"We should totally wake them up," Buffy insisted, towelling her hair with the shroud. "We toasted Kean. The big bad in these parts for thirty years, and the firm of Buffy & Angel toasted him after one week in action."
"You toasted him," Angel said as they went through his doors. "I mostly huddled."
"You're the one who found him in the first place," Buffy pointed out. "And that whole you're-not-Kean thing? He completely lost face. And then again later, but literally."
Angel laughed at that, and she laughed with him, feeling freer and more giddy than she had in years. Since dying? No, before that, she decided. God, she hadn't felt this good since before she turned 17.
"Markwith and company will be just as impressed in the morning," Angel said. "And it's not like Kean's going to be causing any more problems, much less before dawn."
"Oooh, can't wait to see Frances' face get all squinchy when she learns we got in there ourselves, did it down and dirty," Buffy said. She started to flop down on the sofa, then stopped herself. "Maybe I shouldn't drip holy water all over your furniture."
Angel frowned. "Good point. I have some things you could probably wear, at least to get back to your quarters." He slipped back into his bedroom.
"Great. Even baggier clothes. My dreams have come true." Buffy caught the dark-gray garments he tossed through the doorway. "Pour me some wine while I change, okay?"
Alone in Angel's bathroom, Buffy stripped off her wet things, folded them into a pile, and finished drying her hair with a proper towel. After one brief, doubtful look at her body -- "Do so have breasts," she muttered -- she pulled his tunic over her head. It would be long, even on him; it fell to her knees. "Hey, it's a dress," she said.
She came out of the bathroom and spun around, mock-modeling the tunic. "It's the Versace spring collection. What do you think?"
Angel smiled at her from his place on the sofa. "Much better on you," he said. He held out a goblet of wine for her.
Buffy accepted it and sat by his side, tucking her knees up beneath her. "I should feel bad about this."
"Bad about what?"
"About -- feeling so good," Buffy said. "When Noor's only just died. And we still don't know who killed her."
"New master in town," Angel murmured.
"Guess so," Buffy said. "Though, if he's as big a wuss as the last one, I'm not gonna do a whole lot of shaking in terror. But I can't help how I feel. I just feel so -- so right. Like this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, and exactly how I'm supposed to do it. I lost that feeling a long time ago." She sipped her wine. "I didn't think I'd ever get it back."
"I know what you mean," Angel said. "It slips away from you, slowly, and you don't notice it going." His voice was softer, his expression distant. "And then suddenly you wake up one day, so lost you think you'll never find your way home."
"Yeah. That's it exactly." Buffy smiled gently and held her glass up for a toast. "Here's to helping me find the way home."
"To helping each other," Angel said, clinking his cup lightly against hers.
She drank deeply, enjoying the sweet warmth flowing into her, spreading through her body. She wasn't sure whether it was the wine or the way he was looking at her over the rim of his goblet --
Buffy knew she ought to say something, anything, to break the silence. But she didn't, and Angel didn't, and the stillness lay there between them. All Buffy's confusion and longing and hope were swirling up inside her again, and she could feel her pulse quicken inside her chest.
Angel could probably hear it too --
He half-turned away, and she breathed out with what was becoming all-too-familiar disappointment. But Angel simply put down his cup and turned back to her.
Angel brought one hand to her face, traced lightly along the line of her cheekbone. His skin was cool and soft against her own. He looked at her, questioning.
Buffy covered his hand with her own. And he pulled her close and kissed her.
His lips were hard against hers, at first; he was stiff, uncertain. Buffy spread her hands against his chest and kissed him again, more softly. Angel relaxed into her touch, opened his mouth slightly against hers. His arms slid around her, pulled her close. She could feel his body begin to take on her warmth, feel her heartbeat pounding so hard that he had to feel the thumping against his chest. Buffy dazededly thought that it was as though he were coming alive just from her touch.
She wound her arms around his neck so that she could pull herself into his lap. As their bodies touched, Angel seemed to remember -- everything. Just how to kiss her, tracing her lips with his tongue. Just how to tilt her back, hold her just enough off-balance to make her giddy. Her memory was serving as well -- the way he liked to feel her hands run down the length of his back, the way he began breathing deeply, quickly, as if he needed to, as if his body needed air and light and heat just like her own.
