She made me feel human.

We had returned to my small apartment, wet and cold and tired from battle. There was much worry over the assemblage of the Judge. I remember the concern. The Judge's prophecy was to literally burn the humanity out of mankind, leaving only the evil to survive. I had failed in my attempt to take the dismembered arm somewhere unreachable, and vampires had attacked and taken the arm from us. We pursued, but it was too late to stop the assemblage, and we had narrowly escaped from the Factory. So there we were, with wet clothes and she with a wound to her delicate shoulder, a wound that I insisted on looking at. I remember turning away respectfully as she bared her skin, hissing slightly through her teeth as she tried to peel the cloth from the cut, blood that was beginning to dry making the task difficult. It was the first flash of creamy skin that got me, igniting the flame that had already been simmering for weeks. I went to the bathroom and dampened a washcloth, then returned to her. "Let me see."

Without hesitation she turned, showing me the nasty injury. "It's not so bad."

"Bad enough," I said, bathing it with the warm washcloth and wincing every time she flinched.

"Really, Angel, it's not." She turned back to face me but left her shirt unbuttoned and falling from her shoulder, and I wanted to touch her so badly my fingers were trembling. She just looked at me, through me, with those green eyes like grass, and I remember thinking that she was golden inside and out.

I don't even remember how the kissing started, just that we were suddenly reaching for each other and she was so warm against my cold skin. "Maybe we shouldn't," I managed to say, trying to hold on to my sanity, trying to remember that in all of time, a Vampire Slayer and vampire had never been lovers.

She just shook her head, and it occurred to me that for some reason she was close to tears, and it moved me. I was helpless to stop, and willingly lay back with her on the small bed, still kissing her and being enveloped in the warmth that was radiating from her. She felt so delicate and small beneath me, belying the great strength she possessed in her little hands. "Buffy," I whispered, even her name sweet on my tongue. "I...I love you. God, I try not to, but I can't stop." She looked up at me again with those radiant eyes. She did not need to reply, because I could tell she just knew what I meant by that, but after a minute she spoke anyway. "I love you," came the simple response. It could not have been any sweeter. A feeling rose in me that I did not then recognize, having never felt it before, but later I would come to understand it. It was joy.

I bent again to kiss her, filled with awe at the trust she put in me. She was seventeen years old, and an innocent. I was over two centuries, and hard and jaded, yet she wanted me, was lying willingly in my bed while I ravished her with my hands and mouth. It would have been impossible to pull away from her. Even more so when she helped me remove my shirt, kissing the plane of my collarbone and tracing the contours of my biceps slowly, wonderingly. It made me want to rip her clothes from her and bury myself inside, and I could feel the building desire making my face want to change. I could smell her blood as it sang through her body and all I wanted to do was sink sharp fangs into her neck. In the entire time since the gypsies had restored my soul, I had never wanted to drink from another living human as badly.

But I did not. This was not just another human. This was Buffy, and she was the Slayer, and she was my soft safe haven from Hell. I would not take from her. Instead, I began to give. Her shirt was half off, and I simply undid the last buttons and pushed it aside, discarding her bra as well and laying open her breasts to my view. I lay my head on one briefly, passing a hand over her flat stomach, and marveling at how warm she was everywhere. Her eyes were closed, lashes fluttering, and I listened to her deep breaths as my skin began to heat just from lying on top of her. She was transferring her warmth to me, as she had done countless times before just by smiling at me or taking my hand in hers. I remembered she had told me once, ' When you kiss me, I want to die. ' I knew now what she meant. Even had I breath to breathe, I would not have been able to. Having her half-naked beneath me left me shaky and unsure. I put a trembling finger on the tip of one breast, circling the hard nipple, and she arched forward into my hand, seeking more. I lowered my head and nuzzled both breasts with my nose and cheeks and forehead while she ran restless fingers through my hair and murmured softly, "Angel..."

