Scattered Thoughts:  Promise You Forever

Author: JR

Email addy: <JRR42@yahoo.com>

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//I wish I could be the one,
The one who could give you love,
The kind of love you really need.
I wish I could say to you,
That I’ll always stay with you,
But baby that’s not me.
You need someone willing to give
Their heart and soul to you,
Promise you forever,
Baby that’s something I can’t do.
Oh, I could say that I’d be all you need,
But that would be a lie,
I know I’d only hurt you,
I know I’d only make you cry.
I’m not the one you’re needing,
I love you, goodbye.//
-- Celine Dion
 

I don’t know why I came here.   I hate this place.  *Really* hate it.   Every time I come here, I think back to when we were children. Jesse and Xander dared me to just step through the doorway, threatening to label me a chicken if I didn’t.  They clucked at me every time I saw them for a month afterwards.

        Funny how some things don’t change.

        God, could I possibly be more of an idiot? Why did I come here?  C’mon, you idiot, it’s just a house.  A big, creepy, scary, something’s-lurking- inside-so-come-and-get-it-little-girl kind of house, but still just a house.  Just *go* already!

        But my legs don’t seem to want to work.

        There’s no sign of life, or unlife either, I giggle to myself.  No sign of Angel at all.  He really did it.  He really left without saying so much as a word.

        My eyes tear up as a great sense of loss overwhelms me.  I sniffle a little as I force myself to move towards the door.  Somehow, knowing that he isn’t here makes it easier for me to go inside.

        Looking around the room, I see little things that convince me Angel’s really gone.  There’s no fire in the fireplace, no books spread open upside-down to mark the place where he stopped reading -- all things I’ve noticed the few times I’ve visited him at home.   I’m such the detective girl. Just to be sure, I slowly amble -- amble?  Gee, Xander hasn’t been making me watch too many Westerns again, has he? -- anyway, I head over to the room I’m pretty certain was Angel’s.  I’ve been in here before -- back when I took my turn nursing him when he was poisoned.

        It looks so different.  While Angel never had a whole lot of stuff to begin with, it looks totally deserted now.  There isn’t much left in here -- a stripped down mattress, a couple of old, scratched, dark wood nightstands, some melted down candles.   It feels deserted, which is fitting, I guess.

        Just the sight of it makes me want to cry.

        In a way, it hits me as kinda fitting in one of those Alanis-song-lyric-y ironic ways.   The little stuff left behind only offers the slightest hint of what Angel was like, kind of like his personality itself.   God, Buffy used to *hate* that cryptic guy attitude of his.  She used to bitch about it constantly and, even after three years, I don’t think she ever understood why he was like that.

        I did.

        It was so plain to me after a while.  Why he acted that way, that is.  He *had* to.  It wasn’t just for Buffy’s sake, either.  In fact, I’d venture to guess that it was really more for himself than for her.   It was simpler for him to keep his distance.  The easiest way to avoid all the little reminders that he isn’t really human.

        Looking back on it, I still can’t believe we never noticed that he was a vampire right from the start.   The signs were all there -- the pale skin, his knowledge of vamp activity, et cetera.   But then again, we were all so blinded -- Xander by his jealousy, and Buffy and I by our hormones. Though my heart belonged to Xander back then, even I couldn’t help but notice Angel’s looks. God, Angel was *so* beautiful, like something out of GQ.   And he was Buffy’s.

        Once upon a time, Angel used to scare me. It wasn’t just because he was a vampire...although, that did make up a huge portion of it after I found out what he really was.  No, at first it was just simply Angel himself.  Not that he did it on purpose or anything.  I mean, here was this older, mysterious, drop-dead...uh, no pun intended... guy, who, from time to time, would actually like try to talk to me -- a mousy little teenager that was such a social leper, even the other geeks at school were hesitant to speak to me in fear for their own reputations.

        I still remember trying so hard to act mature around him, like I was this grown-up trapped in the body of a sixteen year old.  Of course, it didn’t help that my conversational topics were always either about boys, computers, or vampires.  Add to that the fact that I was so insecure that I would say the absolute dumbest things around him, too.  I must have seemed so ridiculous to him.

        Never once did Angel ever laugh at me for it.

        So many memories hit me as I wander listlessly back out towards the living room -- private thoughts of Angel and me.  I can’t help but smile as I think back to the times he treated me like an honest-to-goodness friend.   Like when he came to ask me for help finding dirt on Ford, or the time he saved me from the gas leak in the school basement.  Or the time I went to his old apartment to invite him to Buffy’s surprise party.  I can still remember how he shyly asked for my opinion of the claddaugh ring he’d picked out for her gift.  He was so nervous about giving it to her, and no matter how hard I gushed on about it being the perfect present, he was still uncertain about his choice.

        Another, more painful memory hits me as I walk past the exact spot where Angel saved me from that nutso Watcher lady, Mrs. Post.   To this day, I still don’t think Buffy understands why I sided with Xander and Giles at that little intervention we had in the library.   I know that she thought I was ticked about Angel being back from the demon dimension; but in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth.   What I was angry about, and what still makes me angry to this day, is the fact that she never told us *Angel* was back.

        See, I honestly don’t think Buffy ever realized how much it hurt the rest of us...okay, how much it hurt *me*...when Angel turned -- and not because of his reign of terror, either.   I lost a friend the day he reverted, and each time I saw Angelus wearing Angel’s face, I was reminded of that loss.   As much as I hated the soulless version of him, I never stopped missing the good, sweet vampire who always treated me with kindness.

        But then he was back.  No explanations; just tons of recriminations for both him and Buffy from the rest of us.

        As usual on the Hellmouth, things changed rapidly after that.  Slowly but surely, all of our mistrust of Angel began falling away.  Even when he started freaking out around the holidays we all stood by him.  By the time my evil double showed up, Angel was pretty much fully reintegrated back into the Slayerettes, or at least as integrated as he ever was.

        Or so we all thought.

        Things started falling apart quickly after that.  The whole deal with the Mayor, Faith’s betrayal, Angel’s agreement to work ‘undercover’ to expose Faith’s treachery -- God, could I possibly add another double entendre in that sentence?  They say hindsight is always 20/20, but even now, I can’t seem to figure out where the whole mess started.

        But I do know how it ended.

        Faith’s gone -- into a coma she’ll probably never come out of.   The Mayor’s dead, taking fourteen members of the faculty and senior class with him.  Sunnydale High is being leveled to the ground -- too much structural damage from the explosion, the authorities said.   Lastly, and to me the most devastating of all, Angel is leaving Sunnydale -- without so much as a goodbye to any of us.

        Just thinking about his insensitivity gets me really angry again.  How could he do that?  After everything he’s been through with all of us, how could he just slip away?  Doesn’t he know how much it’s going to hurt not having him around anymore?  Doesn’t he care?

        As my temper rises, what began as aimless wandering through the mansion slowly increases into a jerky pattern of pacing.  Filled with indignant anger, I pay little attention to my physical movements, walking more on auto-pilot than with any conscious destination in mind.

        Different memories of Angel are coming to me now -- of Buffy and him, of his stint as Angelus, a fleeting glimpse of him fighting amid the sea of bodies at Graduation.  Despite my anger, or maybe because of it, my eyes grow moist with tears.  Damn it!  Haven’t I cried enough in the past couple of days?   I do my best to swallow the lump in my throat, to keep the tears that threaten to fall from spilling down my cheeks.

        Unfortunately, I’m so distracted by trying to reign in my emotions, I don’t look where I’m going.  My stumble is so graceless, that for a moment, I’m almost glad that I am alone here.  At least that way, nobody else can see such a classic example of what a clutz I am.

        Glaring at the area rug that tripped me, I see that I accidentally flipped up a corner of it when my toe got caught in the edge.   Happy to have found something, however inanimate, to take out my anger upon, I draw my foot backwards to kick the offending edge back into place.  Before I land the blow, something underneath the rug catches my attention.

        There, burned deeply into the floor, is a blackened scorch mark.

        As soon as I see it, my anger dissipates out of me like the air rushing from a deflating balloon. Of course I know what this is.  Buffy told me all about it after we found out Angel had returned. This was the burn mark left behind when he was thrown out of Hell.

        I’ve never actually seen it before.  The only time I was here when it was still visible was when that Watcher lady went nuts, so needless to say, we were all a little distracted.  By the time I knew what to look for, Angel had already covered it up with the carpet, and I wasn’t about to say, ‘hey Angel, mind if I take a look at where you landed when you got tossed?’  Sure, like *that* would go over well.

        But now that I was alone, I found myself *needing* to see it.   Sinking to my knees, my hand tremored as I reached out and pushed the already-displaced corner of the rug back some more.

        The scorch marks are burned deeply into the patterned concrete floor.  The blackness of the marks contrasts eerily with the dirty white area that had been miraculously protected by Angel’s body.   Somehow, I’d managed to stumble over the side of the carpet that covered the part of the silhouette where Angel’s head had been.

        Seeing that burn mark makes me wonder -- not for the first time -- why Angel came back. Was it for Buffy?  Or maybe for his part he would need to play in stopping the Mayor’s ascension? Or was it simply because somebody with a soul truly didn’t belong in Hell?

        That last thought sent made me feel happy, because if it *was* the case, then, however small, I actually did something really good.  In a way, it almost made all the sh...ah...stuff I’ve suffered over the past three years worthwhile.   I’d saved a friend from Hell itself.   *Dah, dah, dah!*  I can almost hear the cheesy background music.  Geez, Willow, over-dramatic much?

        I wonder, though, if Angel ever knew that I’m the one who restored his soul.   I’m sure that, on some level, he must have known that I am the only one who knows enough about magic to have pulled it off -- well, myself and Giles.  But Angelus was...busy...with Giles right before it happened, so he must have put the pieces together.

        But if he did, why didn’t he ever say anything to me? I know I should feel angry right about now, but surprisingly, I don’t.  Instead I feel sad, like I’ve lost my best friend.   Then again, maybe I have.  Well, not my *best* friend, but a friend all the same.

        The house is cold and lonely, like it’s been empty for years rather than just a few days. Needing some kind of affirmation that Angel really had been here at one point in time, I hesitantly move my hand forward.   Barely touching the stone beneath, my fingers trace along the outline of where Angel’s face once rested.

        Before I even realize that it’s coming, an enormous sob just bursts out of me.   Less than an hour ago, I remember thinking that I didn’t have anymore tears left to cry, but it seems as if I’ve accidentally discovered a whole new well of them -- one labeled with the name ‘Angel.’

        These aren’t ordinary tears, though; these tears are coming from deep within my own soul. My throat is already hurting, swollen and scratchy from the way I’ve abused it lately.   My face it hot, and I know without looking that it must be as red as a cooked lobster.  I could care less.   The strength in my legs goes out, but I don’t care about that either.

        In the end, I’m sitting there on the floor, alone, curled up into a fetal position next to the burned out silhouette of Angel, crying -- no, not crying -- but...

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        ...sobbing?  Is that what I hear?  I haven’t been gone from the house for more than an hour, and now there is somebody crying in what sounds like the living room?   That’s what I get for living on a Hellmouth, I guess.  Not that I’m going to be living here much longer.

        Careful not to make any noise, I carefully stow the plastic bag of fresh blood that I’m carrying in a darkened recess of the garden.  Even as I’m doing so, my mind is racing to figure out just who in the hell is inside the house.

        Buffy.  It has to be Buffy.  She must have thought I would have been gone by now, like I said I would be.   I honestly thought that I would be leaving when I said that, but between the aftereffects of the poison from Faith’s arrow and the injuries I got fighting that mob of vampires during the Mayor’s ascension attempt; I was in no condition to travel.

        I really don’t want to see Buffy right now. Skulking around Sunnydale unnoticed has been trying enough without a visit from my ex-girlfriend added into the mix.  Not for the first time, I feel a wave of bitterness settle over me.