And her memory was also telling her -- you have to stop.
Buffy pushed the thought away, pulled Angel even closer to her. Angel would know when it was time to stop. He always knew when they should stop. Until then --
She felt his fingers brush along her bare leg, skin on skin, his hands now warm from touching her. Buffy couldn't stop herself from shivering. Angel responded by kissing her more deeply, more fiercely than before. He let his touch wander the length of her body, tracing the curve of her hips, the small of her back, until he cupped her breasts softly in his hands. His touch was gentle through the thin tunic, more tantalizing than fulfilling.
Angel will know when it's time to stop --
Buffy twisted within his embrace, slid one leg over so that she was straddling him. Angel's uttered a small, desperate sound that she cut off by leaning down and kissing him again. She put her hands on either side of his face, holding him in place, though he made no move to resist. Two years, she thought, two years and I feel like I'm starving for him. How must he feel?
Angel responded by bringing his hands up her back -- beneath her tunic, against her bare body this time; she shuddered, pulled away to gasp in a breath. He nuzzled her jaw, pressed his lips against her throat. He had to feel the humming of her pulse beneath her skin. And then he kissed her softly just at the scar from his bite.
Angel will stop, she thought. Angel will stop us in time --
He dropped his head back and tugged the tunic up; almost without thinking, Buffy lifted her arms to help him. It fell to the floor, leaving her all but naked in his lap. Angel gazed at her for a long moment, as though drinking in the sight of her. Buffy was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since she'd let him see her without even a bra on, and she could feel herself blushing, though she didn't know whether that was from embarrassment or arousal. God, she thought, the look in his eyes --
She kissed him again, tilting her head forward so that there was room between their bodies for his hands to touch her. After a few hungry kisses, he leaned her backwards so his lips could move down her throat to her breasts. Buffy arched her back, let her head drop so that her hair fell down behind her, out of the way of his mouth against her skin.
Angel will stop us, he's always the one who stops us, I don't want him to stop but he'll stop and we'll be safe but I don't want him to --
At that moment Angel pulled away from her; he was breathing hard, looking up into her face as though trying to find words. Buffy didn't know whether to feel more loss or relief --
And then he pulled her closer and stood up. Almost by reflex, Buffy gripped him around his waist with her legs. He held her there for one moment while he kissed her tenderly on her forehead, then carried her into his bedroom.
Angel's bedroom was as comfortably cluttered as the rest of his home, at least so far as Buffy could tell in the darkness. The faint light from the front room glinted off swords on the wall, candlesticks on the shelves. He had a large, wooden bed that creaked softly as he lowered her onto the mattress.
He knows when to stop. He knows we have to stop. Doesn't he? Did he forget? Has it been so long that he forgot? He couldn't forget that, not ever --
Angel moved his hands down the length of her body; even the soft brush of his palm against her stomach felt so good. He slipped his fingertips beneath the waist of her panties, then slowly, deliberately, pulled them down her legs, past her feet, let them drop.
Buffy lay there naked, wanting and frightened all at once, and she didn't know which emotion made her tremble as Angel lowered himself over her. The only barrier between them now was his clothes, and once he took those off, she didn't know how long she would be in control of herself. She almost couldn't remember what that felt like, their bodies so close together, but oh, God, she wanted to remember.
Angel kissed her passionately, and she could feel herself beginning go dizzy and weak --
Buffy pulled her mouth away. "Angel --"
"Mmm?" He kissed the corner of her jaw.
It killed her to say it, to put out the soft light in his eyes, but she had to. "Angel, we can't."
"No, we can't," he murmured. Angel kissed the hollow of her throat, the fragile skin between her breasts, the smoothness of her belly, as he slid down to kneel at the foot of the bed. "But you can."
**
"Normally, I am opposed to cover bands as a matter of principle," Buffy said. "But these guys kinda rock."
Angel tightened his arms around her as they swayed on the dance floor of the Bronze. "They sound good to me. Of course, I didn't even know this was another band's song."
Buffy smiled up at him gently. "You're so out of touch you don't even know Lenny Kravitz?"
"Is he a friend of yours from school?"
Buffy laughed and snuggled against him again. "That would be too weird even for Sunnydale." She watched the band for a moment longer, then frowned. "I didn't know Sumiko could play the guitar."