I wanted more of her, and continued my foray down her hard torso to the softness of her belly, burying my nose in the little dent in the middle and smelling her deeply. As always, fresh daffodils. Her hands continued to wander through my hair, and she was starting to squirm, just a little, underneath me. I cupped her bottom with both hands and brought her toward me, kissing her center on the outside of her clothes, and even though layers of cotton separated us, I could smell her desire. It was rushing through her much the same as the lifeblood in her veins, and it was a heady combination. My mind began to swim, and I felt disconnected and hazy. I wanted to paw at her like an animal, I wanted to flip her over and take her from behind like a beast. I wanted to pound into her until this aching went away and I could finally find relief.

I didn't. To repeat myself, this was Buffy, my luminescent golden girl. The Slayer, the Chosen One, did not deserve for her first time to be in the hands of a lunatic mad with desire. She deserved reverence and awe. I began to hesitantly explore the waistband of her pants, looking up at her all the while to see how she would react. I slid a finger into the elastic at her waist, tugging at it gently but ready to withdraw instantly if she said so. She met my eyes, her face so serious and sweet, and lifted her hips slightly, inviting me to lower her pants. I could have cried with relief. I stripped them quickly, abandoning my own as well, and then we were naked together and it was wonderful. I could feel her totally, her satiny skin pressing against mine without anything between us, and I couldn't think straight.

I moved down her, kissing and nibbling at that fresh young skin she had, until I reached the soft downy curls between her legs. I glanced up, thinking that maybe she wouldn't let me, maybe she would be afraid or shy or not ready, but all I saw on her face was trust. That, and the shining love she couldn't hide. I dropped my head and parted her slick folds with gentle fingers, awed at how wet she was and how delicious she smelled, musky and feminine and sweet. It reminded me of hot buttered rum. I ran just the tip of my finger around the small opening, watching her inner muscles tense and release, and I was distantly aware of her breathing increasing. I inserted my finger just slightly, only up to the first knuckle, and already I knew that she was going to be small and tight. I kept my finger there, not moving it, and touched my tongue to her sex. She drew in a breath and held it until I started to lap at her, and then she let the air out suddenly and gasped my name.

"Angel," was all she could manage, and knowing that I had left the Slayer breathless was an indescribable feeling. I continued to love her with my tongue, her inner heat practically scalding me, and my raging erection was hard and heavy against her thigh. I took the tiny protruding bud from her center into my mouth, rolling it between my tongue and teeth, and was rewarded with another muffled gasp from Buffy. One of her hands was gripping the sheet while the other lay on my shoulder, squeezing me every time I delved deeper into her. I concentrated on that little bud while I moved my finger farther and farther inside, feeling the small passage stretch, until I could fit in two fingers at once. Her muscles were clenching now, and she was almost pushing herself into my mouth, desperate to feel the pressure on her little bud. I began to move my fingers in and out, licking all the while at her, and her moisture began to trickle down. She was so wet she was sliding against me, almost as if she had been coated with sweet almond oil. I managed to get the whole nub into my mouth and sucked on it, not too hard but not lightly either, and moved my hand just a little faster. I was insistent, relentless, keeping the motion smooth and steady, allowing her pleasure to build higher, until finally, she jerked against me and began to shudder with orgasm. It was strong, I could feel her rippling around my fingers, and it wrenched a small wordless cry from her.

It had to be right then, I knew, otherwise it would be too painful. Rising above her, I placed my shaft at the tip of her sex, waiting until she could look at me. I still needed permission. She gave it gracefully, reaching for me and pulling me down to her, and I buried my head in her neck and thrust strongly.

The feeling was nothing like I thought it would be, yet it was everything I had imagined. She was tight and hot and wet and I almost came right then, like a teenager, but I braced myself on trembling arms and looked down at her. "Okay?" I asked, between clenched teeth. She smiled up at me, and I saw her tears had returned and lay shimmering in those eyes. "Perfect," she whispered. And it was. Slowly, slowly, I told myself, starting to move in an easy rhythm, coaxing her to join me. She did, hesitantly at first, then learning my motion and falling into place with me smoothly. The night and the rain and evil that was the hellhole we lived in were just outside the door, but inside there was only Buffy, and me, and the rightness of what we were doing. I tried not to, but I felt myself getting faster and faster. She just felt so precious and good surrounding me that way, clutching with little fingers at my arms and a light flush on her cheeks. When I was living, I had enjoyed being with women. I sampled many, always getting pleasure from them. Not one, not one single other woman I had ever touched, was like this shining child beneath me. I needed more of her, all of her, and I couldn't get deep enough inside of her.

