The words came out of nowhere. Buffy didn't know why she said them, but there they were, hanging in the air, and she couldn't grab them back.

His answering smile was slow and shy, and would have been endearing if Buffy had had *those* kinds of feelings for him, but she didn't.

"Sure," he replied. "I'd love to come in."

/Damn,/ Buffy thought. /I don't want you to come in. I want you to go home./

But it was too late for that. She had invited, he had accepted, and now here they were, sitting on her bed in her room and looking at each other.

"Dinner was good," Buffy said inanely, remembering that she had already made that comment earlier.

"I'm glad you liked it," Riley said.

"Good movie, too." /God, Buffy, use another adjective./

"Yeah. Uh...is Willow around?"

"She went home for a couple of nights," Buffy told him. "She had to do the daughter thing. Her parents were complaining."

"Well then," Riley said, moving closer to her, "should I take advantage of the situation?"

/How like him to ask,/ Buffy thought morosely. /It would have been better if he had just done it./ She forced a coy smile. "Why, Riley. Whatever do you mean?"

He grinned down at her, and then he was kissing her and Buffy found it to be not so bad after all. His lips were warm, and he wasn't too slobbery, and she found his arms to be nicely muscled as she gripped them. No, kissing him wasn't so bad at all...

...and then somehow her blouse was unbuttoned and she felt him nuzzling the side of her neck as he slid a hand over her breast. "You're beautiful," came the bare whisper as he touched her, and she let the words carry her farther and farther away from herself. "Beautiful," he continued, "and soft, so soft...and precious..."

The pretty words were soothing to her sore heart, and Buffy let him touch her. She felt a faint stirring of desire, very faint, and fooled her body into thinking it was actually Riley she craved.

It wasn't him at all.

But that was a dangerous thought, and it would lead nowhere except down the path of "what ifs" again. So Buffy slid comfortably back into her detached state, and when her small black skirt mysteriously came unzipped, and her blue lace scrap of underwear somehow wound up on the floor instead of on her body, it was what she wanted.

Not really, but she made it so.

And when she felt Riley touching her with shaking fingers, and laying his head on her belly, she reached out to slide the strands of his sandy hair between her fingers and make the appropriate murmuring sighs.

She was wanted and safe and comfortable here with Riley. Don't ruin it. Don't blow it. Don't scare him away by crying, like she suddenly started to do, silently but fiercely. The tears were hot and quick, racing each other down her cheeks, and she held her breath and turned her head and prayed to God that he wouldn't notice.

He didn't. Instead, he used the tip of his shaft to probe gently at her entrance, and Buffy automatically opened for him. If he noticed her dryness, he said nothing about it, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him moisten his palm and then lower his hand to himself.

And then he was in, filling her physically but emptying her emotionally, and Buffy had to take her bottom lip between her teeth to keep the sobbing scream from bursting forth. She should have learned from the Parker experience.

This was not Angel, no one would be Angel. She could take every boy on the campus to bed with her and not one of them would be Angel. With Angel, she had wanted the lovemaking to last forever. With Riley...

...she just wanted it to be over.

It was, soon enough. Although to Riley's credit, not *too* soon. He was a considerate lover and tried his best to instill some desire in his partner, unaware of or perhaps deliberately avoiding the fact that his partner lay crying beneath him, her tears sliding down the sides of her face into her hair.

Afterward, when they lay in awkward silence, Buffy could feel the dried tear tracks on her face and wondered if he would want to stay. If he did, she didn't think she would be able to keep her panic back, and had a horrible vision of herself leaping out the window and screaming her anguish on the way down, alerting everyone to the fact that she had betrayed her heart yet again...

"I'm going to go."

She turned her head abruptly to face him. "Oh. Okay." The words were flat and she found she could not even pretend to want him to stay.

He dressed quickly, shrugging his jacket on and leaving his shirt untucked, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead. Buffy thought distantly again how endearing he might be, if she felt something.

There was nothing. She was hollow.