        Although I know that it’s for the best, a part of me resents having to leave town.   Oh, I know that it’s mostly my own fault, but still, I can’t help but be upset that *I’m* the one who has to pay for our mutual involvement.   In a weird kind of way, it’s almost like a divorce and, granted it’s by default, but Buffy is getting everything: my house, my friends, even the damn town itself.

        Given my emotions at the moment, I don’t think it would be good for either of us if we were to run into each other right now.  That being the case, I start to head back out to the garden to wait until she leaves.

        ‘But what if something else has happened?’ a tiny voice inside me questions.  What if something untoward has happened to one of the others, like Giles or, God forbid, Willow?  I close my eyes and offer up a short prayer for the others’ safety to any power that would listen.   That still doesn’t solve my dilemma, though.

        Go or stay?  Unable to make up my mind, I creep forward, moving slower than necessary to think about what, if anything, I would say to Buffy.   Unfortunately, nothing concrete came to mind by the time I reached the doorway leading to the main downstairs room.

        At first I don’t see anybody in the room, but then I follow the sounds of the sobs downwards.  Expecting to see a petite blond slayer, I’m absolutely dumbfounded to see a petite, redheaded witch instead.

        Willow?!?  What on earth is she doing here?  And why is she curled up in a ball on my floor crying her eyes out?  How did she even know I was still in town for that matter?

        Now I’m more certain than ever that something awful has happened.  Is it Buffy?  Giles? Or did Oz do something to get her worked up like this?  I don’t get it.  I thought that things were fine between the two of them, especially when I caught their...scents...on each other the day of the Mayor’s ascension.  From what little I know about their relationship, becoming lovers wasn’t a step that either of them was likely to rush into...impending doom or not.   But if it’s not Oz, then what could have possibly driven Willow here of all places?  Suddenly, I *need* to know what’s happened.

        Unlike the hesitation I would be feeling if I’d discovered Buffy on the floor, I’m off towards Willow’s side in a flash.   Of all the people I’ve encountered during my time here in Sunnydale, Willow is probably the only one I can genuinely call my friend.

        Right now, my friend obviously needs some serious comforting.

        First, though, I need to find out what’s going on with her.   Not wanting to scare her with my sudden appearance, I make a lot of noise -- for a vampire, anyway -- as I close the distance between us.  Of course, as loud as she’s sobbing, she still doesn’t hear me approach.

        As I kneel down in front of her, I notice that she’s flipped back the carpet to expose that burn mark left in the floor, which leaves me truly puzzled.   It’s time to get some answers to all the questions spinning around in my head.   Reaching out to touch her shaking shoulder, I call out to her softly.

        “Willow, it’s...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...Angel?   I must be really out of it, because somewhere off in the distance, I think I can almost hear his voice.   I didn’t think it was possible, but the intensity of my sobs actually increases another fraction.   The sound of my blood pounding through my veins echoes in my ears, distorting any and all outside noises. Instinctively I know that someone is here talking to me, but it’s so muddled, it’s like being underwater trying to understand somebody speaking above the surface.

        Without any warning, I feel the touch of a hand on my shoulder, and I involuntarily jerk away from it.  My eyes, which had been closed for awhile now, shoot open in startlement -- only to find the exact person I was sobbing over sitting right in front of me.

        And darn it if seeing him doesn’t make me start crying even harder.

        He’s here!  He’s actually still here!  Deep inside I want to jump for joy, but even something as simple as that is beyond my ability right now. I’m still crying, but with a difference.  Now my tears are out of relief.

        Angel’s mouth is moving, and I know that he is speaking to me -- kinda urgently, too, if I’m reading  the concerned expression on his face right.  I’m in no condition to answer him, though, as my throat is still so tight that it’s actually painful now.

        A dozen emotions run through me in the span of a single heartbeat -- happiness, confusion, disappointment, embarrassment, euphoria, surprise and finally, anger.  I have no idea why I’m still annoyed with him at this point.  God, I feel like I’m having PMS -- times a factor of a hundred -- the way my emotions are wigging all out of control lately.

        A thousand questions roll through my head, but I can’t focus long enough to choose one, let alone say it out loud.   Right now, I’m not capable of doing anything that requires rational thought.   So, instead of thinking, I go with instinct.   Before I realize what I’m about to do, I launch myself at Angel...

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        ...oof!  Willow tackles me like a football player, knocking me backwards with the impact. My arms flail for a moment, desperately searching for some purchase to steady us both.  Finally, I find it in the cold, smooth surface of the floor behind me.   I move around a little, shifting to find a balance that doesn’t require me to rest our combined weight on my hands.   Once they’re free, I’m not really sure what to do with them.  The uncertainty only lasts a second, though.   I end up wrapping my arms around her.   As impossible as it may seem, I pull her even closer to me.

        For one short moment, I’m simply overwhelmed by how wonderful this feels.  All too quickly, though, reality comes crashing back.  I still don’t know what has her so riled, but judging by how tightly she’s holding on to me, it’s got to be pretty bad.   It’s a good thing I don’t need to breath.  As it is, I’ll be lucky if Willow doesn’t break a couple of my ribs.

        I’m a bit confused, because if anything, holding on to her only seems to make her cry even harder.   That certainly wasn’t my intention.   I only want to offer her comfort, to find out what the cause of all these tears are.  So I ask her.

        “Willow?  Talk to me, Willow,” I whisper softly into her hair.   Even as I do so, I notice just how perfectly we fit together,  how the top of her head comes to rest right below my chin.  Her hair is so soft, that it almost distracts me -- almost.  “At least tell me if something has happened to the others.  Oz?  Buffy?  Giles? Xander?  Cordelia?”

        Great, Willow is upset and I’m doing a roll call.  Then again, I’m not even sure that she heard me since she’s given no indication of it.  Rather than press the issue, I settle for using a single hand to repetitively smooth out her shoulder length hair while muttering those useless ‘shushing’ noises a person is supposed to make when soothing somebody who is upset.  Whatever it is, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

        Unfortunately, my patience runs thin long before that point.   Once again I ask her if anybody has been hurt.  This time, I get an almost imperceptible shake of her head.  Now I’m perplexed.

        “Then what is it, Willow?  What’s wrong?” I persist.

        “...y...you...,” she mumbles against the tear-soaked shoulder of my shirt.  Her voice is so soft, if my hearing wasn’t so sharp on account of the whole vampire thing, I probably never would have known she was actually speaking.

        “Me?” I question, half-wishing that she would look at me.  At least that way I would be able to read her facial expression.  “Is something going to happen to me, or did I do something wrong?”

        “...you...left...”

        “Willow, I’m right here.”   As if to prove the veracity of my words, I tighten my already-impossible grip on her.   I don’t mean to, but her statement is so incredulous, I can’t prevent the corners of my mouth from turning up in a small smile.   “I’m right here,” I repeat over and over, enjoying the feeling of holding her in my arms.

        Not for the first time, I’m stuck by the dichotomy that is Willow Rosenberg.   She’s so tiny, a barely discernable weight in my arms.   And yet, I can feel the demon that resides within me growing restless at her nearness.   Doesn’t make much sense, does it, that such a petite girl should unsettle a demon so much?

        Without meaning to, I think back to my first impression of her -- or maybe ‘lack of impression’ is a better choice of words.    I remember seeing her with Buffy on the night of the Master’s Harvest.  I dismissed her then, as I did ever subsequent time I saw her, until the first time I held her in my arms.   Man, was that a crazy night --  an invisible girl, an open gas valve, and a half-conscious little slip of a redhead calling me ‘mom’.

        ‘Little slip’ what a joke.   Under that petite exterior of hers lies a fount of mostly untapped power.   As crazy as it may sound, it’s absolutely true.   In fact, it wasn’t until I carried her out of that room that I became aware of it.    But in those few moments when I held her, the demon inside me went even more berserk than usual.   I never have been able to figure out what it is about her that drives my demon so crazy.   It’s almost like it desires her but is afraid of her at the same time.

        Perhaps the demon and I have more in common than I care to admit.

        Willow is still crying but not as badly as before.  Her tears are finally winding down, and somewhere deep inside, I half-wish they wouldn’t. For as soon as she calms herself, I’m going to have to let her go.

        Just as I predicted, I feel more than see Willow move one of her hands to her pocket. She’s hidden a tissue there, and soon she’s doing her best to surreptitiously wipe her eyes and her nose.  Of course, the fact that her face is still half-buried in my shoulder isn’t making her task any easier.

        Finally, she gives up on her half-hearted attempts, and lifts her head away from my body. There’s something mildly symbolic about the way a rush of cold air hits the damp spot on my shirt left behind by her hot tears.   While it may be fitting in a literary kind of way, emotionally it’s nothing more than a painful reminder of just how alone I’m going to be after today.

        The second that thought crosses my mind, I’m more grateful than ever that Willow is here.

        I look down at the top of her red-crowned head and realize that although she’s pulled slightly away from me, she still hasn’t looked up at me yet. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s almost like she’s...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...so embarrassed!  How could I cry in front of Angel like that?   He’s gonna think I’m the biggest, most immature dork on the planet!   Don’t look, don’t look at him!   I don’t want him to see me like this -- all weepy and stuff.   God above, I must look a wreck.   My eyes are sore, probably all red, too.   My face even feels...tight...along the salty trail left behind by my tears.    I feel this giant urge to go wash my face, but I have no idea where the bathroom in the mansion is...or if Angel even *has* a bathroom for that matter.   Do vampires ever even need a bathroom?

        Oh *so* don’t go there, Will.   That is *so* none of your business.   Besides if you even think along those lines, you know you’re gonna...

        ...damn, too late.   I can feel the heat in my face as a blush rises up my cheeks.  Maybe if I just keep my head down, Angel won’t see how red my cheeks are, or how swollen my eyes must be.

        Nice.  This is so nice.   His chest is hard...not like Lestat hard, just firm and muscular. And he smells so good, too.   I wonder what kind of aftershave he uses.   Geez, Will, maybe if you work at it harder, you could actually achieve a lower state of patheticness -- if that’s even a word.

It should be, though.   How else can I describe just how low a loser I am for sitting here wondering what kind of cologne Angel uses right after I’ve cried my eyes out.   So, so sad, Rosenberg.

        Something presses gently against the top of my head.   It’s Angel’s nose and he’s...he’s...smelling my hair maybe?  Okay, that’s weird, but kind of nice at the same time.   I can hear him murmuring softly, and judging by the familiarity of the sound, he’s been doing it for a while, I just didn’t realize it before now.   The muffled sounds are comforting but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying.  It sounds beautiful -- poetic and foreign...wait.   Is he speaking Gaelic?

        I want to be able to hear him more clearly, so I lift my head slightly.   Oh...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...my.    When I leaned down to press a kiss on her forehead, I had no inkling that Willow planned to move.   Instead of the innocent, brotherly gesture I intended to make, my lips wound up brushing against the side of her mouth!

        We quickly pull away from each other like two misbehaving children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.   Not a bad analogy, considering I feel like a naughty child.

        Oh hell, why did I just do that?   And why have I never considered how soft her lips would be before now?    *Don’t* even think about it, you stupid vampire.   It was just an accident.  Surely I didn’t mean to...stupid, Angel.   A special kind of stupid.   Oh, to have the floor swallow me up at this moment.

        I’m so pathetic.   Two-and-a-half centuries of existence, and I’m still nervous over something only a grade-school boy would mistake for an actual kiss.   I want to laugh at my own foolishness.  Instead I...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...open my mouth to apologize, forcing myself to look him in the eye...when I completely freeze in place.   Angel is looking right at me. God, I hate it when he looks at me like this -- like he can see straight through me.   Like usual, *that* look practically hypnotizes me, makes me forget who I am and what I was about to say.

