and familiar to her, the hard whipcord muscles on his steel-and-whalebone frame.  Everything she looked for and never found in another man.  His male shaft, turgid and thickly upright in it’s nest of cocoa brown curls, sought her labia, and she spread her legs wider to give him better access to his target, to give him herself, her inner fire, her humanity so that it warmed him and made him feel human as well.

When he entered her she cried in shock at the ache of his penetration.  It hurt nearly as much as when they’d first joined years ago despite Angel’s sinfully exceptional efforts to prepare her for him.  She had gone for so long without a man, had given up on trying to replace her one love with nice boys and wicked boys and even Spike in despair of ever feeling that perfect sheltering warmth Angel’s embrace had brought her.  Buffy clung to his hard-muscled powerful arms and panted as he waited patiently for her to move, mating instinct older than time, her hips surging up against his, her legs curling over his firm flanks.  He whispered soft endearments to her with each thrust, some strong and deep, others more measured, meant to tempt her.

“Baby.”

“Lover.”

“Precious.”

“Buffy.”

His ministrations and gentle words only urged her body to engulf him in creamy heat and Buffy mewled like a kitten as he urged her to three more climaxes before he smiled and sighed, “Oh yes, yes, yes.”

He exploded inside her, his thick emission blending with her own fluids and creating a luxuriously erotic perfume, a fragrance unique to their coupling.  Angel kissed her throat and softly sucked along her delicate jawline.  He kissed her tearstained cheeks and held her shuddering body tenderly as she began to sob in earnest, certain they had sinned and set the dark alchemy in motion that condemned them both.

“Don’t be afraid of me.  I love you, Buffy.  I always have.”  His lips struck the base of her throat and she let out a squeal of  agonised delight as his fangs pierced her flesh.

14 March 2009
Edenscroft Manor in Devonshire, England
About 6:00 p.m.

“Mmmm!” Buffy moaned dreamily with a soft smile as she cuddled into Angel’s chest. “This is such a beautiful place.” She raised her head so that her lips could brush the little portion of bare flesh just within the “V” neckline of Angel’s fine cashmere sweater. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about it before?”

Angel wondered how he could ever explain to Buffy that Edenscroft had never been beautiful or special to him until the night he brought Buffy there only two months ago. His arms tightened round her slender body and he snuggled her against him as he replied:

“It’s my home. The land it’s built on once belonged to my family. I’ve always liked it, but I didn’t want to tell you about it unless you could be part of it.”

“I wish we could always stay here like this.”

Angel kissed the top of her blonde head and rubbed the side of his face against her smooth hair. She smelled ever so faintly of freesia, a light old-fashioned fragrance he liked.

“Could you be happy here with me?”

Buffy nearly burst out laughing at her lover’s wistful tone. How could he think she wouldn’t be happy here? The manor house was old but very well-preserved and outfitted with all modern comforts. A sweetly old-fashioned rose garden and fountain patio adorned the western border of the property and a modest apple orchard grew slightly wild beyond it. A good-sized artificial pond was about a mile to the east and Angel took her row-boating over the silky-smooth water when the nights were clear.

They swam naked together in the huge pool connected to Angel’s gym. They worked out and sparred together and showered together afterwards. It was just like old times, Buffy thought, the very best of old times, only–better.

“I’m happy right now. Happier than I’ve ever been.” She spoke very softly and knelt over him as Angel lay relaxed on the narrow empire bed he used for a sofa in the smaller “informal parlor” downstairs. She loved the rich comfortable elegance of this room, the red velvet-flocked brocade wallpaper and the huge hand-carved mantel over the fireplace, decorated with huge griffins. The other walls were covered in dark paneling that closed the room up a bit, warmed it up. With a fire chuckling cheerily a few feet away, and the plush velour-covered cushions on the empire bed, with Angel’s body beneath hers, the two of them draped  with a thin but warm wool throw blanket, Buffy thought things were just about perfect.

