There was something watching her, and she knew it.

Beginning to whistle softly, she hoped to draw attention to her casual state and fool whomever -- or whatever -- was stalking her into thinking that her guard was down.

The Slayer's guard was *never* down.

When a shadow slid from the others and began padding behind her, the Slayer could feel it. Her grip tightened imperceptibly on the wooden stake she held, and she prepared herself for attack.

It came, but not in the manner she was expecting.

When the Slayer stopped at the edge of the graveyard, the shadow stopped as well, blending in perfectly with the velvet trees. She whirled around, her eyes going immediately to the hiding spot, and her gaze narrowed.

"You're not that good," she tossed out casually to the trees. "Just come out so I can go home." She snorted, and inspected a fingernail. "I've known you were there for hours."

"I wanted you to," came a chocolate voice, and the shadow melted away from the trees into the shape of an angel.

The stake fell noiselessly to the thick grass as the Slayer's fingers went limp, and she stared with disbelieving eyes at the shadow. Oh, it just couldn't be. Not after all these months, not after the good job she'd done in pushing her love into the tiny hidden place in her heart. He wouldn't come here and do that to her. "No," she protested weakly. "No, I don't want you. I don't..."

"Yes," Angel said firmly, taking a long stride toward her and grabbing her fiercely by the wrist. "Yes, you do. Because I want *you*. And as long as I want you, you'll want me back, Buffy. For now, and for always."

"But...you can't...you left because we can't..." She was confused, muddled, and her bones suddenly turned to water just at the contact with him.

"We can now," he growled, "and I don't want to talk anymore. I've watched you for two days, Buffy, and all I wanted to do was tear those ridiculously skimpy clothes from your body and toss you to the ground and rut like animals. And now I'm going to do it."

"But --" she began, and was interrupted by a frightening snarl.

"I said," he ground out, "I do not want to talk anymore."

And then the angel kissed the Slayer, invading her mouth with his demanding tongue, sipping and licking and tasting her lips while holding her head still for his onslaught. It had been long, so long since he had tasted her, and he'd had to stand by for months while the big floppy puppy she called a boyfriend had touched her.

The thought of it enflamed him anew, and his eyes blazed golden. Lifting his dark head from her blonde one, he stared into her eyes. "Someone else touched you," he grated, "but he didn't touch you inside, did he, Buffy."

He wasn't asking her a question.

She shook her head "no" anyway, because it was true.

No one would touch her inside, not like Angel. No one was Angel.

Letting out a snort of satisfaction, he kissed her again, not bothering to hide or protect her from the fangs that descended. He cut her lips with them and lapped greedily at the blood that welled from the tiny incisions, smearing both of their mouths with the coppery sweetness and making the steel hard-on inside his pants throb with life.

The clothes they wore were all at once too constricting, and Angel tore eagerly at the tiny silky top that Buffy had on, and when he realized she was helping him do it his intensity grew.

Her nimble fingers were unzipping his fly and as he dragged her down to the dewy grass, he felt her reach inside for the cock that was already weeping with fluid for her. When she touched it, Angel hissed, arching his neck back and threading his fingers through her hair, and when she began to stroke him, his hips bucked forward into her hand.

He was going to come, he realized, and couldn't stop it. It had been too long of a wait, and the desert he had crossed to get here had left him defenseless in her hands. Angel leaned into her caresses, his pants still around his hips and Buffy's torn shirt clutched in his fingers. One squeeze at the base of his cock was all it took, and then he was snarling and arching his back as his lifeless seed made an arc in the air before falling with a soft patter on the grass.

It did not come near lessening his desire.

In fact, he was still steel beneath her hand, Buffy noted, and the glow in his eyes was not dimmed.

Angel threw away the remains of Buffy's shirt and yanked his pants down to his knees, looming above her. With lightning quickness, her skirt was up and her panties down, the soft head of his cock probing at her warm entrance.

"Yessss..." he hissed softly as she reached up to draw him down to her, sinking into her wetness and reveling in it.

It took him time to realize her tears were falling, and he stilled momentarily in alarm. But when Buffy shook her head and lifted her hips to him, he couldn't wait anymore. It was too good, she was too wet and slick and welcoming. He slid in and out so easily that he was afraid of coming again, and then it would be over...

And the golden girl beneath him had not had her pleasure.

Withdrawing abruptly, he heard but ignored Buffy's whimper of loss. Sliding down her damp body, her musky scent became stronger as he searched for her center with his mouth. The tiny bud that was the apex of her was throbbing, so he took it gently between his lips and swirled circles around it with his tongue. Coaxing tremors from her, he waited until she could not remain still on the grass, until she was reaching for his head to keep his movements in the exact spot she needed them, and then when he smelled her climax approaching, he rose above her once again and drove deeply into her.

The resulting cry from Buffy's lips encouraged Angel to pump harder, deeper, until he swore he was touching her center, until Buffy thought that the two of them were no longer separate beings but two had melded into one.

His strokes were quick and sure, demanding everything, and when Buffy stiffened under him and clutched at his backside with both hands, Angel pumped one last time before shooting his dead seed inside of her living warmth. He jerked against her, riding the wave of his orgasm, letting the climax go on and on and on.

A long time later, he rose from the damp, flattened grass. Buffy watched him with eyes filled with moonlight. "You're going?" she asked cautiously.

A look of determination stole over Angel's face. "You know where I am," he said casually, though it wasn't a casual statement at all.

Shrugging his jacket over broad shoulders, the angel that had materialized briefly from the shadows returned once again to the darkness of night.

The End

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