"I think she took lessons from Oz," Angel said seriously.
"Anyway, it's about time you got here," Buffy said. "I've been looking for you forever."
"You're not looking for me," Angel replied. "You were looking for the exit."
Buffy shook her head as the song ended and the audience began to clap. "I wouldn't go without you."
"You might have to," Angel said. "I think there might be an exit backstage."
The audience just kept on clapping. Sumiko and the band took another set of bows.
Buffy stepped forward to check; sure enough, she could see the faint orange glow of an exit sign backstage. "Come on," she said, tugging at Angel's hand. "Let's go."
"I can't," Angel said from behind her. "It's sunny outside."
"Then we'll wait until nighttime --"
"No," Angel said, pulling his hand from Buffy's. "You should go. I want you to be safe."
"I am safe," Buffy insisted. "I'm safe if I'm with you --"
She turned around, but Angel was gone, swallowed up in the crowds still cheering for Sumiko's band. Frustrated, she went toward the stage -- surely she could get around to the exit if she stayed on the edges --
No sooner had Buffy stepped up to the stage, though, than a spotlight suddenly swung down to shine on her. As she blinked in the light, the crowd began cheering anew and chanting, "Solo! Solo! Solo! Solo!"
"Oh, my God, no," Buffy muttered. Sumiko gestured toward the microphone. "Wha -- what am I supposed to sing?"
"Do you really think the tune matters?" Kean said. He tapped his drumsticks against the cymbals; she heard the faint, metallic shimmer even through the noise of the crowd. "Any song will do."
"No," Buffy insisted. "That's not right. I need the right song. And anyway, I don't sing." She leaned over the drum kit and whispered, "This one time, when I had to be in the school talent show? I just did a dramatic scene."
"That's the spirit," Kean said enthusiastically. "The play's the thing, wherein you'll catch the conscience of the king."
"Is that The Tempest?" Buffy said.
Kean sprang at her --
Buffy gapsed as she awoke, then breathed out, slowly and evenly. She let her head loll over to one side. Angel lay on his stomach next to her, still sound asleep. Buffy turned over to look at his still face.
Peaceful, she decided. He looks peaceful. And, confused and overwhelmed and excited as she still was, Buffy realized she felt peaceful too. Angel had always had that effect on her. No matter the weirdness that surrounded them or their relationship, when she could be with him, just be -- no beasties to fight, no disapproval to endure -- she was always filled with this same sense of deep contentment.
Like I'm right where I'm supposed to be, Buffy thought. Like I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to do.
She pulled the covers around her a little more tightly; Angel's room temperature was not ideal for a naked human being. This had the effect of tugging the blanket down slightly from his back. Buffy leaned forward to treat herself to a glimpse; she'd always loved Angel's back. She had managed, during the night, to get his shirt off, though Angel had let her attentions to his body go no further.
As she squinted in the darkness, she saw that Angel's tattoo was gone. Wait, she realized, not gone. Just -- faded. The once-dark lines of the gryphon were now the faintest tracings against his pale skin. At least not everything fades, she thought, and leaned forward to brush her lips gently against the place where the tattoo had been.
Angel's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled drowsily at her. He threw one of his arms around her and pulled her close. "Warm," he murmured.
"Mmm-hmm," Buffy agreed. At the moment, Angel's body was cool against her -- but in a few moments, she knew, he would capture her body heat for her better than any blanket. She kissed his chest, rested her cheek against him.
Just when she thought she would fall asleep again, Angel whispered, "How do you feel?"
"Tingly all the way down to my toes," Buffy said. "Cozy. Wonderful. But what about you?"
"The same."
"No," she said softly. "Not the same." Buffy pushed herself back from Angel just enough to look into his eyes. "Angel -- aren't you -- you know -- frustrated?"
"Only as much as I need to be," Angel said. "Mostly I'm happy just to be so close to you."
Buffy smiled and touched his face with her hand. "I didn't quite get around to saying this last night, but I love you."
Angel kissed her palm. "I love you too."
"You love me again?" Buffy said, only half-teasing. "Or you love me still?"
"Both," Angel said, before pulling her back to him and kissing her soundly.
After a long few moments, Buffy tugged away. "Need to breathe --"
"I keep forgetting," Angel said, stroking her hair. "I let myself forget how alive you are."
