He shifted under the sheet and changed positions in his sleep. Again, he was dreaming, and knew it, but let the familiar image come anyway. It was the sweetest kind of torture. Completely addicting. He'd been sleeping more and more these days just to have the dreams, because it was the only kind of relief he got. He would give anything to make them stop, but if they did, he knew he would die.

So Angel dreamed in spite of himself. Of Buffy, of course, it was always her, even when the girl in his dreams was nameless and faceless, he knew it was Buffy. She filled his mind incessantly, so it followed that she would tease him during sleep as well. And tease she did, with her shining eyes and shy smiles. He loved to kiss her when she would blush and giggle, but lean into him wanting more, and he would always give it to her. During his detailed dreams he would kiss her until she was breathless, until they were both grasping at each other with greedy fingers, and then the clothes would start to fall gracefully to the ground. Sometimes it was long and drawn out, with Angel paying homage to her body in every way he could think of, and their desire building slowly until it was raging like fire through them. Sometimes it was brief and tumultuous, with hot breath and slick, sweaty skin. But most times, it was sweet and tender and loving.

Like now. It was one of the best dreams he had, yet it was the worst. It was real enough that he could smell her fresh scent, filling his head so deeply that he was dizzy with it. And he could touch her. His memories of touching her came through in full detail, incredibly accurate considering they had only shared a single night. In this dream, she was cuddling him sweetly, no hint of shyness about her as she nuzzled his bare chest. She was shirtless too, so he could feel the silky skin of her breasts as she lay on him. She was planting small kisses along his collarbone, her little fingers skimming down his chest and back up again, wandering closer and closer to the button of his jeans. Eventually they found their way, popping the button open, and she reached inside to grasp him warmly. He arched his neck on the pillow as she gave him a squeeze, and he could feel her smile against his stomach. She applied more pressure, moving her whole hand now, and he could feel himself getting even harder. After a minute she finally pushed his jeans aside and sprung him free, stroking him in earnest, and Angel just let the feeling wash over him like warm water. It was bliss, to lie there and feel her touching him, and he felt himself getting closer to climax as she kept up the seductive rhythm. He strained toward her, feeling it rush through, and as he reached his peak ---

--- he came awake with a jolt. He sat up abruptly in bed and searched the room for her, and of course she wasn't there. Every part of his body said otherwise, including his rock-hard shaft. He was tight and hard and uncomfortable, but it was no different from the past hundred nights he had spent that way. He flopped back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. This was taking its toll on him, and he had been ignoring the danger signs. When he saw her, when they were together, the desire for her leaped to the surface before anything else. Before he could even smile and kiss her, he was thinking of tumbling her to the ground and burying himself in her. He had not been aware of anything else for weeks now. When he patrolled at night, he was less than vigilant. Careless, even. Just the other night he had narrowly avoided a stake to the heart from a persistent demon, and it had only been because Buffy had been there to save him.

He had picked himself up off the ground, shaking his head. "Too close, that one."

"Yeah," she had agreed, eyeing him strangely. "How come?"

"Huh?"

"I said, how come it was so close? That vamp was an idiot. He ran right at you, and it was like you didn't see it coming or something."

He hadn't seen it coming. He had been entranced with watching Buffy fight, mesmerized by her graceful movements. It was like she was moving under water, slowly and softly, and he had begun to picture them in a pool together, and then just when he had plunged into her in his mind, he was on his back with a demon grinning at him.

The danger was growing, as well as his desire, and the knowledge that he could not have her was agony. He was more and more afraid every day. He was deathly afraid of losing his slim hold on his control, and afraid that she would come to realize the extent of his battle with it. But her not knowing was almost worse. Buffy, believing him to be in control of himself, would often brush herself innocently against him, not realizing that her gentle touches were his undoing. She would take his hand and entwine their fingers, lightly rubbing her thumb against his palm, and he would have to look away so she would not see his jaw tighten and his eyes close. It was constant anguish to be near her, yet he could not stay away.

Across town, Buffy jerked awake, disoriented and confused. Angel and she had been together in his bed, and now why was she suddenly alone? She leaned up on an elbow and looked around, realization dawning slowly. A dream. Again. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, lying back on the pillow.

"...and then I was touching him...well, you know where, and he was loving it, and then there was some other stuff, too."

"Stuff? What stuff? I want to know stuff. I don't ever get to know stuff." Willow looked at Buffy beseechingly, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Buffy blushed. "Well...naked stuff."

"Naked stuff? This was a naked dream?"

"Will, I told you that at the beginning."