"Will I hear from you?" he asked tentatively, alerting her to the fact that perhaps he wasn't so unaware of her emptiness after all.

"Of course," she started to say, then found she couldn't. Riley was sweet, and kind, and Buffy knew he liked her, might even love her. It was not right, to instill false hope in him.

"I don't know."

He nodded solemnly, glancing at the rumpled bed, then at the floor. Buffy felt a pang of guilt. "Riley, I --"

"That's all right, Buffy," he said tiredly, waving away her next words. "Keep in touch."

And then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him, and Buffy sank down onto her bed and wrapped herself in a quilt. She began to rock, humming softly to herself, comforting herself because there was no one there to do it for her.

Long into the night, she rocked and hummed.

The whispers were low and hushed.

"So can you come?"

"I don't think --"

"I do." The voice was angry now, cutting him off. "The least you can do is come and drag her out of her stupor."

Long pause. Then, "Stupor?"

"I'm not exaggerating, Angel." She peeked through the crack in the closet door into the room. There was a lump in the bed. "It's only 5:30 at night and she's in bed sleeping already. She'll sleep through till noon tomorrow."

Sigh. Throat clearing. "What happened to her?"

Willow opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "You."

He was there in an hour. Willow let him in, motioning helplessly toward the bed. "I'll be at Giles', doing research. We've had to do all her patrolling for her. She won't go out after dark."

Angel didn't reply, but his eyes grew darker and sadder. "Wait," he protested feebly, but Willow shook her head and left.

Alone now, Angel cocked his head and approached the bed warily. Buffy lay motionless beneath the blanket, eerily quiet. Only the slight rise and fall of the sheets gave any indication that she was alive. He knelt gently at the side of the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke her hair, but letting it hover over her head rather than touch her. He dropped it back to his side.

"Buffy," he murmured into the stillness.

Nothing from the lump in the bed.

Again, louder this time. "Buffy," he said firmly, shaking her slightly.

Still nothing. She slept as if dead.

Worried, Angel quickly toed off his boots and drew back the blanket. Climbing into bed behind her, he spooned himself around her frail body and let the down comforter cover them both. His eyes fell shut of their own accord as her scent enveloped him, the buttery smell of daffodils bringing a wash of memories. He put a strong arm around her and began to murmur in her ear, clutching her tightly to his chest as he spoke.

"Buffybuffybuffybuffy..." Angel murmured, for a long time, and as other nonsense singsong words came into his mind, he whispered those too. He willed the strength in his own body into hers, and rocked her gently while he talked to her.

After many minutes, she stirred slightly and turned into his chest. She sighed, a deep, shuddering breath that came from her depths, and burrowed into him. "Willow called you." Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

"Yes."

"I didn't tell her to." Her voice was worried.

"I know. She was just...concerned."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, I can see that," Angel said dryly.

They didn't talk again for a while. Buffy remained motionless against him, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt. Her chest moved as she drew in another deep breath, except it came out as a sob that was followed by another, then another, and then she was crying in earnest. Her slim shoulders shook as her grief poured forth, and through it all she held tightly to Angel's shirt as if it were a lifeline. Buffy began to speak through her tears.

"I--" (deep breath) "--did--" (hiccup) "--some bad--" (sniffle) "--things."

Angel smiled down at her. "How bad?"

"Things--" (hiccup) "--that made me feel bad."

"That doesn't make them bad things."

"I had sex with Riley," she blurted out, not wanting to hide it any longer and unwilling to play guessing games. In fear, she awaited his response.

"Yeah," Angel said softly. "I know. That guy that played you. Spike told me, in his not-so-sensitive way."

Buffy shook her head. "No," she said into his chest. "That was Parker."

"Oh," Angel said, puzzled. Awareness dawned slowly. "Oh. There were two."

"Yes," Buffy confirmed miserably. "I was bad."

"So," Angel said carefully, "this sex you had was so bad that it sent you into a downward spiral of depression? If you ask me, sounds like those two clowns should be the ones who are depressed." He hoped his tone was light and teasing, because the blood was roaring so furiously in his ears that he was unable to hear.