There was some way that she sensed my frustration, because she lifted her hips up, just a little, but just enough so that each time I moved forward, I was completely buried inside her. It was that little giving gesture that did me in. I gathered her to me and began to thrust harder, reaching for the release, and I felt her tensing under me. She was ready to peak again, and all it took was for me to reach my hand in between us and touch her tiny bud. She started to shudder almost immediately, arching her neck and gripping my arms tightly, and just as I heard her whisper, "Please, Angel...", the climax hit me in force.

The strength of it was unexpected and violent, causing me to throw my head back and growl viciously as it washed over me. Perhaps the actual power of it was what caused me to instinctively lunge forward at her bared neck, fangs descending instantly, and I sank my teeth deeply into the fragile skin. Blood rushed into my mouth, Slayer blood, and as I couldn't help but swallow it, another wave of my orgasm hit me. It was as strong as the first, stronger even, and the warm fluid on my tongue served to increase the feeling. I could only lie on her helplessly as it pulsed through me. Finally, my vision cleared, and I was able to carefully withdraw my fangs from her neck, looking with concern at the damage I had left there. Two small holes that would probably cause her pain for a while. I touched them uneasily, ashamed to meet her eyes, but she reached up and clasped my hand and moved it away from her neck. I glanced at her worriedly. "Buffy, I...I'm sorry..."

"Oh, no," she said softly. "Don't you do that. Don't be sorry." I bowed my head in relief and moved to lie on my side, drawing her in close and pulling the blanket to cover us. She was looking soft and dreamy, her eyes heavy, and I remember her running the tip of her finger over the claddagh ring I had given her earlier that night. There were so many things to say to her, and I couldn't think of one. It was enough that she was lying warm and satiated next to me. Later I would thank her for the gift she had chosen to bestow. For now, my mind and heart were full of her. We slept.

It wasn't long after that, praise Satan. I still want to retch when I think of myself lying next to her in that bed. I could have killed her so easily. The change began suddenly, jerking me from sleep and sending me reeling from the bed. I remember being confused and frightened, not knowing what was happening to my body, and I cried out in agony as it felt like my muscles and tendons were being torn apart. I stumbled blindly to the door, wrenching it open and managing to get a few steps before falling down in the rain. As the last vestiges of my soul dissipated, I loved her even then, and felt remorse for what was to come. I want now to rip out my own tongue for calling her name then, wanting her to come out to me and save me from myself. The truth is, I was saved when that fucking curse was lifted. The act was completed in under a minute. The pain in my muscles dissolved almost at once, and I rose from the wet ground with new eyes. There was no question about what had happened. I knew instinctively that damned gypsy curse had vanished, along with that stinking rotten soul. There is a question that haunts me, and will continue to do so until I'm satisfied with an answer. Why did I leave her to sleep in my bed? It would have been incredibly easy to simply walk back inside and take her pathetic life. It would not have been the first Slayer I've killed. I didn't do it. I left her there, dreaming her fuzzy dreams of Angel, and disappeared into the blessed night. Why?

And why do I continue to stalk her, yet let her live? I've watched her through her bedroom window when her house was dark and silent, cursing the cross she hung in the window. It didn't take her long to understand what had happened, and she took precautions against me. She's a wily little bitch. These memories of her are not mine. They are Angel's, and Angel no longer exists. Yet they stay in my head and taunt me until I want to find her and do all sorts of tortuous painful things to her, to repay her for what she did to me. We will come to battle one day, the Slayer and I.

Only one of us will win.

 

The End

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