"No, you said you had one of THOSE dreams again. Who am I to define what THOSE dreams are? Especially since I've never had one of THOSE dreams." Willow tried to look at her sternly, but failed.

"Aw, come on, Will." Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Never? Not even about...dare I say it.......Xander?"

"Buffy!" Willow gasped. "Oz! Think of Oz!"

"You mean you had one with Oz?" Buffy teased her.

Willow grew flustered and began to stutter. "No! I mean, yes...no! Wait. What was the question?"

"Willow," Buffy said seriously, "have you ever had a naked dream?"

There was a long pause before Willow looked at the ceiling and said softly, "Yes."

"Good," Buffy answered. "Then you know what I'm talking about."

"Yes," Willow said again, her cheeks pinkening.

Buffy picked up a pillow from her bed and hugged it close, a wistful look passing over her face. "Will, sometimes I can't even think because I'm imagining him," she admitted. "It happens all the time. When Giles is talking to me about the latest message in the Watcher Diaries, all I can picture is Angel's mouth."

"That's not so bad," Willow comforted. "I think about Oz's mouth."

"Do you imagine it on your unclothed skin?"

Willow's eyes widened.

"That's what I mean," Buffy sighed. "I think of his mouth, and hands, and...other things...touching me. It's like the picture fills my head during the day and then I dream of it at night." She rested her forehead on the heel of her palm. "And when I see him, he's so calm and composed. He takes my hand, or brushes my cheek with his fingers, and I just want to go all puddle-y. Melted ice cream, that's me."

"Maybe, if you tried, you could...tell him how you feel?" Willow looked at her doubtfully.

"NO, Will. Big en oh."

"It could help, Buffy. Maybe he's feeling these...naked feelings...just like you are."

Buffy grew quiet, and looked down at the blanket. "And what if he is, Willow? How is it going to help us, knowing that both of us are feeling the same way about something that's just a memory? It's impossible. We're -- us together, I mean -- we're just impossible."

She looked so bereft, sitting there clutching her pillow, that Willow's heart broke a little. "Oh, Buffy. I just...I can't..." she trailed off, then took a deep breath. "I just don't know what to say."

Buffy gave her a sad smile. "There's nothing to say."

The two girls leaned back against Buffy's headboard together, Buffy resting her head on Willow's shoulder, and they sat quietly together in understanding.

"Ummm...hey," came the low smooth voice from the window, and Willow and Buffy both gave a jump.

"How does he DO that?" Willow asked Buffy.

She shrugged and scooted down the bed so she was facing Angel in the window. He looked delicious, and immediately she wanted to tug him toward her to kiss him. She sat on her hands instead. "You didn't have to climb," she scolded gently. "Mom would have let you in the front door."

"I know. But then she would know I was here, and she would do that thing where she keeps pretending she has something to tell you, just so she can come in here every five minutes."

"Oh...you noticed that thing, huh?"

"She wanted me to notice it."

"Right. It's a mom thing. So...you're here because...?" He glanced hesitantly at Willow before lowering his voice even further. "We need to talk."

Talk? I want smoochies, Buffy thought. No talk. "Talk? Sounds great. We can talk."

Again, he cast a shy look at Willow, who suddenly caught his meaning. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "I was supposed to help Giles with his...hmmm, with his..."

"Latin translations?" Buffy supplied.

"Yes!" she said, relieved. "Latin. The translation of it. Okay. Going now." She scrambled off the bed, but not before Buffy reached out and gave her arm a squeeze in silent thanks.

When the door closed softly behind her, there was a heavy silence. Both of them looked at each other and waited for the other to speak. Finally, Buffy did.

"So, talk mode is on now," she started, hoping to coax him out of his reticence.

He glanced at her, then away again. For God's sake, he couldn't even look at her without feeling himself stir to life inside his jeans. What the hell was wrong with him? He prayed she would not make a move toward him, knowing that if she touched him he would not be able to help himself. He would not be able to stop from crushing her to him, from shredding her clothing from her body and laying her right down on the floor. Anything to relieve the rushing undercurrent of torment he was feeling. He dragged a hand through his hair. This had to be done quickly, before something else got the upper hand.

Thankfully, she didn't move from her spot on the bed, just cocked her head and looked at him inquisitively.

"Buffy," he started, then stopped. Then started again. "Buffy, this...thing...that we have...it can't..." he fumbled for the words for several seconds before she took pity on him and spoke gently.

"Angel. Stop. I would tell you to take a deep breath, but that's kind of redundant. Just say it, whatever it is. Okay? Just say it."

What he came out with was a stunning blow. "I can't be around you." Simple but direct, he went for the heart.