She had had sex with not one man, but two. Two men that were not him. And it had had such an adverse affect on her that she had retreated to her bed. What had he done to her? This was not right, that this young, strong woman was lying in her bed, crying at her life. He had to fix it, to make it better, because Angel had no doubt that Buffy was this way because of him. Even Willow had said so.

He chanced a look downward, and found her peering up at him through spiky lashes and red rimmed eyes. Her cheeks were blotchy and her nose was running, and Angel thought that she had never looked more desirable. "Can I fix it?" he asked softly. "Tell me what to do."

"You aren't mad?" she hiccuped.

"Oh, Buffy. How could I be? I was the one who left."

"Yes," she nodded furiously, "you were. You left me. And I wanted you, Angel, I wanted you every day, and that time I came to L.A. to see you, I wanted you then too. And you didn't want me. You let me walk away from you, just like every other time."

Angel said nothing, the sharp point of the knife digging deeper into his heart. She would never know about their lost day, and he could never tell her. But he could tell her something else.

"I was wrong."

"...and you left me, after the Ascension, even after I saved you -- what?"

"I was wrong."

"About what?" she said slowly.

"To leave. To go away. To think you would be better without me. Look at you. You're a mess."

Buffy bristled. "Thank you. Not."

"Well, you are. You're in bed at seven o' clock at night. You sleep for 14 hours at a time. You stick your hair in a pony tail and don't bother to brush it," Angel said, gesturing toward her hair.

"Excuse me," Buffy said loudly, sitting up abruptly in bed. Angel pillowed his arms behind his head and looked interested.

"Yes?"

"I'm NOT a mess. I'm fine. And you're being very rude."

"Are you mad?"

She thought it over. "Yes, kind of."

He sat up swiftly, catching her face between his palms. "Good. You should be mad at me." And he kissed her, leaving her breathless, his tongue darting out to sweep her top lip while he nipped and sucked at the bottom one. Her lips parted on a sigh, succumbing at once to his gentle probing, wringing a groan from Angel.

"Never," he whispered to her, leaving tiny kisses on her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. "I'll never do it again. You never have to search for me again."

"I wanted them to be you," she whispered back miserably. "But they weren't. There's only one you." Buffy murmured in appreciation as Angel bent to feather small kisses along the column of her throat, feeling his masculine rumble when he swept his tongue along the raised scar at the curve of her neck. Suddenly she wanted him desperately, wanted to feel him inside of her, washing away the taint of the others that she had let in. The desperation was only compounded by the fact that making love was an impossibility, and Buffy tore her lips away from Angel's and bowed her head.

"What?" he said anxiously. "What's the matter?" He was nearly wild with the urge to tumble her down into the daffodil-smelling blankets and finish what they had started.

"We...we can't," she reminded him helplessly.

A brief prayer of thanks to the recently departed Doyle went up to the heavens. In one of his last gestures of love for Angel, Doyle had pleaded with the Powers That Be to lift the clause in Angel's curse. They had grudgingly agreed. "It's a long story, one that I'll be sure and tell you later," he promised. "But don't worry, don't worry about anything. Nothing can hurt you. Including me."

"So...we can?" Her eyes were luminous with breathless anticipation.

"We can. If you want to." Angel didn't know what he would do if she didn't.

Buffy replied by pushing her small hands against his broad chest, sending him on his back into the pillows. She sat atop him like a small cat, a hint of the first real smile playing about her lips. Reaching for the hem of the old t-shirt she wore, she crossed her arms and drew it over her head, exposing her naked breasts to his delighted gaze.

Immediately he went to cup them in his large palms, their softness filling his hands, his thumbs traveling slowly over the budding nipples. While he gently played, she leaned forward to unbutton Angel's shirt, pushing it off his chest and splaying her hands flat across his muscled stomach. They touched each other, warm skin and cool, and it was like the first time.

