And then the dreams started, the dreams of you that just kept getting more and more detailed, until I could smell you in them, and I could hear your soft moans and feel you clutching my skin as we moved together. It was more torture than Hell had ever been. Writing this letter is kind of a salve on my wounds, getting the words out will be a balm to a very sore soul. I want to tell you what I dream about you, both asleep and awake, so you will know how I wanted to worship you when it was impossible to do so. I dreamt often of us together in many different places. Sometimes we were in the cemetery, other times it would be your bedroom. Once I even dreamt of us in the library, sneaking behind the stacks while Giles and the others were only a stone's throw from us. But the one that haunted me the most was when you would come to me at the mansion. This one probably recurred so often because I constantly pictured you there when I was awake, so it only figures that you came in dreams as well. You were always fresh from a fight, full patrol gear on. Maybe it was because that's one of the things that excites me most about you. I love watching you fight, there were times when I got hard just watching you dust demons without breaking one pretty fingernail. In my dreams you were glowing with youthful energy, adrenaline high and your eyes bright with victory. You would come in noisily, dropping stakes in the doorway and shrugging off your pack, and I would just wait by the fire for you. You would come over and sit cross-legged next to me on the rug and wrinkle your small nose at me, and say, "Been waiting long?"
"All my life for you," I would reply, and you always giggled and blushed. You would lay back then, stretching like a cat and working the kinks out of your back, and your shirt would ride up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of your flat stomach. I already would be hard for you, and I wouldn't be able to stop myself from leaning over and putting a soft kiss on that little strip of warm skin, from placing one hand on your head and the other just above your knee while I kissed that delicate spot. "Liking that," you would say with your eyes closed, so I would touch my tongue to your stomach and taste the slightly salty residue left from your perspiration. I would lick it until the salt was gone and I could smell the clean scent of the soap you had used and I could taste only the sweetness of you, like maple. Your fingers would creep down and one hand would nestle in my hair while the other would lift your shirt higher for me, exposing more fresh skin for me to nuzzle and experience the flavor of, until the bottom of your bra would peek from under your shirt. I would straddle you then, bringing both of your arms above your head and trapping them with one of my hands, while the other would seek under your shirt for the soft warm flesh I loved to touch. Sometimes in the dream your bra would be lacy and rough, sometimes it would be soft and cottony, but always I would find your breasts firm underneath, the nipples poking at the material and begging for attention. I would obey without question, first touching delicately with my fingers. I would trace the nipples lightly through the material, circling around and around and dipping into the valley between them, sometimes kneading you with my whole hand and other times barely touching you. You would always twist in my embrace, trying to place yourself squarely in the path of my searching fingers, but I teased and avoided you until you would wrench your wrists free and grab my hands. Then I would kiss you, the first kiss of the evening but in no way the last, and you would kiss me back in that way you do, telling me that you were simmering below your calm surface. I love that way you kiss me, innocence and experience mixed, using your tongue to trace my lips and placing your hands on the side of my face like you want me to know you're aware of me. In this dream you always kiss me that way, like you're tasting something wonderful, and I love it. So I would draw it out for a long time, just kissing you and savoring it, until you would open your legs and let me nestle snugly in between. The seam of my jeans would rest at the juncture of your thighs and you would press against it, sometimes wrapping your strong legs around my back while I would not be able to help moving against you. By now your shirt would be tangled around your neck so I would lift it over your head, and you would bring my hands to the front clasp of your bra so I could snap it open. When I did, you would always sigh with contentment when you felt your bare breasts against my shirt, and I wouldn't be able to stand not being bare-chested too. You would help me take my shirt off so we could lie skin to skin, your smooth body hot against my cool rough one. I would bend my head to your breasts and take one into my mouth, then the other, laving attention on both of them. You would always move against me in that electric way you have, making it impossible for me not to move too, and we would start up a rhythm together, even with our pants still on. Your neck would arch back and your hands would roam restlessly over me, over