"Oh." She couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to respond with. Couldn't be around her? What did that mean? For some reason her brain was not connecting his words with any meaning.

He sent her a furtive glance before continuing, looking at a spot somewhere above her head. "I don't mean I don't want to be around you. I mean I can't, I just can't be."

"Why?"

He was unsettled by her one word responses to his admission. "It's something...inside me," he said uneasily, aware that that very something he was talking about was coming to the surface.

"Inside you."

Well, at least that one was two words, he thought. "There's something going on that you aren't aware of, Buffy."

There was a tiny wrinkle between her brows now as she struggled to understand his obscure words. "Angel, please. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to help you. Are you in trouble?"

Yes, deeply in trouble. He gritted his teeth and forced the words out. "Buffy...you are...well...do you know you're beautiful?"

She looked startled and pleased at the same time.

"You are," he confirmed. "Beautiful, and you're strong, and then delicate all at once. Your youthfulness takes my breath away. Figuratively speaking. I remember how I felt when I first saw you undressed, how you were so afraid but so brave too. I remember all of it, Buffy, the whole night with you pressed against me, with nothing between us but the love. I dream of it during the day, when you're at school and I have nothing to do but sleep. And then when I meet you for patrol at night, all that goes through my mind are the erotic dreams I had all day." He stopped abruptly, aware that he was rambling. She had a look on her face he couldn't read.

Buffy was trying not to squirm at the picture his words were painting for her. It was what she had been trying to tell Willow. He filled her mind constantly, his slight smile and deep eyes that looked through her, his strong frame that she knew was corded with muscle. It was like wanting to fill your mouth with creamy chocolate, but only getting a tiny morsel. And Angel apparently was feeling the same. Realization dawned slowly. This was dangerous for both of them, this repressed passion. She realized belatedly that he was waiting for her to speak, so she tried. "Are you asking me what to do?"

"No."

"Oh. Then you're just...sharing?"

"No."

She threw up her hands in a gesture of futility. "Fine, Angel, then we'll just sit here and tell each other riddles. Did you hear the one about the priest in a rowboat?" It came out harsher than she had intended, but sometimes his mysteriousness was simply annoying.

When he finally did meet her eyes, she regretted her sarcasm instantly. There was more pain on his face than she could ever remember seeing, and Buffy suddenly grew cold. "Honey," she whispered, "please. Why are you telling me this? I feel that stuff too, you know. I mean the...desire, and...the other stuff." She swallowed with difficulty, slightly embarrassed by her confession. "We'll just deal with it."

"We won't," he replied immediately. "You aren't understanding. It's not something that comes and goes, Buffy. It used to. I used to be able to will it away, but now it won't go anymore. It stays with me, until it's all I think about. If I breathed, I would be breathing you. I need to put some distance between us before I go crazy from it. Before...before it kills me." He said the last in a low voice, pain etched on his features.

So there it was, Buffy thought, the reality of it neatly spelled out for her. Angel would rather suffer alone than suffer with her. The whole wretched truth hit her all at once, and she realized that she had been denying the obvious. This sham of a relationship was not working, perhaps had never worked since they had discovered the awful clause behind Angel's curse. They had been pretending, playing like children, and now Angel was tarnishing the rosy glow of it. It seemed there was nothing to say.

She wanted, of course, to protest madly, to let the tears well up and spill. She wanted to beg him not to go away from her, to list a hundred reasons to him why they should try to figure out a solution. She said none of it. The look of agony on his face made her speechless, and she knew with certainty that any theatrics on her part would drive him even further away. Instead, she did the only thing that her immense love for him allowed her to do. She let him go.

He knew the minute she had accepted the truth. Her eyes grew shiny with tears that she stubbornly kept back, and her shoulders straightened. His heart twisted at the sight of her pretending to be strong, and he knew that it was time to leave her. "I won't be far," he told her. "I'll check in with Giles from time to time. And you know where to come if you need me."

"I need you now," she burst out, then clapped her hand over her mouth and turned away from him.

His heart broke in that instant, with her small painful admission, and without speaking again, he left the way he had come. Silently.

It was a terrible month. The days passed by so slowly Buffy thought she would scream. She hadn't seen any sign of Angel, he had stayed true to his word and kept away from her. If Giles had seen him, he was being close-mouthed about it, choosing not to tell her. That was better, in a way. If she knew that Giles had seen him she would have begged him to tell her what he looked like, how he sounded. And then if Giles had told her, it would have caused the wound to re-open. And then she would be back where she had started. So, she mused, it was better this way.