How many times had they indulged in this kind of pleasant peace when she was a young seventeen-year-old learning her place as the Slayer? Buffy couldn’t recall. There had been moments, very brief, when they’d been together alone, peaceful and quiet and able to hold each other. Precious bits of intimacy they’d shared, knowing it was only a matter of time before something awful happened to take it away. The last few months had been heaven revisited for Buffy.

*I don't think I was even this happy in Heaven...*

“I missed you when you were out yesterday.” She kissed Angel’s mouth slowly, met his eyes and softly kissed him again as his wonderful hands eased under her sweater and gently kneaded her vertebrae. “The bed’s so empty–” Another kiss. “–when you’re not in it.”

Angel murmured wordlessly in pleasure as they kissed. Several soft little pecks before Buffy moaned and Angel pressed his mouth insistently against hers to part her lips. His tongue reached for hers and softly massaged it while the pressure of their kiss intensified. He drew her down to lie on his strong broad chest and caressed her scalp, fingers twining in her lovely warm hair as he cupped his other hand over her bottom. Warm contentment suffused them both as they kissed and pressed their bodies together. Angel felt his body hardening as his desire increased and he slowly broke away the kiss, not yet ready to let go of the warmth they shared even for passion. He could never get enough of this, the nurturing warmth of just touching and being together with no demands attached to it. The lovemaking was wonderful, too, and he wanted lots of it–later.

“Of course,” Buffy commented idly, her voice was soft and sleepy, like a well-satisfied woman. Angel could not ever remember seeing her so relaxed. “The weather’s a lot nicer on the Hellmouth.” Lovingly she cupped his face in her hands and kissed the bridge of his nose. “You do a good job of keeping me warm, though.” Her hands trailed up the sides of his face and drifted into his hair. “I’ll miss being here so much.” She rested her head on his chest. “My sabbatical’s nearly over and I need to get back with Wesley to see if he’s found out anything about the new me.” Angel’s mouth tensed a bit and his eyebrows arched. There was a faint hint of distress in the forced casualness of her tone. “Wes and I were talking at the party,” she replied to his questioning look. “He’s curious about some of the interesting side effects from my slight case of death back in ‘01. He’s running a few chem tests on me.”

Three brisk raps on the wide ornate moulding of the doorway were followed by a discreet pause long enough for Buffy to sit up and smooth down her sweater before Ephraim, Angel’s steward, entered the room with a covered tray for Buffy’s dinner and a tall glass tumbler of blood for Angel. The empathic demon hybrid greeted them very civilly as he arranged their respective meals on a lightweight but strong, prettily carved cedarwood table.

“Gotta love England!” Buffy declared happily when Ephraim lifted the gleaming silver cover to reveal her dinner plate. “Omelettes are strictly breakfast/brunch menu in America!” She took a deep breath, savouring the scent of basil and peppers used to flavour the perfectly even-cooked omelette. “What’s that?” She watched the servant pour a small carafe of steaming hot, clear, dark red liquid into a wide-mouthed glass mug and place it on her tray. It smelled delicious and soothing.

“It’s mulled cranberry juice, ma’am,” Ephraim replied affably. “Flavored with cloves, cinnamon, and lemon.”

Angel watched hungrily as the petite blonde slowly lifted the mug of mulled juice towards her face. Adorably sensual, the moment where she enjoyed the drink’s secondary qualities: the spicy aroma of its steam on her face, the warmth of the glass on her fingers, the rich clear color on the glass itself. Then her full lips met the lip of the cup with casual intimacy and her long sooty lashes veiled her eyes, limiting her perception of anything except the hot drink’s subtlety on her tongue and palate. She sipped it gingerly, then sighed appreciatively, another sip followed by a soft moan.

She opened her eyes and smiled brightly up at Ephraim, looking like a kid who just discovered candy.

“It’s *wonderful!*”

She missed the anxiously relieved expression sweeping over Angel’s face when Ephraim smiled neutrally.

“I’m glad you like it. Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

"Repeat the Sounding Joy" Part Four...

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