        “I...,” I try to begin, but something in those deep, rich pools of brown makes me stop.   I swear I can *feel* him telling me to be quiet -- only without that ‘shushing’ sound that people normally use.   Angel is staring at me so intently, I feel like one of the frogs we dissected in bio lab this year -- open and on display for his eyes only.   In fact, his expression is all-encompassing, kind of like the way Xander looked at me right before we had our little clothes fluke thingie...

        ...oh my God.  OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod!

        It *can’t* be.   It just *can’t*!   Maybe if I deny it hard enough, even *I’ll* start to believe it.

But I can’t fool myself this time.   I’ve seen that same look on Angel’s face before, only it was aimed at Buffy then.   But Buffy isn’t anywhere near here, just little ole’ me.

        But then that would mean...no...no way...no way on...

        ...or could it?   Can *that* look really be for me?   I’ve always wondered, okay, maybe not always.   I mean, right, like Angel, who could be on the cover of magazines he’s so gorgeous would ever look at me...like he’s looking at me right now.

        I swallow nervously, which is kind of surprising because my mouth is like desert-kind of dry right about now.    Of course, once I think about my mouth being dry, I involuntary run my tongue over my lips to wet them down.   Ohh, bad move Willow.  If anything, my little no-brainer move only makes Angel’s eyes go darker.

        What are you thinking right now, Angel? More importantly, what are you waiting for?   Oh please, Angel, I’m  begging you.   As much as I want to, I just can’t...bring myself to make the first move.    What if I’m wrong?   What if I’m reading this whole situation wrong?  C’mon, Angel. You’ve got like ten times as many years of experience as I do with this kind of thing. Pleasepleaseplease...I want this...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...so badly.   Ever since she licked her lips, I feel like she’s cast some kind of spell over me. There’s this strange sense of...*rightness* in holding her, like for this one brief moment in time, we are supposed to be here, doing just this.   For the first time in almost four years, the part of my brain that is normally obsessed with Buffy is oddly silent.   Perhaps that is what gives me the courage to lean forward.

        For all her naivete, Willow knows what’s about to happen.    Her eyes -- already bloodshot and swollen -- grow round as saucers.  Does she want this, I wonder?  Is she frightened?  Scared? Excited?  Hopeful?  What?  C’mon Willow, give me a sign, a signal, *something* to work with here.

        Then, by some miracle of miracles, my wish is granted.   The sound is so soft, I almost miss it.  As it is, I’m not quite sure how to categorize it -- half-moan, half whimper...and totally enthralling.   To me, it sounds like a plea, one that I quickly respond to.

        Taxing my reflexes to their utmost, my lips are fused to hers before her heart can beat a second time.    There is no tenderness in the way our mouths devour each other.    I will never know which of our tongues came out to play first, but at the same time, I know I will never forget the sensual way they are twisting together.

        Her mouth is warm, oh so so warm, and sweet, like the taste of pure honey as it rolls across the tastebuds.   Such pitiful descriptions for something that is heaven on earth.   As increduous as it may sound, for the moment heaven is mine to explore.

        Using tongue, teeth and lips, I search every part of Willow’s mouth that I can reach.   Along the way, I keep making mental notes of her reactions -- the way she sighs as my tongue tickles the roof of her mouth, the breathy moan that I am rewarded with as I lick broadly against her bottom lip.    Better yet, Willow isn’t satisfied with playing the innocent bystander.   Her own explorations are dragging a few involuntary noises out of me as well.

        A few moans and sighs aren’t my body’s only reaction to the situation.   As our kisses drag on, I feel that old, hauntingly familiar pressure as the stolen blood in my veins starts headed in a southerly direction.   Oh terrific.

        The way Willow is half-sitting on my lap is going to make it nearly impossible for me to disguise what’s happening below my waistline. Since I’m not sure how she’ll...react, this could be a really bad thing.   And yet, the absolute last thing I want to do right now is end these fantastic kisses.

        Without warning, Willow disengages her mouth from mine, sucking in a huge, gasping breath as she does so.

        “Need to breathe!” she exclaims, panting to fill her obviously aching lungs.

        Helpless to stop myself, I stare down at her.   The angle with which I’m looking affords me a magnificent view -- from Willow’s red, kiss-swollen lips straight down to the rapid rise and fall of her chest.   Even with the awkward line of sight, I can clearly see the peaks of her nipples as they strain forward against the clinging fabric of her thin sweater.

        Oh God, the ideas floating through my head right now -- maybe I’d better say *both* heads.

        My lips are still tingling from our kisses, the sweet taste of her still fills my mouth, and yet all I can think about is having...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...more.   I want more -- more smoochies, more more-than-smoochies.  I want to do all the naughty things I did with Oz a few days ago, only this time, I want to do them with Angel.

        Oz!  And Buffy!!  Oh God, what am I doing?  And, more importantly, what is Angel doing?   I thought Buffy was supposed to be his big, Buttercup-perfect-romance-soul-mate person. If that’s the case, then what the heck is he doing kissing me?  Maybe I should ask him.

        I open my mouth to speak, but my brain is more than a little jumbled at the moment.   Before I can formulate a syllable, let alone a sentence, Angel shocks me by bringing one of his hands up to my face.   I can barely feel his touch as he gently runs the backs of his fingers along my cheek.

        “You are so beautiful, Willow,” he whispered softly.

        My mind goes into automatic denial.   He must be confusing me with Buffy.   She’s the pretty one, the love of his life...waitasecond...he called me by my name.  *My* name.  He called me ‘Willow’.

        My eyes fly up to his in total shock.  I peer deeply into the rich, chocolaty brown searching for something...what exactly, I’m not sure.   What I find there is a mix of things -- a hint of amusement and complete honesty.   But that’s not all.   I can’t help but gulp as I see something that, despite my lack of experience, I can’t help but recognize immediately.

        Lust.

        Uh...ooooh.   Definitely ooooh as Angel swoops down and kisses me again.   There’s something different this time, though -- more...passion...maybe?   Or maybe urgency is a better word.   Then again, why am I thinking of words to describe it?   Carpe diem!

        Our kisses seem to go on forever, which is more than fine by me.   Angel even remembers to let me breathe from time to time.   He’s always so thoughtful, especially when he’s trailing kisses away from my mouth.   Crossing over my cheek he nuzzles in my hair to find my ear.    It tickles, which sends a big chill down one entire side of body.

        As good as his tongue feels as it traces along the edge of my ear, I still feel kind of...apart from him now that we aren’t exactly kissing.   My hands are joined together on the back of his neck, but my hold is loose since he moved himself a little off to my side.   Unclasping my fingers, I let the fingers of one hand twine themselves into his short, dark hair.   I’m a little amazed at how soft it is -- considering that Angel is dead and all.   I’ve always wondered whether or not his hair actually grows.   I mean, it’s a little longer now than when we first met him three years ago.  But if he’s dead -- how does that work?

        A throaty groan in my ear interrupts my mental wanderings.   I wonder what caused...oh my!   While I was distracted, my other hand seems to have wandered aimlessly down Angel’s chest. Under my flat-stretched palm I can feel the protrusion of a rock-hard nipple.   Suddenly it hits me that my accidental discovery must have been the cause of Angel’s obvious pleasure.

        Hmm, a naughty feeling overcomes me, and before I let my common sense convince me that it’s a bad idea, I force my hand to slide down a little.   I’m a bit clumsy as I try to find the little bit of hardened flesh underneath the dark shirt Angel is wearing.   More by accident than by design, I finally find that for which I’m searching.

        It’s hard to say which of us is more surprised as I deliberately pinch that sensitive flesh between my thumb and index finger.   Angel’s whole body twitches in response, leaving me to wonder if my actions really caused it.   But all doubt is removed from my mind as I feel Angel’s back arch a little.

        So he likes that, does he?   That little voice in the back of my head that’s screaming this is a bad idea is silenced by the incredible empowerment I’m feeling.   Curious to see what else will happen, I squeeze the tight flesh again.   Angel’s reaction is much more pronounced this time -- another arch and a groan.

        With Angel’s mouth already next my ear, the passionate sound he makes vibrates straight down my body, ending up...there...in *that* place. Without meaning to, I...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...moan.   What that little sound coming from her does to me is enough to make my inner-demon cheer like a pep squad. I can’t help it.   Even the *demon* can’t help it.   I can only wonder if Willow has *any* idea of what the tiny sounds from her throat are doing to me.

        And her hands...oh by all that’s holy, it feels so good.  My nipples have always been extremely sensitive, and Willow’s teasing is only fanning the flames of my desire for her.   Already I can feel myself heading way too quickly towards critical mass.

        I have to slow down before I end up embarrassing both of us.   I need Willow to back away before I start losing control, but how?   The last thing I want to do is give her the impression that she’s doing anything wrong.   If anything, she’s doing things *too* well.  Control.   I need to get the upper hand.

        And if I happen to enjoy myself along the way, all the better.

        Maybe it’s time for a little tit for tat.  I cannot believe I just actually thought that.   Just a bit of subliminal thinking there, boyo?   Nothing like bad puns to get my mind off of more...pressing matters.   Sure, if the ‘matter’ is the one currently pressing against my zipper.

        I need more.  I need to give *her* more. Fortunately, my body is perfectly willing to take over now that my *other* head seems to be doing my thinking for me.

        Giving the lobe of Willow’s ear one last apologetic kiss, my lips trace gently along the curving slope of her jawbone.   Instinctively, my mouth is drawn to the graceful line of her neck -- to the tangle of blood-rich veins that are pulsing rapidly underneath her smooth skin.   Fighting back against the impulse of my demon, I’m careful to skim quickly over the area of greatest temptation.   That act proves to be one of the most difficult of my life when I hear a moan tinged with disappointment come from somewhere deep within Willow.

        Stifling a moan of my own, I turn my attention to one of her sloping shoulders.  Using both teeth and tongue, I nibble and lick my way along the exposed collarbone, stopping only when I reach the barrier created by her thin, low-cut sweater.   Having explored one side to my satisfaction, my mouth retraces its path, pausing only momentarily to taste the gentle hollow at the base of Willow’s throat with my tongue.   From there I move onward, giving her other shoulder similar treatment to the first.

        Oh God, Willow’s fingers are suddenly tangling themselves into my hair.   Yes.  Oh yessss...that’s it.   Harder.  Pull harder.   The hint of pain in my scalp as she tugs on my hair is not only doing incredible things to me but to my demon as well.

        Before I know it, my mouth is moving again, following the seam of her sweater down her cleavage.   Whoa.   Even when she was dressed in her evil-double’s leather get-up, I didn’t realize that she was...she is...she has such nice...proportions.

        Sparing a glance upward, I almost come at the sight of her.   Willow’s head is thrown back, her mouth slightly open as she all but pants in out-and-out desire.    Whether she realizes it or not, her back is arched, pressing her breasts forward to beg for my attention.   As if I hadn’t already noticed them.

        As if I wasn’t already fighting off my instinct to rip her sweater off and get much closer to them.

        With her eyes closed, I realize it’s the perfect time to do something unexpected.   While I continue to nuzzle in the very most bottom ‘v’ of her neckline, I carefully lift one hand from its resting place on her back.   As I guessed, Willow doesn’t even seem to notice the change.

        Perhaps that’s why she is so surprised when I place the flat of my hand directly against her left breast.

        “Angel!” she gasps, her body surges forward to increase the pressure as hard as she is able.

        I can’t help grinning into her cleavage as my hand tightens around the mound it holds, testing the shape and weight of it.   A perfect fit. Somehow, though, it doesn’t really surprise me.  I don’t know why, but this whole situation just has an inexplicable sense of ‘rightness’ to it.

        Without conscious thought, my fingers shift, pinching together around the sensitive, taut nipple.   Willow gasps involuntarily at the feeling, unaware that the air rushing into her lungs presses her chest forward even further toward my waiting hand...and mouth.

        Oh yes.   It would take a stronger creature than I can ever hope to be not to give in to the temptation of kissing such a perfect breast -- not when it’s resting just a scant few inches below my mouth.   As tenderly as I can manage, my lips journey downward until I manage to find her other hard peak, concealed under the fuzzy layer of her sweater.