But it really wasn't, and deep inside she knew it. She didn't cry, but only because there was a permanent lump in her throat that blocked the tears. It had been there from the moment Angel had left her window. And she did not discuss it. With anyone. She had briefly told Willow of their conversation and then refused to say anything further, knowing Willow would pass on the news to the others. Buffy knew she had done it, because Xander had been strangely reserved around her for a day or so, and Giles had been more lenient than usual in making allowances for her lapses in concentration. She was grateful.

So the days passed, until they all blended together into one long haze, and Buffy sometimes was not sure if it was Monday or Thursday. There was nothing in her mind but Angel, and nothing in her heart to replace the hole he had made. And nights were infinitely worse, because she dreamed of him constantly, with flashes of hot skin and hungry fingers grasping greedily at each other. She woke at least once a night to find herself in a warm sweat, gripping her pillow tightly and moving her legs restlessly against the sheets. She tried not to think of the fact that Angel was feeling the same way, tried not to think of it because to have him wanting her so badly was just tortuous. There was nothing that could be done.

It continued this way, until one night long past midnight, Buffy woke. She had not been dreaming. There had been no noise to awaken her. She was just suddenly alert, jerked from sleep by something unknown. It took her less than a second to become aware of what had roused her. Her heart was aching, worse than any other time she could remember, and she knew that Angel was calling her. There was not a question of whether she would go. If Angel was in so much pain that she could hear his heart, she would go.

She was in the gray velvety night within minutes, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wearing a white t-shirt over soft black leggings. She wore no socks, only little white tennis shoes that allowed her to move noiselessly through the dark. The trip to the mansion was brief, made even more so by her urgency, and she was knocking on the door only a short while after leaving her bedroom. He was there, she could sense his presence, and she shifted from one foot to the other in her impatience.

Buffy was not prepared when he opened the door. Angel was shirtless, wearing only black pants, and his feet were bare. The candlelight from behind him gave him an unearthly glow, causing him to appear ethereal, and Buffy found that she could not say anything. She could only look at him mutely, aching for him.

"Buffy." Angel stared at her, his golden girl, and wondered how she could have appeared so magically. He had been lying on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut, images of her dancing before him. The yearning for her had been impossible tonight, creeping in on his sanity. Worse than it had ever been. His head was aching with the helplessness of it, and he was feeling more miserable and wretched as time passed. Her name had set up a chanting in his mind, not stopping, until he wanted to howl and pound his head against the stone wall. And then, suddenly, she was here.

After a long minute, she found her tongue. "I heard you," she said quietly.

He did not ask her what she meant. He knew that he had instinctively been calling her to him. The entire time that he had been wishing her away, his heart had been reaching out to her, and she had heard him. She was here.

He stood aside wordlessly so she could enter. She stood just inside the door, watching him. He motioned with his head toward the living room, so she went, hearing him pad softly behind her. When she got there she realized that it hadn't been candlelight causing the faint flickering, but the dying fire. She stared at the low embers, mesmerized, watching them trying valiantly to live but each one eventually turning ashy and cold.

When, after several minutes, there was no sound, she turned from the hypnotizing fire. Angel was seated in a chair, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The waning light cast deep shadows over him, playing across the bunched muscles in his back, tracing tiny lines over his tattoo. She wanted to go to him, yet couldn't. He was still keeping her away. "Angel," she tried tentatively.

He looked up at her from over his hand. He looked weary and sad, defeat written on his strong features. "What?" he asked her tiredly.

"Why am I here?" she wanted to know.

"Who the hell knows?" he snapped harshly, and she flinched. Immediately he was contrite. "Buffy. I'm sorry." He rose and crossed the room to her, stopping just in front of her. "You tell me," he said softly. "Why are you here?"

There were a million reasons. She chose one. "You needed me."

"And you don't need me?"

"Angel." She looked up at him, frustrated. He knew the answer.

He paced away from her to the fireplace, leaning one hand up high on the wall and staring moodily at the ashes. He had wanted her to come so badly he had ached for it, and now that she was here he realized the futility all over again. Insanity, for her to be here when he was so vulnerable. He forced the necessary words out. "Leave. Please."

"No."

"I mean it, Buffy," he said in a dangerous voice. "I'm about to break."

His admission of weakness was an opening, and she took it. "Then break. I...we...can't go on this way."

"There's nothing to be done about it."

"Yes, Angel, there is," she insisted, moving to his side.

He moved away immediately, and when she followed, he turned on her suddenly. "Get away from me!" he bit out, his hands clenching and unclenching as he struggled to control himself. "Get out. Go back to your life in the sunshine, Buffy. Just leave me alone."