Buffy laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Everything," Angel said. His face was serious as he looked into her eyes. "Buffy, I -- hated -- humanity for so many years. Both before I had my soul and after -- I saw nothing in mankind but stupidity, venality, self-interest. But that all changed when I met you and saw that goodness right at the core of you." He smiled at her then. "I believed in you because nothing else was even possible. And once I believed in you, I started seeing the goodness in other people, too. That's what I'd lost. That's what you brought back to me."
Buffy touched her hand to his cheek. "I didn't realize,' she said softly. "I never understood that, before."
"It was true then," Angel said. "But I meant here, now. Ever since the plagues -- ever since the Council changed -- I've been pulling in. Letting myself not care."
"Angel, the Watchers shut you out," Buffy said. "I see it every day. I don't blame you if you don't care about those guys."
"There's a lot of truth to that. But it's also true that I stopped trying a long time ago. And it's not even the Watchers I'm talking about, really. I mean those people, out there, trying to make their way in this city. I fought for them as long as the Council would let me fight, but it mattered less and less."
"Why?" Buffy said, studying his expression. He met her eyes steadily.
"It was easier," Angel said simply. "Seeing what was going on -- it hurt less if I didn't care. But you made me care again. I knew I couldn't fall in love with you without falling in love with all of it again. Humanity. Life. This fight. I wanted to keep it all shut out," he said with a small, rueful laugh. "I had forgotten you enough to think that might be possible."
Buffy quirked her mouth at him. "Glad I jogged your memory. Is this how we're gonna be, then? Together like this?"
Angel looked serious again. "If that's what you really want. But you know the essential problem for us hasn't changed --"
"Don't you start," Buffy said. "If you start up with the whole Buffy-needs-a-normal-life thing, about the picket fence and the chocolate lab and the 2.5 kids, I swear to God I will slam a stake into your chest myself. This century is the total opposite of 'normal life.' So that stuff doesn't matter now."
"It might someday," Angel said. "Once you're used to this life."
"I'm a Slayer who's already died twice," Buffy said. "I don't put a lot of stock in someday."
Angel hugged her to him tightly. After a few moments, he said, "Then this is how it's going to be. More or less."
"What's the less?"
Angel rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. He traced the edge of her face with one fingertip. "Tonight was amazing, Buffy. I want us to have a lot of nights like this. But -- we couldn't --" His expression went distant, and suddenly he looked rather tense. "My willpower's a lot stronger now than when I was younger. But if you were in my bed every night --"
"I understand," Buffy said. "Special occasions, birthdays, our anniversary. Hey, you never did tell me your birthday."
"You're smiling. You don't mind?"
"I do mind. But I mean it; I understand. It's frustrating for me, too -- not being able to touch you, or make you feel as good as you do for me. Don't get me wrong, though. It is not so frustrating that I don't want you to do this a whole, whole, whole lot. I'm just happy with whatever we can have."
"Really?" He looked so surprised, so grateful, that Buffy found herself unable to keep back her grin.
"We can deal with it. After all, that's why God gave us hands, right?"
"Buffy!" Angel's shocked laughter warmed her, and she snuggled against him again.
"Okay, that's probably not why God gave us hands. But I won't tell Him if you won't."
"June 30th," Angel said, tracing his fingers along her back.
"What? Oh, your birthday," Buffy murmured. She laughed a little. "Okay, that's a couple months away. Do Wednesdays count as special occasions?"
Angel smiled and pulled her close for a kiss. Then another, and another --
A phone rang, so close to her ear that Buffy actually jumped. Angel sighed, then rolled to one side and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
Buffy watched his face change from soft happiness into harshness. "Yes, that's right. And this is a problem?" A pause. "It's not even dawn yet, Markwith. Isn't it just possible that we hadn't gotten to it yet?"
She made a questioning face at Angel and mouthed, Is this about Kean? He nodded and rolled his eyes. "When do you want to do this? Good God, Ishak's an old man. He needs his rest --"
"Fine, then. Fine." Another pause. Angel looked over at her, then said, more quietly, "Buffy's here with me."
A very long pause this time. "You can ask her yourself," Angel said. "What? Fine, we'll be right there." He slammed the phone into its cradle with a crash.
Buffy said, "So, should we keep this a secret?"
*