        Rapturous moans fill the air around us, and to my surprise, I realize that only some of them are hers.   Oh yes, I’m feeling this, too.    In fact, I’m so hard right now that my pants are more than a little restrictive.

        And it is not enough.

        It doesn’t take much prodding from my demon before I capture one pebble-hard bud between my teeth.  I bite down sharply while at the same time squeezing its counterpart almost cruelly between my index finger and thumb.

        Willow’s response is almost immediate and just about drives me to distraction.   The feeling of her short, rounded nails raking down my back pulls a genuine groan of ecstasy from somewhere deep inside me.  When exactly did the little witch manage to work one hand up underneath my shirt?

        And why should she have all the fun?

        Inching my face away as little as possible, my free hand flies down to the hem of her sweater. I fumble with it for a moment, which is long enough for Willow to make an assumption of what she thinks I intend to do.   Trying in her own lust-filled way to assist me, she leans back a bit so that I can work my hand inside her clothing.

        Which might have been helpful if that was what I had in mind.

        Instead, I use the arm I have wrapped around her back to pull her closer to me.  By doing so, it makes it easier for me to grab two handfuls of fuzzy material and tug the offending garment upward.   It gets tangled for an impossibly long moment by her other arm, which is wrapped tightly around the back of my neck so that she can keep her rather precarious balance. Shifting a bit, she lets go long enough for me to slide the sweater up and off of her completely.

        Wow.  Green satin has never looked so good before.  Then again, it’s never had an accessory as beautiful as Willow.   As pretty as the colour is, it can’t hold a candle to the flushed, milk-coloured skin it rests upon.   I take one lingering last look at the soft material before I dive forward and find her mouth once again.

        Willow is matching me kiss for kiss, her tongue driving deeper into my mouth just as mine is doing to hers.   Somewhere in the lust-filled fog that has settled over my brain, I feel something clawing at my back.   It takes a second before I realize that Willow is desperately trying to remove the grey pullover I’m wearing.   Without breaking our kiss, I move my arms up and grab a hold of the back of my shirt.   Her fingers are already exploring my stomach even as I tug the barrier between us off completely.

        Seeing as how my hands are free, I decide to remove the last remaining barrier between us. Not for the first time in my long life, I find myself cursing the bastard who designed these things.  I feel like a total idiot as I fumble with the clasp of her bra.  In fact, it is more by accident than by design when the damned thing finally opens.   But I’m not the only one in a hurry.   With a little careful maneuvering, she quickly shrugs out of the binding garment.

        As much as I want to look at the glory that is Willow, my need to *feel* her is much more overwhelming.   Apparently, her thoughts must be similar to my own because within the span of a single heartbeat, we lunge for each other.

        Then, *finally*, we are skin...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...to...oh *God*...skin.

        ‘What the hell are we doing?’ some strange, misguided voice in my head keeps asking. Fortunately, the annoying sound is drowned out by a chorus of ‘it’s about damned time’s’ and ‘oooh, this feels so good’s’.

        Angel’s skin is cool against mine as we continue kissing.  Then again, I can practically feel the flush that continues to warm me like an electric blanket on its highest setting.   My hands are busy exploring his chest, tracing the ribs under a surprisingly ripplely set of muscles.   I mean, I knew Angel was in great shape, but even in my naughtiest dreams, I never imagined him to be this muscular.

        His hands aren’t exactly idle, either.   While I’m busy trying to map his unclothed upper-body, Angel is keeping himself occupied by running his fingers up and down my back.   I don’t mean to -- well, maybe I do -- but his touch feels so good, I can’t help arching forward, crushing my chest straight into his.   In doing so, one of my nipples brushes up and kinda gets caught against one of his.   It feels so good, I try to recreate it by repeating the movement that caused it to happen the first time.   What do you know, it works! Again and again we move to make it happen, but it is only after several times that I become aware of an even more incredible sensation.

        Somehow in the craziness of all this, I find myself kneeling on the ground.   Angel himself is sitting down with one folded leg kinda in front of him while the other stretches straight out to the side.   Fortunately for me, I happen to be straddling that folded leg, and every time I move, the more...secret...part of me brushes flat up against the tense muscle of Angel’s thigh.  I hope that he isn’t aware of my sick behavior, but I can’t help myself from pressing down a little further each time we rub our bare chests together.

        It’s...*OH GOD*...what was that?

        Breaking a few inches away from Angel’s mouth, I gasp for some much-needed air.   At the same time, I glance downward to where that mind-numbing sensation came from.   Oh, ooh! It’s there I see that Angel’s fingers are pinching both my nipple and his together against each other. And if his squirming is anything to go by, he’s enjoying the feeling just as much as I am.

        I’m mortified by my own brazenness, but I can’t seem to stop myself from wriggling closer to the source of my pleasure.  I try to shuffle myself a bit nearer to it when my knee accidentally goes a bit too far and gently brushes against...oh.

        Oh!   Oh My!   Whoa.   Oh my God.   Is that...did I...it couldn’t...did I...do that?   To Angel?

        A growl fills the air, sending a shiver that’s half fear-driven and half lustful down my spine. Just a tad bit startled, my eyes fly open to find Angel’s.    He isn’t vamped out -- exactly -- but for a second I think I see a flash of yellow flare over the rich brown I’m used to seeing.   So it seems that I’m not the only one affected by my accidental discovery.

        Wha...eeep!   My heart is beating double-time as Angel grabs me and physically picks me up.  He...he’s not gonna...ulp...kill me...is he?   Another growl cuts through the shadows while Angel pulls me closer to him.  What is he...oh...Oh!   I get it.   He’s trying to position me so that I’m straddling his legs.    I can do that. I just need to move one leg to the other side of his.

Finally, I get myself settled, but Angel doesn’t seem to be satisfied.    I feel both of his hands clamp down on my butt, urging me to lean even more forw...ooh, ooooh yes.  That’s so much...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...better.   All this maneuvering has forced Willow’s mini-skirt up to her hips.   In fact, I barely notice it -- kind of difficult to when I’ve got two handfuls of her satin-covered backside.    Then again, I’m not overly aware of where my hands are at the moment.   How can I be with Willow’s most forbidden parts pushing down against my straining erection?

        There is a split second where our eyes meet.   I peer deeply into her passionate stare, wanting to make sure that this is actually what she wants.   Somehow I find my own question reflecting back at me.   I sense more than see Willow lick her kiss-swollen lips, and it is only then that I listen to the reports my other senses have been trying to deliver to my lust-hazed mind.

        Willow is breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggles to pull in the air she needs.   I take a closer look at her eyes, not surprised to find that the green irises that enchant me so much have been reduced to slivers, driven back by the inky blackness of her passion-dialated pupils.   But neither of these things are what affects me the most.

        That honour is taken by the heady scent of her arousal.  Oh, there is no mistaking the fact that Willow is very turned on right now.   As if the rising scent of her wasn’t enough, I can feel the damp heat of her -- even with three, albeit thin, layers of clothing separating us.  Willow seems to be waiting for me to do something, so I do the first thing that comes to mind -- try to get that blissful warmth as close to me as possible.

        Tightening my grip, I urge her body forward and then let go.   Once, twice, three times, and then Willow follows the slow, steady rhythm that I’ve set on her own.   It doesn’t really surprise me.   As far as I’ve seen, she’s always been a fast learner.

        Our mouths find each other again while our lower bodies continue to grind mercilessly against each other.   Oh yes, that’s it.   I use my hands to guide our motions -- a gradual climb to the pleasure I want to give her.   Occasionally, I have to use my grip to slow her down, to keep her from charging headlong into the passion I’m trying to carefully lead her to.

        Thinking becomes more difficult with each second that passes.   My rationale is deserting me, draining away as my world collapses into dueling tongues, sweat-covered torsos and crushing pelvises.   At some point, I abandon my attempts at guiding Willow’s pace.   As her movements become more and more erratic, I know that she is close.

        That’s it.   That’s it, c’mon Willow, come for me.   I want to feel you.

        “Oh God, Angel!”

        All of Willow’s movements cease completely as the beginning of her orgasm overtakes her.   Desperate for air, she rips her mouth away from mine, which is fine by me.   It gives her the freedom to cry out her pleasure into the night.

        Willow’s diamond-hard nipples scrape along my chest as she resumes the rocking motion that brought her to this point.    I can feel the tremors wracking her thin frame everywhere our bodies touch.  However, what almost throws me over my own ledge of sexual abandon are the powerful, sharp thrusts of her hips as she instinctively tries to prolong her climax.  I keep up my own rocking motions, determined to help her in any way that I can.

        Seconds or hours, I’ll never be able to figure it out.   The only thing I’m certain of is that it ends all to soon.   Although my eyes stay focused on her flushed, perspiring face, I can feel her chest rapidly rising and falling against mine as she struggles to regulate her breathing. Somehow, seeing her like this makes me feel honoured, like I’m catching a fleeting glimpse of a hidden treasure that was never meant for my eyes.

        Perhaps I’m thinking that because it’s all too true.   Willow isn’t mine...can never be mine.

        Before the darkness that is my constant companion can envelop me, Willow’s eyes flutter open.   The luminous green silently demands...and receives my full attention.   In them I see a thousand emotions -- gratitude, thanks, and confusion, to name just a few.

        But through all that, there is one thing that captures and holds my rapt attention.   For the most prominent thing emanating from those emerald depths is the one thing that terrifies me most:  uncertainty.

        Uh...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...oh my God!    OhmyGodohmyGod! That was... it was... something.  Vocabulary? What’s that?   Funny, I thought men were the ones who were supposed to lose I.Q. points after mind-blowing orgasms.

        I feel icky, sticky, sweaty, and kind of embarrassed.   Oh God, what have I done?  Hell, what have we done?   And how come I never knew that it could feel so good?

        My mind is racing.   It’s never felt like this before -- not with Oz, not even...to my immortal shame...by myself.   So *this* is what all the girls at school rave about.   And with good reason, too. It was fantastic, mind-blowing, great...

        ...and...

        ...it happened with Angel.

        I open my eyes to find him staring at me -- with a smile on his face.   Angel smiling?   I force myself to blink hard, but the little grin is still there.

        That’s when I notice that something else is still there, too -- like his hardness pressing up against me.

        I don’t have much time to think about it, though.  Just when I thought I’d gotten my breathing under control, Angel moves us with all the amazing speed he’s capable of.   Gasping at the suddenness of it, I’m even more stunned to find myself lying flat on the floor.   I can’t see much at this point, only Angel’s face getting closer right before his mouth finds mine.

        Despite the ferocity of his kisses, I’m surprised to find that I’m not afraid of him. Underneath it all, there is a carefully hidden layer of tenderness.   I can simply sense that Angel is not out to hurt me; only to show me just how much he wants me.

        Whoa.

        My mental acknowledgement of that particular thought stops me cold.   Angel wants *me*?   Well, duh!   Geez, I think to myself sarcastically.   What was my first clue?   The fact that he just gave me the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life, or the fact that his hand is...creeping lower down my body?

        Oooh, Angel’s hand closes around my right breast, kneading it...I’m not sure how to describe it...more clumsily than before?  It’s like he’s doing it in hurry before...oh, maybe he *is* in a hurry, because with a quick tweak of my nipple, his hand continues to move downward.   With one last lick to my lips, Angel’s cool mouth departs from mine as well.

        Those same lips skim down my throat, settling back on my nipple at the same time as his hand finds the waistband of my skirt.    I feel him search for, find, and finally undo the button that holds it in place.

        “Lift up,” he whispers, lifting his head away from my chest with obvious reluctance.   I hurry to comply, refusing to allow myself to think about how wrong I know this is.  Angel growls his approval as he scoots down to remove not only my skirt but my underwear as well.

        Then nothing.