"I won't," she said quietly, continuing to move toward him. "I will not leave you. Not now, not ever." She reached him again and he did not move away, just stood there helplessly, looking at her with pain. She extended a hand to him, wanting only to rest it on his arm and feel his solidness, but he snatched her fingers before she could touch him.

Gripping them so tightly she feared they would break, he snarled, "Again, I have to remind you of what you don't understand. Just having you here in my home is agony. You're everywhere. I see you everywhere. I smell you. I taste you. God, Buffy, I wake up from dreaming about you, and when you're not here something inside me dies a little more. I'm dying from not having you. It's overpowering. Knowing you're untouchable is sending me to sure death." He paused and drew a shaky, unneeded breath, hoping the useless act would steady his voice. "I...want...to...die. If I continue this way, if I keep doing what I've convinced myself is right, I'll die slowly. If I give in, if I break, I'll die quickly because I should not be allowed to live. And you stand here and tell me that it's okay. It's not okay, Buffy, it won't be okay ever again. I want to kill myself."

He turned from her, dragging a hand through his hair. This torture could not continue. For either of them. "I can't stay away," she told him quietly. "There has to be something we can do."

There was a long pause in which Angel listened to the impact of her words. Yes, there was something. It had been there all along, he had mulled it over in his mind, but had never really taken himself seriously, at least not until the suffering had grown so unbearable. It had been lurking in the back of his mind for a few days, only coming to the forefront this evening, when the pain of wanting her had been so bad that he had instinctively called to her. He did not see it as merely an option, he saw it as the only way. The question was, would she see it as he did? He knew she wouldn't. She would never agree.

When he turned back to face her, Buffy could see a difference in his eyes. "What is it?" she asked. "Is there something? There is. You know something."

He hated the hopeful tone in her voice, knowing it would be extinguished when he spoke. "It's the only thing I can think of to end...all this," he said, gesturing to the two of them.

"Then, God, Angel, why haven't you told me? Anything would be better than this. I'll do it, whatever it is. I don't care."

She was innocent in her earnestness, and he could barely force the words out. "You would have to..."

"What? Have to what?"

"You would have to kill me."

She took a step back, her hand going to her throat. "Take that back."

"I can't."

She began shaking her head, her ponytail dancing. "No. You did not say that. Don't say that ever again." Kill him? KILL him? After she had nearly died herself when she had sent him into Hell? After hoping and praying and wishing he would return? It was an impossible request. She could not.

He closed his eyes in torment, knowing all along that she was going to react that way, but trying again regardless. "Buffy," he pleaded, with his hand covering his eyes, "it's the only way. If I continue living with this agony, I'm going to kill myself anyway. At least this way I can die quickly. Please."

When his voice broke on the last word, she realized with a shock that he was close to tears. A new kind of understanding dawned on her. Even though she herself was in pain, she had underestimated Angel's suffering. He was living with enough torture to want to end his life. And he was pleading with her to help him do it. There really wasn't another way, she realized sickly. For them to find solace in each other meant unleashing a demon of horrific proportion, and to continue to force themselves apart only meant a slow, heartbreaking death for Angel. There was no way to escape the truth. It was the only way. But finding the strength to do it...to actually plunge the stake into his heart after making love to him...there was the test. She could admit there was no other answer. But would she be telling him a lie if she said she could do it? She tried to picture the rest of her life without Angel, tried to imagine living with the knowledge that she had ended his life in such a fashion. It chilled her blood to think of it.

But then she looked at him, her vampire lover with the agonized soul. He was standing in front of her, yet he was across a vast desert. His torture was so palpable she could feel it. She had to do it, she decided then. She had to save him from himself. She would give herself the gift of laying down with him, and then return the favor to him by ending his agonized life. And about the repercussions...well, Scarlett O'Hara had the right idea. She would think about it tomorrow.

He was still holding her fingers tightly, not looking at her, and slowly she brought his hand into her chest. Placing his hand over her heart, she brought up her other hand to cover his. "All right, Angel."

He opened his eyes and squinted at her in the half-light. "All right, what?"

"I mean, all right, I'll do it." She had to take a deep breath to get the words out.

"You'll do it," he repeated slowly. "You'll do it? Are you...sure?" He spoke hesitantly, unable to believe she had conceded to it.

"No. I'm not sure. In fact, I've never been less sure of anything in my life. But I'll do it." Buffy could not stop the honesty from surfacing, and Angel would have known it anyway.