my back, through my hair, down my arms, while I licked at your sensitive nipples. Pretty soon your hands would tug at the waistband of my pants, so I would comply easily, rolling away from you to discard them and then returning to your warm embrace. Your pants would follow mine shortly, and then we would be naked together, and you never had any shyness about you at all. I would lie on my side next to you, leaning on one arm, and trail my fingers up and down the wonder that was your body, exploring the hollows of it, watching the goosebumps rise on your skin and liking that I was the cause of them. Eventually I would find my way to the soft thatch of hair between your legs, and I would tangle my fingers in it, feeling the moisture that was gathering. Now was when you would turn yourself toward me, asking silently to be touched there, and of course I couldn't dream of refusing. I would venture the tip of my pinky in between the folds, feeling the hotness and wetness that was you, and you would slightly push toward my finger, asking for more. So I would enter you a little further with one finger, and rest the others over your soft mound, right over the little nub in the center. You would be so wet for me that my finger would slide right in and you would be enfolding me, clenching around me, and I would slip my finger out and then in again. You would press against my hand so I would push down on you, putting pressure on the pleasure spot, and when I did that you would always reach for me, grasping my shaft with those small but strong fingers, and every time I slid my finger in you, you would squeeze me. I loved that, loved feeling your hand around me, so I would keep it up for a while, loving you with my finger and taking complete pleasure in your touch.
Once or twice in my dreams, we would come this way, just by touching each other. I always liked those dreams, but it never compared to my favorite. In my favorite dreams, I would take my finger away and straddle you again, placing the tip of my sex right at your entry. You would always open your eyes then and watch my face while I did it, while I would push into you a little way and then come right out again. Sometimes you looked down between us where we were joined and I would too, and we would watch me slide into you and then out again, glistening from your moisture. Pretty soon I would slip all the way in, so far I swear I was touching the core of you, and when I did you would always gasp and close your eyes again and whisper my name. "Angel," you would murmur in a low, sweet voice. "Angel." I loved hearing my name from your lips in a moment like that, secure in the knowledge that you loved me, and I would always return.
"Buffy," was all I would say in response, that was all I really could say, by that point. I would lower my head to the warm hollow between your neck and shoulder and start to stroke in and out with strong intent. You would always meet me, thrust for thrust, bringing yourself up to meet me every time. Your internal muscles were strong and you would clench tightly around me, sending shocks of pleasure to me, and I always feared I would come before you did. To avoid that, I would bring a hand down between us and gently find the little bud in between your softness. As I glided in and out of you I would gently press down on it, and it never failed. You would start to breathe faster, I could feel it on my skin, and your heart would speed up. I always lifted my head to watch you. Sometimes you would take your bottom lip between your teeth and your eyes would squeeze shut, and sometimes you opened your eyes to watch me too. But always you would grab my hips, trying to push me deeper and deeper into you, and when I exerted a bit more pressure with my thumb, your orgasm would hit, and it would always wrench my name from you in a cry. "Angel," you would groan, and your whole body would shudder around me. With relief, I would start to thrust faster, straining for my own release, and you would always help me. You would wrap your legs around me, letting me go so deep, and it was never long before I would feel myself start to pulse, and then finally, blessedly spilling inside of you while I buried my head against your neck.
Those were my favorite dreams. And yet they were the ones I dreaded most, because eventually I would wake, and of course you weren't there. They were haunting me, Buffy, until all I could see, either asleep or awake, was you. It was that madness that helped to determine when it was time to go. But you needed to know how I worshipped you. You needed to know the way I wanted to touch you, hold you, love you, because it was an impossibility in reality. I hope I have succeeded in making you feel loved, and cherished, and wanted. You can always be assured of feeling that way, as long as I walk the earth. You are strong now, stronger than you've ever been. You no longer need me to help fight demon battles. That is another reason why it was decided for me to go. I am not far from you, Buffy. I can hear your heart. If it calls me, if you truly need me, I will know. In the meantime, you will walk in my dreams.
Loving you,
Angel
When she finished, the sun was rising.
The End