        I dread opening my eyes, terrified that I’ll see Angel looking at me with disgust or something.   After all, I know I’m not exactly built or anything.   I don’t have Buffy’s athletic physique, or Cordelia’s curves for that matter.   Oh God, Angel’s probably disgusted by me, too small and scrawny for his taste or something.

        My eyes snap open to find Angel staring down at me.  There is a look on his face, one I’ve never seen before.   I don’t even begin to try and decipher it before I start curling up around myself to shield my body from Angel’s sight. Unfortunately, my embarrassment immediately gets his attention.

        “What are you...don’t do that, Willow,” Angel...I guess the best word is...‘implores’. “Please, let me look at you.”

        Swallowing against my suddenly bone-dry throat, I keep still for a moment as I consider what he has asked.   My first thought is ‘is he serious’? One look at his face is enough to answer that question.   But to my amazement, it helps to calm my fears...somewhat.

        I still move slowly, not quite trusting that this isn’t some huge joke at my expense.   Angel remains completely motionless as I slowly unfold. My hands, which I’ve been holding over my breasts and...down there, are the last things to fall away.

        Bracing myself for rejection, I dare to take a peek directly into Angel’s eyes.  Instead of the mocking I expect to find there, his expression is one of...no, that can’t be.   But I look again, and it is.   There, on Angel’s face, is *awe*.   Before it really sinks in, those dark brown eyes find my own.

        “You truly are beautiful, Willow,” Angel whispers softly as he leans forward for a kiss. “I’m just not sure what’s more beautiful...this,” he runs one of his hands down my torso and back up again to illustrate, “or this,” he says tenderly, his fingers brushing right over my heart.

        I’m so...moved...by his sentiment that I can’t even think of something to say right now. In fact, my vision starts to cloud up before I can begin to stop it.   I never knew...never even dared to dream, for that matter, that Angel might have noticed me or even thought of me in that way.

        “Willow?” Angel questions, one of his hands moving toward my face.   Brushing away yet another tear, he asks me what’s wrong.

        “Angel,” I plead, launching myself at him. Wrapping my arms around his naked upper body, I squeeze him with every ounce of strength I possess.   I feel hysteria rising within me, brought on by the thought of losing Angel just when we’ve discovered this new layer between us.  “Don’t go.”

        I can feel him tense up as I say the words. I’m kinda half-expecting his reaction, but still it takes me by surprise.   Did I say something wrong?

        “Will,” Angel starts hesitantly.  “This...this thing...between us...now...”

        Suddenly I get it, I understand what he’s trying, but not succeeding, to say.

        “Oh!” I attempt to reassure him.  Pulling back to look him in the eyes, I try to clarify myself to him.   “Oh, no, I know...I mean...I understand...what this is.   Well, not exactly,” I admit, but I continue on anyway.  “What I’m mean to say is that I know...this isn’t real.”  A hurt look crosses Angel’s face.   “No!  I mean it is, but it isn’t.”  Now he just seems to be confused.  “What I want to say is that I know this isn’t...permanent...or anything.   You still love Buffy and I still love Oz.   This is just a...” I struggle to find the right word, but only one comes to mind, “...a fluke.  Unexpected, but still amazing.

And even though I know we shouldn’t be...shouldn’t have...done this, I can’t really say that I’m sorry.”

        Finally, Angel seems satisfied.   He graces me with a rare smile before pulling me back into his embrace.

        “I can’t either,” he admits.   “Thank you, Willow.   Thank you for this and for everything. Thank you for being there for me, for accepting me when none of the others would.   Thank you for being my friend.”

        His words sound so final, I’m instantly back to where I was before.

        “I wish you wouldn’t go,” I say into his neck.

        “I think you, of all people, know that I have to,” Angel reminds me.   But it doesn’t change my opinion.  “It’s not like I won’t be coming back, Willow.  I’m sure that with all the crazy things that happen on the Hellmouth, I might as well keep this place open as my second home...”

        “But it won’t be the same, Angel.  Don’t you see?  Even when you come back it’s going to be different.  You’ll still be a part of the group, but you won’t be...oh God, I didn’t mean it like that...well...maybe I did, but I don’t know how to say it any differently...or better.   But if you leave now, there will always be this...separation from us...”

        “Kind of like there always has been?”  he hinted wryly.  “I’ve never really been a part of you all.  I’ve only been Buffy’s ...boyfriend, or...”

        “You were always a part of us, Angel,” I said, my ‘resolve face’ firmly in place.   “At least to me.”

        “Don’t you see, Willow?  I’m not meant to be with anyone.”

        “You could be with me...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...what?

        Did she just really say that?   She must have because she looks just about as shocked as I feel right at this moment.   I can see the protest already forming on her lips, and sure enough, she starts babbling out some serious verbal backpedaling.

        “I mean...like we are now.  You...and me...being...like this.   Just holding each other... if that’s what you want.”

        Huh?   I’m still kind of stuck on the part where she wants me...with her.   I force myself to think back over what she just said.   Oh.   Holding each other.   Right.

        “I want that so much, Willow,” I mean to say my words casually, but somehow, they end up sounding desperate.   I didn’t mean to say it like that...did I?   Funny, but to my own ears, my voice sounds as needy as Willow’s did a minute ago.

        “Angel?” she asks shyly.

        “Hmm?” I mumble.   It’s the best I can do considering that my mind is still hung up on the whole ‘she wants to be with me’ thing.

        “Can I ask you something?”

        “Anything, Willow,” I answer, meaning it with all my unbeating heart.   She could ask me to stake myself right now and I think I would beg her to sharpen the wood for me.

        “Would you...I mean could you...” she falters, wringing her hands in nervousness. “Wouldyoumindtakingoffyourpants?”

        What?  My jaw drops in sheer surprise.

        I can’t believe she...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ... actually said that!

        My face is burning like living flame after you throw the smelly sand on it.   I can’t seem to so much as *look* directly at Angel.   Oh why did I have to go and say something completely stupid like that!

        But the little voice in the back of my head starts whispering to me.   Why exactly do I feel embarrassed?   Maybe because I’m like the only one who’s *naked* around here.

        It’s *so* not fair.   I’ve dreamed about what Angel would look like without his clothes. Buffy’s said a few things over time, letting little factiods and tidbits concerning Angel slip every now and then, and what she’s said has only made me even more interested.   This is my first -- and probably last -- chance to appease my curiosity.

        With my desperate determination overriding my shyness, I bring my eyes up to meet Angel’s.   He answers my request by abruptly lowering his head in what I assume will be a nod. Instead of raising his head back up, though, he leaves it down.

        Angel leans back carefully until his elbows come to rest on the floor.   From there he eases himself the rest of the way to the ground. Bringing his hands to his waist, Angel unfastens the button of his black pants before easing the zipper down.   I’m not sure whether or not he’s moving so slowly on purpose, but if his idea is to drive me crazy with anticipation, it’s working like a charm.

        Unfolding his legs, Angel places his feet flat against the ground.   My heart almost stops as I watch him raise his hips up off the floor, supporting himself with his feet and shoulders in order to keep his hands free.   Digging his fingers into the dark fabric, Angel slides both his pants and his boxers over the swell of his...

        ...oh my God.   Breathe!  Breathe, you idiot before you pass out!

        As usual, I end up overcompensating.   I’m almost panting by the time Angel eases his hips back to the floor.   Another almost-heart attack hits me when Angel’s tight stomach muscles ripple as he sits up to continue the whole clothing removal process.

        He...Wha?...Oh...He is just...beautiful ...handsome...*drool-worthy*...and...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...embarrassed as hell.

        I don’t know why I’m feeling like that. I’ve been with hundreds of partners -- men and women both -- in my two-and-a half centuries as a vampire, but I can’t remember the last time I felt shy undressing in front of one of them.

        So, bottom line is, I can’t figure out why I’m suddenly feeling so self-conscious.

        Willow.  It’s gotta be Willow.   But a single glance at her makes me recall Willow’s state of undress.  That’s not to say that I totally forgot about it -- not when it’s *Willow* lying naked not two feet away from me.   Maybe the hesitation stems from that little voice in the back of my mind screaming at me that this might not be such a good idea.  But I ignore it as I have been since the first moment we kissed.

        Before I realize it, my embarrassment is ebbing away.   More comfortable than before, I lean forward to pull my pants past my feet. Naked as Willow, I pull myself together.   My eyes never leave hers as I ease back, revealing my body to her for the first time.

        Between my own nervousness and the room’s ambient temperature, my erection had softened somewhat.  But if Willow’s gasp and raised eyebrows are any indication, it may not be such a bad thing.   As it is, I’m kind of embarrassed by the open admiration on her face. I mean, I’ve heard and seen enough reactions to know that I’m not half-bad looking, but it’s still difficult to believe when I don’t have the opportunity to judge for myself anymore.

        Except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, Willow is completely motionless.   I’m almost surprised when I realize that I seem to be, too...uh, motionless that is.   Time seems to slow to a stand-still as we both wait for the other to make the first move. Both my instinct and experience, however, tell me that I’m going to have to be the one to do it.

        To my surprise, Willow is one step ahead of me, though.   Shuffling forward, she closes the distance between us, stopping about a foot away from me.   One of her tiny hands rises up, coming to rest just above my right nipple.

        There is an incredible sensuousness in the way her fingers skim down my chest.  Willow’s touch is so light that it almost tickles as she brushes over my cool skin.   Nevertheless, I can feel my nerve-endings come alive with a clarity I haven’t known since I was mortal.    Maybe that’s why I end up growling at the moment when the sensation stops.

        Opening eyes that I didn’t even realize I had closed, I see Willow’s hand hovering over my stomach.   Although I’m frustrated by the halted proceedings, one look at the uncertainty on Willow’s face is enough to give me the strength to clamp down on my own needs -- for a few seconds, anyway.   Forcing myself to keep my voice calm and steady, I practically find myself begging her.

        “It’s okay, Willow,” I reassure.   “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

        There is an internally long moment as she considers my words.   To my surprise, Willow answers my statement with a question of her own.

        “What do *you* want, Angel?” she asks, unable to meet my gaze with her own.

        “Touch me, Willow,” I immediately plead, placing my own desire before any more sensible thoughts.

        That’s all the encouragement she needs in order to bring her hand back down to pick up where she left off.   Her movements are slower this time, perhaps due to the fact that the remainder of my body is undiscovered territory as far as she is concerned.   But, with luck and a prayer, it won’t stay that way for lo...

        ...oh my God!   Finally!   Finally, Willow’s exploration has reached the one place I most wanted her to go.   My back involuntarily arches upward toward the delicate fingers caressing my cock.    Warmth is pouring off her hand like molten lava, leaving me to wonder whether her touch will leave behind a wake of burning, ignited skin.

        A moan escapes my lips as Willow’s fingers curl around my shaft.   There is an understandable tentativeness in her touch at first, but she quickly overcomes it as her familiarity grows.  It’s not long before she gives a few experimental squeezes.  Each one wrings a heartfelt groan out of my throat.

        “Yesss,” I hiss in encouragement.   Using my reactions to her ministrations as a guide, Willow finds the pressure and rhythm that I prefer. “That’s it, that’s...oh yeah...that’s it.”

        The feeling of her thumb running lightly over the tip of my cock just about makes me jump out of my skin.   Somewhere pretty far gone on the journey to euphoria, I’m left growling in frustration when Willow’s hand slows to a stop. She does, however...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...keep moving my thumb.  I’m kinda surprised to feel the moisture accumulated on the tip of his...on the tip of him.   I mean, I know what it is. I’ve just never seen so much of it before. I’ve read that it varies from guy to guy.   I just guess that Oz is a ‘not so much’ guy while Angel is a ‘copious amounts’ kinda person...vampire, whatever.

        I have to admit that I’m fascinated by the texture of it.  Slick and sticky.  Weird.   Kind of like syrup, I guess.   I wonder if it tastes sweet, too...?

        Oh God.

        Oh God.

        OhGodOhGodOhGod.