There really was nothing left to say. Angel did not want her to change her mind. A tremendous weight lifted from his chest, and he felt an odd sense of relief. There was a light for him at the end of the tunnel, a light that had previously been hidden. This misery of a life would be ended. And his last memories would be of holding Buffy. It would be done.

Slowly, he took a step toward her so that their bodies were touching, their hands still pressed between them. He was so grateful to her that it shone on his face, and Buffy felt both humble and powerful at the thought. He brought his other hand up to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then bringing it around to the back of her head to pull her up toward him. She was loose and compliant, yielding to him smoothly, touching his lips with her own and sighing with relief.

It had been much, much too long. Kissing her was such pleasure that he thought he might be dreaming it again. She tasted fresh and sweet, reminiscent of peaches and milk, and he nibbled at her hungrily. He could not stop himself from biting her lips, in fact could feel his fangs begin to lengthen just at the taste of her. He struggled to keep them back, not wanting to frighten her away from him just as he'd found her again. He tried to keep it gentle, wanting to give her the gift she deserved.

Buffy had not thought that just kissing him would be so difficult. As soon as his mouth had landed on hers, tears sprang to her eyes at the thought that this would be the final time. They threatened to spill over and engulf her, and she forced them away, knowing that this time with him would be ruined if she were to dissolve into unhappiness. Instead, she concentrated on memorizing him, his smell and taste and touch, bringing a trembling hand to his face and tracing the plane of his cheekbone. He was kissing her lightly, dipping his tongue into the little cleft of her upper lip and touching the corners of her mouth. She opened to him, their tongues meeting and playing together, hers soft and warm and his cool.

He broke the kiss and swiftly scooped her up off the ground, glancing toward the bed but instead walking to the fireplace and lowering her to the soft rug. Buffy wondered for a moment why he had avoided the bed, but then her gaze fell on the long, pointed fireplace poker, and she felt ill. He was giving her a weapon to use. Abruptly she cleared her mind, willing herself to focus on Angel, whose bent head was nuzzling her neck. His arousal was evident as he lay warmly on top of her, and as he pressed into her, she too began to feel a rush of warmth in her core. Even though the horror of what she had to do was lingering in the air, she had been left wanting him too long to ignore the delight he was offering. She brought up two hands to thread her fingers through his silky hair, and at her touch he lifted his head and stared at her.

His desire was brimming over as his eyes glowed at her, and she could feel her breath catch in her throat. He was devastatingly handsome, with his ruffled hair and fathomless eyes. And he was hers to taste, to touch. She caught his shoulders to bring him up to her, putting her hands on the side of his face and meeting his lips hungrily, biting and nipping at him as he had done earlier to her. He made a low noise in his chest as she brought her legs up to hold his hips, pushing off the ground to touch him.

He wrapped his arms underneath her and lowered his dark head to the warm hollow between her breasts, breathing in the scent of her skin over her clothes. He lifted the bottom of her shirt, seeking warm flesh, and when he found it he bent to kiss her flat stomach and dip his tongue there. Slowly, he raised her t-shirt until he could see the lacy edge of her bra, firm breasts peeking at him over the top of it, and he reached a lazy hand up to rest there. She gave a contented smile when he did, encouraging him, and so he continued to trace little circles over the soft skin. Her nipples grew hard and tight under his fingers, and he brushed them with his thumbs, listening to her state her pleasure with a soft, "Oooo...nice."

"Mmmm," he agreed, dragging the t-shirt up over her head and nestling into her neck, feeling the small vein pulse next to his cheek, and he had to move away quickly else the animal in him surface. Instead of her neck, he put his lips softly on one straining nipple, taking it as well as the fabric of her bra into his mouth, and sucked until the material was cool and wet and she was arching herself into his palm with a little squeak. He did the same to the other, laving at it until it too was standing up and begging for more, the lacy scrap of cloth soaking wet and transparent. He reached down and pulled her legs up against him, rocking into her, needing the pressure, and she responded in kind by squeezing his hips tightly.

With the hand still underneath her, he sprung the clasp of her bra and drew it gently down her shoulders, discarding it on the floor next to them. They lay chest to chest, marveling in each other, fingers wandering slowly over skin. Buffy traced a light path over his shoulders and down to the delicious small of his back, stopping momentarily when she reached the waistband, then digging just a fraction underneath to feel the beginnings of the curve of his tight buttocks. It was all he needed to pull away from her slightly and slip the button on his pants open. He was about to lower the zipper when he felt a little hand on his own. "I want to do it," Buffy whispered. "Let me."