Buffy leaned forth to kiss him, and Angel stole her breathless. He crushed her to him, pulling her rubber band free of her hair and tangling the silky threads in his fingers, letting the strands fall about his face and tickle his nose while he growled and suckled at her mouth. He made an effort to shove her shorts over her hips and she helped him, wriggling against him provocatively as she rid herself of the clothes. He felt her hands steal beneath to work the fastening on his pants, and Angel lifted his hips from the bed so she could drag them off.

They tangled themselves together when they were both naked, stretching against each other and using fingers and toes and mouths to touch and kiss. Buffy felt Angel move a hand to her wetness and pressed toward him briefly, letting him slide a finger inside, until she realized it was not enough. She wriggled, telling him with her eyes what she really wanted, and a corner of his mouth turned up. "Time for the extras later, I guess," he murmured, withdrawing his hand and sliding her beneath him gracefully.

Buffy felt a wave of chills pass through her as she felt Angel's erection pressing between her legs. Instead of entering her, he began a slow, lazy grind of his hips against her center, a rhythm that she couldn't help but follow. It drove her frantic, the pleasure was so fierce, and Buffy could not wait any more to have him fill her. He needed to make the others go away, she needed him to wash clean the memory of other hands that had touched her.

Opening her legs wider, she felt him slip inside. She was so dripping wet that he was sliding in without any effort at all, though he tried to remain still, she could feel him sinking deeper. "Please," she begged. "All the way in, I have to feel you."

It was a request no man could resist, and Angel least of all. He sank in to the hilt, reveling in the tightness of her, and panicking when he realized how close he was to coming. It was too tight, she was too warm and wet and sweet, he had to move. Taking short, shallow strokes, Angel built her passion for her until he could feel her awkwardly grinding against him in an effort to close the gap. Her small panting breaths were bringing him to a swift climax, and in a last-ditch effort he slid his hands under her bottom and brought her up tightly against him.

Buffy cried out in relief as she felt the hard pressure against her throbbing center, and tightened her muscles as her climax began. Angel was burying his head in her neck, searching, and she tilted slightly for him, throwing her head back when she felt the razor-sharp fangs pierce her scarred skin.

When the first drop of her blood hit his tongue, Angel lost any semblance of control. It rolled into his mouth, warm and full and thick, and he swallowed it greedily. He was vaguely aware of hearing himself snarl like an animal but was unable to stop, the blood that was flowing down his throat was like a drug. Sweat dampened his forehead and he felt his cock throb almost painfully, his seed erupting into her waiting body in the same way her blood was jetting into his mouth. He jerked against her, his fangs still embedded deeply, and drank.

Buffy whimpered as he took from her, her body responding to the overload of senses, and her climax began in her toes and radiated upward throughout the rest of her body. Her nails dug into Angel's scalp as she held his head to her neck, their sweat mingling together, and her whimper developed into a small cry as she shuddered beneath him.

Neither of them saw or heard the door open, and neither of them noticed the young man staring in disbelief at the scene before him. Riley had to blink twice before it registered: Buffy Summers was naked, and letting a vampire drink from her. Thoroughly enjoying it, too, from the looks of things. No wonder he had heard her gasping and crying out just moments before. He had thought to help her, and he had found...this.

For lack of something better to do, Riley retreated into the hallway and closed the door on the scene. There was no way, in a hundred years, that he would ever be able to instill that kind of passion in her. Riley stared at the closed door for a long time before walking slowly away. Professor Walsh might be interested in this...

...if he ever told her.

Inside the small room, the two lovers lay, sated. Angel moved to his side, pulling Buffy with him, their bodies still intimately joined. He smoothed a strand of hair away from her sweaty forehead before kissing it. "How do you feel?"

Buffy considered. "Like new," she answered, realizing it as truth. Her heart was light, and a weight had been lifted from her slender shoulders.

"Good." Angel closed sleepy eyes, and Buffy studied his dark lashes resting on his cheek.

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing can copy what we have. I won't make that mistake again." She rested her forehead against his.

"Love can be copied a thousand times, Buffy," he said, opening his eyes and looking at her. "But my love for you..."

The End

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