        I can’t believe I even thought that.   Cringe time!  Oh man, the blush to beat all blushes is crawling up my face.  I’m surprised that I’m not spontaneously combusting here.

        Whoa.  Angel is moving.   What is he doing?  Huh?  His hand is settling over mine -- the one on his...you know.   Although I keep my eyes glued to his, I can feel his dark stare directly on my face.   What is he up to?

        I shiver slightly as Angel’s cool finger runs back and forth along my thumb.   Unfortunately, he doesn’t do it for long, just enough to get me relaxed for when he pushes my thumb out of his way.   What is he...

        ...oh my!   I wasn’t expecting him to run his own finger through the fluid that’s caught my interest, let alone...

        ...Oh My!   And I certainly never would have dreamed that he’d bring the liquid-coated finger to his own lips.   I should be disgusted, right?   But I’m not.  In fact, I’m far from it.  As far from it as I can get.   There’s just something really sexy about watching Angel smear his essence over his own lips.   Even in the dim light of the room, I can see it glistening back at me.

        Angel’s moving again, this time bringing his arms around me.   He tightens his grip, pulling me towards him.  Suddenly I realize that he is about to give me the answer to what I was wondering about a minute ago:  what it...what *he* tastes like.

        Instead of kissing him, I let my tongue wander out, brushing a hesitant lick against the cool, smooth surface of his lips.    Pulling back for a moment, I use the time to sort out what I’m tasting, but I somehow doubt that all the time in the world would help.   I just have nothing to compare it to.   A little salty, almost slippery -- not that ‘slippery’ is a *taste*, but, well, like I said, I don’t know how else to describe it.

        But I do know that I would like to take another try at it.

        I lean forward to close the distance between us.  My mouth is more demanding this time.   Once I clean his lips completely, I press my tongue straight into Angel’s mouth.   I can’t believe my own actions -- I’m never this aggressive, but apparently Angel doesn’t seem to mind.   At least, not if his groans of appreciation are any indication.

        Out of the corner of my eye, I see Angel’s finger approaching his mouth, once more moist and shiny.   To my own embarrassment, I’m way too turned on to even let it reach its intended destination.   Instead, I lean down and capture it between my lips.   It’s only when I start rolling my tongue around his finger that I notice that Angel moans are now accompanied by some pretty intense squirming.   I’m a little confused.  Why is this, of all things getting him so worked up?

        Oooh!  I’m so dense!   And kind of mortified, too.  I’ve never...not even with Oz.   I mean, I know that a lot of people do it, but it just seems so...personal.   Okay, I know, what can be more personal than sex, right?   But *that* is different.   To be so close to someone’s most private parts...

        ...to my own astonishment, sounds kind of intriguing right now.   I mean, this is Angel. *Angel*.   He’s probably had it done to him a million other times.   Oh no!   What if I don’t do it right?  Or if I suck at it?

        I can’t believe I actually just thought that.

        But getting back to original line of thought, here is the perfect opportunity to try this.  Okay, just lean forward.   Maybe some kisses on his chest and stomach, kind of a way of getting to know his body on the way down.   Relax, Angel’s not going to be...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...shocked!

        Oh Mary, Mother ‘o God, she’s actually thinking about...

        ...she’s actually gonna...

        ...she’s actually doing it...

        ...Oh, Sweet *Jesus*!...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...Yes!   See, I can do this!  Okay, granted it was only one lick, but boy did it take longer than I thought it would.   I’m a little confused at first because Angel seems to be a little different than Oz.   It takes me a minute to realize why.  Well, duh!   Two hundred and fifty years ago, only Jewish babies were cut.

        Backing off, I let my hand explore, teaching myself as I go how to do this with a man who has Angel’s... bonus...equipment.   Actually, I’m more than a little surprised to realize it’s mostly the same as any other guy, but that I just need to make sure to slide the extra skin along the shaft the way he seems to like it.   And does he ever seem to like it!   He must, if the heavy drops of...of...pre-come -- there, I actually *thought* it! -- are any indication.

        Now then, where was I before I got distracted?  Oh yeah, somewhere right about...here.   I finish the thought by lowering my head to lick the delicious droplets off of him. Hmm, is it just me, or does he taste even better than he did before?

        Feeling bolder than I have all night, I decide to try something new.   Flicking my tongue over every inch within its reach, I wrap my lips around the tip.   Once I take the head of his shaft into my mouth, I hollow my cheeks and suck very gently.

        Whoa!   Okay, reaction much!   I thought Angel was going to buck himself straight off the floor.   But that’s a good thing, right?   That means I’m doing it correctly.

        I think.

        Only one way to find out.   Pushing my luck, I take another inch of his length into my mouth, and when Angel moans in appreciation, I take another inch after that.  And another. Sensing that I’m about to choke, I back off a bit, and wonder what I’m supposed to do now.

        But Angel is there, ready to show me what I need to know.   He starts easily, gently rocking his hips until I understand just what he has in mind.

I feel his hands come to rest on the back of my head, not forcing me like in some of the horror stories I’ve heard about this act, but rather softly guiding me in my efforts.

        The air is filled with the sounds of his moans and sighs, and that, more than anything else, helps me to relax a little.   To my surprise, I find that the more at ease I am with this, the more of his length I can take.   I guess that’s a good thing since Angel’s thrusts are starting to become more...forceful.  Yet, despite his slipping control, he never pushes me further than I’m willing to go.

        In fact, it would seem that I’m willing to go farther than he is.   Unused to this, my jaw is starting to ache a bit, and my mouth is getting a little dry.   It’s more by accident than by design when I move my tongue in an effort to moisten my parched throat, by Angel almost explodes at the sensation.

        “Ughh!  Yes!  Willow!  Yes!   Please! More!”  he gasps each word in a tone so passionate, it makes *me* squirm with need.

        Taking his pleading to heart, I busy myself by sweeping my tongue from side to side while continuing to bob up and down on his length.   It takes some concentration, but hearing and feeling Angel’s reaction makes it all worthwhile.

        Putting every scrap of stray gossip I’ve ever overheard to good use, I continue to try the things that I’ve never had the courage to do with Oz.  By force of will, I move my hand from its current resting place.   With as light a touch as I can manage, I trace my fingertips along one of Angel’s smooth, muscular thighs.   His shivering reaction quickly ends in a pounding thrust into my mouth as those same fingers brush along the tender sac that has apparently been waiting on my attention.

        All traces of Angel’s gentleness have long since vanished.   To my surprise, I’m sort of happy about it, too.   It seems that I find myself liking the rougher stuff.

        I sneak a glance upward and am I ever glad for it.   I feel a rush of moisture between my legs as I feast my eyes on Angel caught in the throes of passion.   Even with his head thrown back, I can still see that his eyes are tightly closed.   All of his muscles are rippling, from the ones corded up in his neck to the pecs that are almost throbbing as he fights his own impulses to pull my head completely down his engorged length.

        As I continue to bob up and down on him, Angel’s movements get wilder -- more restless, more...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...out of control.

        I can feel the old familiar pressure building as my body races to finish this.   I don’t want to stop -- I don’t want *her* to stop.   Ever.  Her mouth is hotter than sunlight, her tongue like a snake moving to the music of a charmer, and the scent of her desire is driving me to distraction.

        But as good as it is, it’s nothing compared to the sight of that bright red hair shimmering as her head rises and falls over my dick.   That, more than anything else hammers home the knowledge that it’s *Willow* who is about to give me my best orgasm of the century.

        What odd creatures we are, we vampires. Hedonistic to a fault; what we crave, we take. While I may have a soul, even I have a point where I lose control.

        And I knew I was about to cross the line.

        I’m almost there -- the time where the euphoria starts, where balls tighten and the warm tingling begins to build in preparation for the big event.   My steady thrusts into Willow’s mouth are beginning to break down into random pushes with no other purpose than to coast along the wave of pleasure that had already begun.

        And somehow I manage to find the strength to stop.

        I move with all the swiftness my vampire nature has to offer, forcing Willow onto her back before she can even figure out we have moved. Grabbing a milky calf in one hand and a trim ankle in the other I pull her legs apart and dive in to taste the sweetness that I know is waiting for me between them.

        Oh merciful God, she’s wet.   I don’t even need vampirically enhanced night-vision to see her own essence glistening like iridescent dew on her creamy inner thighs.  Is this from her earlier orgasm, or is it her reaction to going down on me? I know without thinking that the answer is the latter, and yet somehow the knowledge leaves me stunned.   I’m having a difficult time adjusting to the fact that underneath that shy, innocent Willow-exterior I’m so used to seeing, rests this sexual hellcat.

        I think I’m in lust.

        Shoving the thought aside, I turn my head and begin lapping the juices that have overflowed onto one of her legs.   A growl escapes me as the taste of her hits my tongue.   It’s like a bitter honey; sweet and salty and uniquely Willow -- and all at the same time.

        And it’s addictive as hell.

        Willow is squirming before I even reach the junction where thigh folds neatly into pelvis.   Like a little kid saving the best part for last, I retreat downward and start the process all over again on her other leg.

        My teasing tongue has only added to Willow’s excitement.   When I finally reach the top this time around I can actually see the proof of her desire as it flows freely from her beckoning slit. Not wanting to waste a single drop, I plunge my tongue in with all the accuracy of an arrow flying straight toward its target.

        My first touch is none-too-gentle, a long sweeping lick along her folds that sends a quiver throughout her entire body.   Encouraged by her reaction, I bring my hands up to open her folds, shivering myself as I take in the perfection that is Willow.  Lying there with her legs -- and sex -- spread open before me, she is the perfect picture of wantonness.

        Finally, I find that I simply can’t wait any longer.   My tongue is relentless as it swirls and circles the entrance to her body.   Willow reacts to my slightest touch, whether out of instinct or Oz’s teachings I’d rather never find out.   Her pleas and sighs are enflaming, though, driving me to drive her higher and higher into pleasure.   It’s a vicious cycle that I can only wish would never end.

        From time to time my nose accidentally brushes up against the most sensitive part of her. Judging by the harshness of her breath each time it happens, the glancing contact drives her crazy. For my part, I love it because I get rewarded for it by an additional outpouring of her juices.

        I could easily stay here forever, my tongue driving deep within the passage I can never allow myself to fully explore.   Her folds are still damp, this time with a combination of her own wetness and my saliva.  Willow is all but grinding herself into my face, blindly seeking the touch necessary to take her where she needs so desperately to go.

        As the moments pass, her passionate moans turn to cries of frustration.   I know that I need to help her, to bring her over the edge before her pleasure turns to pain.   Even now her clit is swollen and throbbing -- which only serves to remind me of my own unsatisfied erection.   But unlike myself, Willow is free to find pleasure in acts such as these; and I’m only too happy to be the one to give it to her.

        Inching closer to the pulsating nub, I give it a single cursory lick just to prepare her for the onslaught to come.   Willow’s cry is a ragged one -- half plea and half demand for more.   I happily oblige her by closing my lips around her clit. Pursing them together, I create a suction around the bundle of nerves while softly fluttering my tongue over it repetitively.

        Willow’s reaction is almost immediate. Bracing...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...my feet on the floor, my hips shoot up of their own volition and stay there.    My thighs are tense to the point of cramping, but I could care less.   In fact I don’t care about anything at this point except making sure that Angel *never* ever stops whatever magic he is working on my body.

        I can feel it the moment it starts -- the warmness that seems to begin somewhere in the pit of my stomach.   Like the shock wave of an explosion, it travels outward almost faster than my nervous system can register until it settles straight where Angel’s mouth is.

        When it finally happens, I feel like I’m breaking apart.   Wave after wave of pleasure is hitting me but without a beginning or an end.   It’s like climbing to the top of the next pennacle without ever reaching the peak of the first one. My body is throbbing all over, my head tossing from side to side as my hands scramble uselessly for something to hold on to.   In the back of my mind I realize that I’m on my tiptoes, using the extra leverage to press myself even harder against Angel’s face.