"Whatever you like," Angel smiled at her, lying down again. She leaned up on an elbow and pushed him to his back, pillowing her head on his stomach. Her hair fanned out in a golden splash of color on his skin, and he tangled a hand in it, not being able to bear not touching her. She lowered his zipper a fraction, watching his shaft strain against the seam, and left the zipper to place a questing hand on it. He was solid and taut under his clothes, and when she squeezed it gently, it jerked beneath her fingers. She reached into his pants to clasp him fully, and when she did she heard him give a soft groan and turn his face into his shoulder. "I've been like that for weeks," he said. Her hand retreated, and Angel felt a cool spot where her warm hand had been, but then she was lowering the zipper all the way and pushed his pants aside to spring him free. He kicked his pants off, irritated by the hindrance, and she took the time to lower her own as well.

When they were naked and warm together, they lay side by side, bodies touching. Their eyes met, Buffy's sad and lonely, Angel's filled with contentment. "Don't be sad, little Slayer," he whispered with a smile. "I'm not."

"You're not the one who's going to be alone."

It was true, and he couldn't refute it. He was going to leave her alone. It was the only thing that had caused him to hesitate over his decision. But she was strong now, stronger than she'd ever been before, one of the strongest Slayers history had ever seen. And she had a circle of support around her. She would go on, in time.

He gathered her close to him, pulling her warm body atop his, feeling her arms curl about him and her legs straddle his. His erection lay stiffly between them, pressing at her softness, and she wriggled against it. His body jerked in response and his hands came up to hold her head captive while he kissed the tip of her nose, then nibbled his way down her cheek to her jawline.

She broke the embrace to slide down his body, stopping when she reached his shaft. Boldly, she lifted herself enough to drag the tip of one full breast across it, then the other. He felt like velvet against her, and she took him lightly in one hand and used the tip of him to trace small paths across her neck and cheek. When she squeezed him gently, the tip of his shaft grew plump and round, and she drew a finger across the little hole. A small bead of moisture came away on her finger, and since he was watching her intently, she put her finger into her mouth for a taste of him. When she did so, his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and she could see a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He closed his eyes momentarily, and she took the chance to bow her head and run her tongue up the side of his sex.

His eyes flew open and he almost came up off the ground. "Do that again," he hissed between his teeth, so she did, this time reaching down to cup the soft sac just under his shaft. She drew her mouth over him, circling the tip neatly with her tongue, putting gentle pressure on the delicate packages, and soon Angel was writhing under her. She put a seductive rhythm to work, using one hand to follow her mouth up and down, using her saliva as lubricant. Her little hand was working him easily, so she just kept her mouth over the tip of him, sucking at him, listening to him try to keep his groans back. "God," he was mumbling to himself, arching his head on the floor. His fingers were gripping the rug underneath him, and he was unable to keep still, shifting his body toward and then away from her.

At the last possible second, Angel managed to grip Buffy by the shoulders and shove her away. She looked up in confusion, her mouth pink and beautiful and her eyes turning green in the darkness. "What's wrong?"

He grinned. "Nothing. It was just right. I just don't..."

"Don't...what?"

He sat up and got very close to her. "I don't want to come if I'm not inside you."

She blushed and looked away, suddenly shy, but Angel tugged her back down on the floor with him. "But you...well, now you're a different story."

She was about to ask why, but then his tongue was teasing at the top of her dark curls, and her words caught in her throat. Her legs opened of their own accord, granting him access, and he took a delicate taste of her sweetness. She gasped when he did, causing him to smile against her. He brought up a hand and touched her center, feeling the wetness pooling there, and marveled, "All for me?"

"Always for you. Only for you." A lump rose in her throat, knowing the truth was there. Nobody, not ever again, would be Angel. And then she almost forgot again as he pushed his cool tongue into her, using talented fingers to rub at the little bud that was aching sweetly. She tried to keep the cry from wrenching out, but it found its way from her throat as he kept up the relentless probing, not giving up until he felt her begin to shudder.

"Let go," he spoke. "Let it go for me. That's my girl, let it all go for me." The added vibration against her sensitive inner walls brought her to the peak, and she came with a shaking gasp, clutching at his hair and lifting her hips off the ground to push against his hand.

When she was done, and her shakiness had subsided, he came up over her and rested his weight on his forearms on either side of her head. She was looking up at him with adoration, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and he felt the first stirrings of contentment deep in his chest. It was a warning sign, and he recognized it. This must not be over before he experienced her fully, yet he would not enter her without permission. He waited there, poised at her entrance, the tip of his throbbing shaft touching her moistness.

Thankfully, she reached up to curl her arms around his neck, lifting her legs to wrap them securely around his waist. He closed his eyes in blessed relief and nudged at her, feeling himself slip inside. He drew out quickly before he immersed himself, taking the enjoyment a little at a time.