        I want to beg him to keep going, to make this last forever, but the air is already thick with noise.   It takes a few seconds for me to realize that the sounds are my own wordless cries of ecstasy.   They must be all Angel needs to hear because he doesn’t even slow down, making a few pleasure-filled moans of his own as I continue to come and come some more.

        Then the strangest thing happens to me. Angel is still...licking me, a bit more gently than before, but it doesn’t feel as good as it did a minute ago.  In fact, it’s almost...too much. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m burying my fingers deep in hair, clenching them a little to urge him...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...upward.  Willow is quite insistent, so I allow her to lead me where she wants me to go.

         I end up completely on top of her.  In fact, I’m still trying to get myself settled without putting my full weight on her as those petal-soft lips affix themselves to my neck.   The roll of her tongue against my Adam’s apple almost turns my arms to jelly.   As it is, I end up crashing down directly on top of her.

        Willow clutches me tightly before I get the chance to pry myself up, which brings me to a whole new set of problems.   Now, not only are we back to being chest-to-chest, but without the protective layers of our clothes, my cock is pressed directly into the moist warmth of her sex.    The thought alone almost causes me to vamp out.

        What is that expression?  ‘Lead me not into temptation -- I’ll find it myself, thank you’.

        Well, shit.

        Control.   I have to find my control.

        The first thing I have to do is to get Willow to stop fanning the flames.    Working toward that end, I force myself to pull my head away from her amazing mouth.   Willow’s hands are still clutching me against her, so I can’t go too far, though.

        Not that I mind.

        But the separation proves to be enough, at least for the time being.    After I manage to suppress my baser instincts, I find myself unable to resist running the length of my cock against her hot, moist slit.   The gentle teasing makes Willow groan.   As a reward, I lower my head and brush my lips against hers.   We exchange a few easy kisses, but...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...as good as Angel’s kisses feel, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re on a rug on the floor -- a very hard, very stone floor at that.   I know he doesn’t mean to, but Angel’s weight is pressing me into the unforgiving concrete.    I squirm a little, hoping to find a more comfortable position, but my movement has a *very* unexpected side effect. Because as soon as I shift, I feel the very tip of Angel’s...of Angel...accidentally slide shallowly into the entrance of my body.

        Time seems to come to a standstill as we both freeze into place.   For some reason, I get a mental image of a perfectly balanced playground see-saw.   I can feel that Angel’s position in me is extremely tenuous.  Not surprising because it’s probably less than an inch of his length inside.  If either one of us so much as twitches in the wrong direction, he will slip completely out of me.  And yet, at the same time, he can’t exactly ‘accidentally’ slide further in, either.

        Which is exactly what my heart and body are screaming to happen.

        This mental picture comes to me -- one where I’m standing on the edge of a cliff almost ready to fall.   The problem I have, though, is that a part of me *really* wants to jump over the edge. Deep down I know this is wrong, that we shouldn’t be here doing this.   God forgive me, but I just don’t care.

        I want this.   More than anything I can ever remember wanting.

        Maybe that’s why I squirm ever so slightly, and end up with Angel’s length...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...pistoning straight into her waiting passage.

        Oh Jesus.   Oh sweet Jesus.

        “Don’t move!” I growl, using the weight of my upper body to pin Willow out of sheer desperation.

        I can feel her inner muscles spasming as they try to accommodate my sudden intrusion. That alone is pushing me over the edge.    If she so much as moves, this is all going to be done even before it starts.

        She’s so hot.   And tight -- tighter than Buffy -- which surprises me.   Buffy was a virgin, Willow obviously is not.

        That’s when it hits me.  I’m *in* Willow. I’m a part of her in a way I never even dared to dream of...

        ...dream.   Oh God!   What am I doing? What are we doing?   Buffy...Oz...we shouldn’t...the curse...oh shit!!  The curse!!

        I have to end this.   I have no choice.

        Bracing my weight on my arms, I move my hips.   The feeling as I slide my hard cock slowly out of Willow’s wet warmth makes both of us groan.    I’m almost completely out of her when I make the mistake of looking her directly in the eye...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        “Please,” I beg him.   Maybe it’s the deep, mournful look of regret I see in his eyes, but somehow I know that he’s about to pull himself out of me entirely.

        “Please, Angel,” I plead in a choked whisper.

        It must have some effect on him, because he stops moving entirely.   I can read the turmoil in his expression, Angel’s inner conflict over doing what he wants to do and doing what’s right.   The dark head shakes once as I feel his muscles tense. That’s it then, he’s made his choice and it’s ov...

        ...ooooooh, I moan as he sinks deeply into me.

        Again.

        And again.

        His strokes are long, wringing sounds out of me that I never realized I was capable of making.   Each thrust is slow and precise and perfectly timed so he rubs against my clit as soon as he’s in me as far as he can go.

        And it’s driving me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...crazy.

        I doubt that she even knows she’s doing it, but Willow’s hips are matching me thrust for thrust.   Just to keep her off-balance, I abandon my slow, careful thrusts for a series of pounding, rapid ones.   Willow’s reaction is immediate -- her nails dig deeply into the skin of my back as she struggles to keep up with my change of pace. Once she adjusts, I revert back to the lazier thrusts that we started with.

        Fast, then slow, then fast again -- only without any indication of when the switch will happen.   There is a certain logic for changing the rhythm like this.   The quicker, harder strokes stimulate her clit while the slower ones allow me -- or by extension, my cock -- to tease what they refer to these days as her g-spot.   Judging by the spasms of her interior muscles, I think it’s safe to say that I’m successfully driving her as insane as she has been doing to me since the first moment we kissed.

        I’m about to speed up my thrusts again when one of Willow’s tiny hands clamps down on my ass with all the force of a Morah demon.    It doesn’t take much effort on my part to break free of her grip, though, which is exactly what I do. My hips are rocking faster than *I* ever dreamed possible, determined to give Willow everything that I can.  Tiny shudders are coursing through her body, heralding the orgasm that we both know is about to overtake her.

        When she comes, Willow lets out a yell that echoes throughout the emptiness of the room. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s my name that she’s cried out and that, more than anything else, sends me right to the precipice.   It’s all I can do to keep from coming right along with her.

        That’s when I freeze.

        Oh God, what am I doing?   The curse!   I was thinking about the curse!   How could I have forgotten...well, Willow is certainly enough of a distraction.

        I raise my head, my eyes uselessly wandering around the room as I search for something -- *anything* -- to provide a distraction from the heaven that is making love to Willow. Purely by accident, I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the thing could be the answer to my problem.

        “Willow,” I whisper, resuming my thrusts into her demanding body.   Even to my own ears, my voice is low, made sultry by our present actions.   When she doesn’t respond right away, I call her name again, this time in a more forceful tone.   Her movements still as she finally realizes that I’m calling for her attention.   “Wrap your legs around me,” I instruct before I seal our mouths together in a searing kiss.

        As soon as she does so, I cradle her buttocks in my hands.  I shift her slight weight with ease, picking her directly up off the floor. Willow helps a little by coiling her arms around the back of my neck.   My lips never leave hers as I move us both across the room.   It’s tricky, but with a little care, I manage to keep my cock from slipping out of her during the process.   Somehow, I get the impression that Willow isn’t even aware that we’ve moved at all.

        In reality, it’s only fifteen or so paces to our destination.   My mind, however, is on other things at the moment -- like how incredible it feels to actually be inside her.   Maybe that’s why it seems like an eternity before Willow’s back hits the wall of the mansion’s living room.

        A small, gasping breath moves from her mouth to mine as she brushes up against the cold, stone surface.   I pivot quickly, though, reversing our positions before I begin lowering our still-entwined bodies to the floor.   Only when we are safely there does Willow relax her arms and legs.

        She is quick to find a position so that we can continue with our love making.   We end up sitting upright, her thighs draped over mine. Willow’s palms are pressed flat against the floor behind her to give her the leverage she needs to move her body, a task she wastes no time resuming.

        Normally, I like the freedom that’s inherent in this position.   It opens both upper bodies to exploring hands and -- with a great deal of leaning forward -- roving lips and mouths.   That’s not to mention the fact that it leaves most of the work up to Willow.

        Not that she seems to mind.

        Willow is roughly pressing her pelvis up against mine, taking as much of my cock as she can with each pounding thrust.   God, I love it.   I love the extra pressure against my dick as it sinks deeply into her waiting depths.   I love the slight distance between us that allows me to see her face so clearly.   I love watching her rosebud-tight nipples sway tantalizingly with every move that she makes.

        As much as I love everything about this act, I don’t forget that we are over here for a purpose.    Grabbing a hold of one of the chains mounted deeply into the wall, I press one of my wrists into the cuff and close the locking mechanism.

        The distinctive ‘clink’ of metal on metal attracts Willow’s attention.   Her movements slow as she tries to make sense of what is going on here.

        “What’re you doing?” she asks in a voice made sultry by our activities.

        “Protecting both of us,” I answer in a tone that’s all business.

        “What?!?”...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...I squeak.

        “You...you can’t...you shouldn’t....have to.”

        “But I do,” Angel says with an air of finality.   Boy, and I thought I had the ‘resolve face’.

        “Angel...” I whisper.   For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’m fighting this so much. I mean, I know better than almost anyone the foolishness of ignoring his curse.

        “Either you chain my other hand or this stops right now.” The way Angel says the words, I know that it’s a threat, not an idle promise.

        Swallowing hard, I nod my agreement and reach out to snap the second metal cuff in place. I feel stupid as I balance myself directly on his crotch, but I’m terrified that if I lift off of him for even a moment, he won’t let this thing between us continue.   To make matters worse, I find that I can’t seem to look Angel in the eye, which -- of course -- he notices.

        “Will,” he says softly, some of his earlier tenderness returning to his voice.   “If something...happens, there’s a copy of the spell and all the supplies you’ll need in the top drawer of the night table in my bedroom.”

        “O...okay,” I whisper, leaning forward to hide my face against the cool but sweaty surface of his neck.

        But Angel will have none of it.   Instead he leans down and takes my lips prisoner in a deep, hungry kiss.   Once he has ravished my mouth, his tongue makes a scenic journey to my ear.

        “Now then,” he starts in a breathy whisper that raises gooseflesh all over my body.   “Where were we?”

        Getting back in the mood, I lean forward and nibble on his neck.

        “Right about here, I think.”  Even I’m surprised at my own boldness, but any embarrassment quickly fades as I lock my arms and slide myself as far down onto Angel as I can go.

        He rewards me with a hiss of pure pleasure, which I make him repeat...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...over and over again she slams herself down on my cock.   Her rhythm is slowly increasing, leading us both to where we’re longing to go.   And yet I get the feeling that something is wrong.

        Despite my recent drought in the lovemaking department, I still have centuries of experience to call upon.   That’s how I know that Willow is...stuck...as in not getting enough stimulation to reach another climax.  I, on the other hand, am straining to hold back my own.

        I refuse to come without her.

        Opening my eyes proves to be an almost fatal mistake.  To see Willow, eyes closed, head thrown back in reckless abandon as she moves over me almost sends me over the edge.  It doesn’t help matters that I’ve been so hard so long that my erection is starting to get painful.

        My gaze drifts downward of its own volition, coming to rest on the sight of her breasts swaying with her movements.    These fucking restraints keep me from leaning forward to suckle her rock-hard nipples, which are beckoning me like some biblical forbidden fruit.

        Another groan escapes me as I continue to meet her every thrust.   C’mon, Will.   I’m not gonna be able to hold out much longer.   You’ve got to help me...

        “Touch yourself, Willow,” I command. My words come out more as a growl than anything else.   I’m hard pressed as it is to keep my human-appearance from slipping into my demonic one.

        “Wha..?” Willow gasps, her eyes flying open as my words penetrate the sensual haze surrounding us.