"Angel," she murmured as he pulled away, then again, "Angel." He sank into her a little deeper each time, pulling out until only the tip of him was touching her, and finally neither of them was able to stand it. Buffy pushed up toward him as he was coming down into her, and they joined fully, the full thick length of him buried inside of her.

When he was fully in, he stopped moving, and just lay with his eyes tightly closed. She was pulsing around him in time to the blood rushing through her veins, and the hot tightness of her was almost enough to make him come right then. He couldn't stop himself from taking a hard thrust, and she squeaked against his arm. Angel rested his pubic bone against Buffy's, rubbing the spot with his hips while he drove into her, and she cried out as the little center spot was massaged between them. She muffled her mouth against his shoulder, and as she felt herself begin to come again, she bit down gently on his arm.

When he felt her teeth, his face changed immediately. He could not stop his fangs from lengthening and glistening in the low light, and though he kept his lips drawn together, Buffy could still see his golden eyes and the deep ridges on his forehead. Her orgasm was strong and powerful, and she threw her head back on the rug. Angel could smell her blood as it sang through her, and he could not keep from lunging at her bared neck. He sank sharp fangs into the delicate skin, growling in pleasure as the blood spurted into his mouth, at the same time his cool seed spilled deeply into her. He jerked helplessly against her as he suckled at her neck, overcome by the double pleasure of sex and blood.

It could have been a minute that they lay there, or it could have been an hour. As they lay tangled within each other, a sleepy haze came over the satiated lovers, and neither of them could lift their heavy limbs.

I was supposed to remember something, Buffy thought, trance-like.

Angel could only lay and bask in the utter peace that had stolen over him. It was impossible for him to move. Even his daydreams of contentment had not been as satisfying as this was. Somewhere, distantly, he hoped that Buffy would stay true to her word, and follow through with killing him. If not, she would be dead by dawn.

They slept, the Slayer and the vampire.

He came awake with a start, staring at the ceiling and feeling a warm weight against his body. Looking down, he focused on Buffy, and the memory came rushing in. Jerking away from her and sitting up, he looked around in a panic. This was not what he had expected, to still feel human feelings, to still have remorse and guilt and love...all things no soul-less demon would have. What the hell was going on?

Wild-eyed, his attention snapped back to the slight form that was stirring beneath the blanket. Angel began to back away from her slowly, unsure of what had happened, and why, but watching Buffy warily. She stretched a graceful arm over her head before turning to search for him, finally finding him perched watchfully on the couch several feet away.

"Hey," she said sleepily. When he did not respond, she looked at him curiously. "What are you doing over there...OH!" As with Angel, the memory of what they had discussed came crashing in, and she leapt to her feet with lightening grace, skillfully grabbing the fireplace poker and drawing back her arm.

She grew even more confused when Angel merely sat on the couch, looking at her wonderingly. He made no move to escape, or even looked like he was prepared to fight her. Buffy took a tentative step toward him, searching his face. "Angel?" she whispered.

He cocked his head at her. "I think so," he said.

She met his eyes, and then there was no question. She would know Angel's soul if it were one among hundreds. "What's happening to you?" Her mind could not understand how they had escaped this nightmare.

"Nothing," he said softly. "I don't think anything's happening to me."

"But...but...why not?" She could not even formulate the questions to ask.

He started to smile then, a real smile, one that covered his face. "I don't know, Buffy. It's gone. That goddamned clause is gone. I have no idea why."

She dropped the poker on the ground with a clatter and covered her face with her hands, the tears that had been held back for so long suddenly flooding to the surface. A choked sob escaped, then another, until finally Angel couldn't bear watching her anymore, and he was holding her, rocking her, soothing her. He stroked her hair and whispered Gaelic endearments in her ear, his heart breaking with the sound of her sobs, knowing he was the cause of them. "Shh, shh," he pacified, "don't cry, little Slayer. Please. Don't cry anymore."

She stopped almost at once, because he asked her to, and she stood within the circle of his arms, hiccuping. "You didn't go away," she said in awe.

Angel kissed the top of her golden head and rested his cheek against her hair. He closed his eyes in silent thanks.

Angel and Buffy did not discover the reason behind the mysterious vanishing of the clause. Perhaps Willow had accidentally inserted or deleted a word when she recited the ensoulment spell. Perhaps Giles had come across an ancient solution for it, and had given the gift of it to them. It could have been any number of things, Buffy mused later. The Slayer and her vampire lover chose to live in ignorance, and did not question it.

The End

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