        “Touch yourself,” I repeat, my eyes boring into hers.   There is no mistaking the blush that creeps onto her cheeks for the flush of sexual arousal.   I can’t help but get a little annoyed over her sense of propriety.   Here we are, her riding me like a jockey on a thoroughbred, and she’s embarrassed by a simple request?  I don’t think so.

        “Do it.”

        I say the words flatly, without raising my voice, without letting the demon put in an appearance.   It’s just me...and my determination. I’m barely aware that our movements have slowed slightly because of this distraction.   Good, it’s the only thing that going to keep me from exploding. Nevertheless, I continue staring into the burning green of her eyes as Willow makes her decision.

        Finally, I feel her adjust slightly, switching her weight over to her other arm. Slowly...painfully slowly, I watch with rapt fascination as Willow’s now-free hand moves up from the carpet.   Her eyes break away from mine and stay gone, looking anywhere else but at me. That’s fine, though, because it frees me up to watch as her hand hesitantly comes to rest on her thigh.

        It’s almost like watching that slow motion stuff on television.   Our movements come to a complete standstill as she acquiesces to my demand.   I’m not sure whether I’m frustrated, enchanted or aroused by the way her fingers slowly creep up her leg.   All I know is that it turns me on so much that the part of me that is buried within her twitches in anticipation.

        I see her pause right as her hand reaches the red thatch of hair.   Sensing her eyes on me for the first time since I made my request, I glance upward.   My encouraging eyes meet hers, and I do my best to communicate my reassurance -- and insistence -- that she should continue.

        Finally, Willow seems to reach a decision. I feel more than see the movement as her right hand grazes over the coarse hair of our lower bodies.   My eyes never leave hers as I sense the first, hesitant touch on the place where our bodies are joined together.

        Willow’s first touch is hesitant, almost as if she’s afraid of her own body.    I’m not overly surprised by it, though.    In spite of the turn of events tonight, this is still *Willow* after all.

        “Pinch it,” I instruct gently, not wanting to scare her already tenuous acceptance of my demands.

        There is a moment’s pause as she comes to terms with what I’m asking her to do, but finally she gives in.   I can feel her eyes on me, watching me as I watch her comply with my request. Placing her fingertips around the tiny hood, Willow carefully squeezes the bundle of nerves hidden within.

        Almost as soon as she does, her inner muscles clench so tightly they almost squeeze my cock entirely out of her sheath.  Willow, however, grinds her hips down on me, making damn sure that my dick isn’t going anywhere but straight back into her moist depths.

        God above, she feels so good around me. Her interior muscles are squeezing me like a velvet-gloved hand as they take me to a level that I haven’t visited in well over a hundred years.  I’ve missed this more than I knew -- feeling the connection that two people have when they share their bodies with one another.

        She’s close now; I can feel it.   Her thrusts are becoming sporadic, almost as if maintaining a pace is no longer as important as the pleasure that is already underway.   She’s stop pinching herself, preferring steady brushes of a solitary fingertip.

        Wrapping my hands around the chain that bind me, I hold on for dear unlife as I pick up the rhythm that she has abandoned.   My thrusts are short and fast but nevertheless deep, insuring that Willow will reach her intended destination.   What I wouldn’t give to have the use of my hands right now, to roll her under me and pound into her until she cried out for mercy.

        “Angel,” she gasps in between her harsh, panting breaths.   “I’m...close...I’m...gonna...”

        “Yes,” I encourage her, “that’s it.   Let it come, Will.   Let me make you come.”

        “Aaaannngeeeeel!” she screams.   The sound of her voice wavers, interrupted by staccato rushes of air my hard stroking forces out of her. She is throbbing around me like nothing I’ve ever felt before, her tight passage milking my cock for all its worth until I just can’t take anymore.

        My own muscles strain to the breaking point as I throw my head back against the wall. To my horror, I can’t keep my face from changing into my true appearance.   My lapse of control frightens the hell out of me, but even that is not enough to stop the chain reaction happening below my waistline.   It takes all of my considerable control to hold myself back from sinking my fangs into her neck, because right at that moment, I am...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...coming.   He’s coming...with me...in me.

        I can actually feel each twitching pulse as he pours himself into me.   With each one, a deep, earthy, passion-filled grunt escapes his throat. There are seven of them in total, each one marking the transfer of his essence into me.

        In me.

        Even as I shudder spasmodically in the aftermath of my own powerful explosion, I notice a recurring theme in my thought patterns.

        In me.  Angel came *in* me.   It’s a first for me -- unprotected sex.   That is, unless I count the chains binding Angel to the wall.   The handful of times I’ve done this with Oz, we’ve always used condoms -- along with the birth control pills I’ve been taking faithfully.    Hey, I believe in being thorough.  And we can’t be too careful.   Eighteen is way too young to switch from shopping at Contempo to buying at Motherwear.

        But back at my original thought, I’ve never felt somebody *actually* do...that...in me before. And boy did he ever!   I can already feel his semen overflowing out of me.   Somehow, though, knowing that I have it inside of me makes me feel closer to Angel in a weird way.

        Needing to express my newly-discovered feelings, I adjust my position so that I can lean forward.   As I do, Angel shifts from his ‘game face’ to the ‘normal’, gorgeous exterior that I prefer.  Our bodies kind of slide against each other, the sheen of perspiration covering me making us both slick and slippery.    Angel’s muscles are randomly twitching, including the one that is still buried deep within me.    I giggle each time I feel it jump inside, but Angel simply smiles and shrugs.    I manage to hang on, though, far enough forward to press my lips against his and kiss him with all the hunger that still remains within me.

        At first Angel matches me kiss for kiss, but as the minutes pass, our ardor fades into comfort.  Eventually, even the soft, easy kisses fade into something else entirely:  uncertainty.

        I guess it’s time to figure out what we’re...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...gonna do next.

(Epilogue)

        I wish I could say that Willow and I spent the next couple of hours holding and cuddling each other like lovers often do.

        But that wasn’t the case.

        There was little I could do when gravity forced my softened organ to slide out of its warm haven.   Willow and I both sighed at the separation, knowing the finality of the moment. With one last, tender kiss, my new lover lifted herself off of my lap.  She didn’t go far, though, leaving only a few feet of minimum safe distance between us.

        It was at that point that reality came crashing down upon us.   With the sexual veil that had held us so spellbound effectively over, all that remained were Willow, myself and about a thousand recriminations.   The question that was obviously on both our minds was:  Just how in the hell did this happen?

        I guess Willow’s conscience was harder on her than mine was on me.   Then again, I was going through my own special version of Hell, worrying whether or not I was going to lose my soul again.   Watching Willow, though; well, it helped to distract me -- a little bit at any rate.

        Her skin was about the same colour as her hair when she rose rather unsteadily to her feet. I have to admit that I knew a true moment of fear that she would run out and leave me -- quite literally -- hanging where I was.   I should, however, have known better.

        I was afforded a nice view of her ass as she leaned over to blindly grab for one of our abandoned articles of clothing to cover herself. I say ‘blindly’ because as it happened Willow had picked up my grey pullover by accident.   She donned it anyway as she crossed the expansive living area only to disappear into my bedroom.

        Despite my guilt over what I -- we -- had just done, I couldn’t help but think about how sexy Willow looked as she walked.   My shirt was enormous on her, hanging down to the midway point of her shapely thighs.    And the way the material draped casually over the slight swell of her bottom -- well, let’s just say I doubted that particular shirt *ever* looked so good on me.

        Willow returned quickly, no doubt terrified that the happiness clause of my curse might have invoked itself during her absence.   I could see that she was nervously fingering the ornate box in which I keep the spell and all the ingredients that it requires.   I hastened to reassure her that I was still the Angel part of myself, all the while trying to keep my own barely surpressed terror of losing my soul out of my voice.    Not surprisingly, she doubted the fact at first, using her keen intellect to out-think herself on the matter.

        “How do I know that you didn’t just change into Angelus, and now you’re playing a waiting game so you can kill me when I unlock the chains?” Willow asked suspiciously.

        “Trust me, you’ll know,” I retorted, a grim expression coming to my face.   “I couldn’t stop screaming the last time it happened.”

        There was little Willow could say after that, so we sat there not speaking to each other for about fifteen minutes.   Usually, I don’t mind the quiet, but when it comes from Willow -- who could get a *wall* to talk back to her after a few minutes of idle conversation -- it’s just simply unnatural.   So says the guy who is the *walking undead*.

        Finally, I guess the oppressiveness of the silence just became too much for her.

        “Are you cold...or hungry...or anything?” she questioned me with nervous shyness.

        Actually, I was both.   I’d been on my way home with take-out when I stumbled across Willow crying on the floor.   Add to that the fact that I had just burned a lot of blood with our...physical endeavors.   As for being cold, I wasn’t, in all truth, but sitting there bare-assed naked on a stone floor was getting a tad bit drafty...and embarrassing.

        Saying yes to both of her questions, I talked Willow through the directions on where to find the bag of blood I’d stashed outside.   Even with my near perfect memory, I had to struggle to recall the exact location of where I’d left the bag. It’s funny how easily one’s sense of passing time can get messed up when there is sufficient distraction.   While I had returned to the mansion only about ninety minutes or so prior to that point, my internal clock seemed to believe that it was much later than it actually was.

        When Willow come back from the garden, she made a momentary detour back into my bedroom.   From there she emerged with both the bag of blood and a comforter from my neatly-made bed, which I had been planning to leave behind. Dropping the bag on the floor, Willow approached me slowly -- whether out of shyness or caution, I guess I’ll never know.

        I felt something stir in me as she tenderly draped the blanket over -- and with a little maneuvering on both our parts -- under me as well.   It wasn’t *that* kind of stir, though.  In fact, it was a certain kind of gentleness, like I wasn’t just being wrapped in a blanket but with Willow’s unique and special way of caring for those whom she loves most.

        I was taken totally by surprise by my realization.   I kept asking myself:  Could it be true?   Did Willow honestly consider me as somebody she cared about?

        It seemed like a stupid question when I considered what we had just done together.    I mean, I know better than most  how meaningless sex can be -- mindless copulation for one’s own personal pleasure.   Yet, I knew that what had happened between Willow and me was hardly meaningless to either of us.   For one thing, she just wasn’t the kind of girl that casually slept around with her acquaintances.    Which brought me back to my original line of thought:  Why? Why did we do this?

        Instead of answering my own question, I had only created new ones.   I was so distracted by my pondering that I didn't get squeamish about feeding in front of her.  Hell, I didn’t even realize that I *was* feeding from the little plastic container that Willow patiently held for me until she said something about it.

        “Angel?” she questioned.

        “Hmm?” I answered.   It was at that point I became aware of what was happening -- and extremely self-conscious of it.

        “Maybe this is none of my business, and if it isn’t please just say so.   I don’t mean to ask you something too personal or anything...”

        “Will?” I politely interrupted, trying to get her to *ask* the question before she offered her apologies.

        “Huh?” Willow looked confused for a moment.  “Oh!  The question, right?   I was just wondering...I mean...I guess I always assumed... what I mean is...why aren’t you all ‘grrr’ right now?”

        I couldn’t help it.  I just starting laughing.   After all that lead up, I couldn’t help being amused over hearing her ask such a simple question.

        The only problem was that once I started chuckling, I couldn’t seem to stop.   Willow’s expressions were adding fuel to the fire, as well. From confusion to embarrassment, then on to amazement and pride; after a while, a small smile appeared on her face as well.

        “What are you smiling about?” I managed to get out after I finally started to settle down again.

        “You,” she responded without fanfare, setting the container of blood on the floor out of harm’s way.

        “Me?”

        “You,” Willow confirmed, her green eyes dancing with merriment.   “I’ve never seen you laugh like that before.    It’s really...nice.”

        “Despite popular opinion, I do have a sense of humor, you know,” I defended, but not in an accusatory way.

        “I know,” Willow smiled.   “I’ve known that ever since that night you came to my room for help with the whole Ford-thing.   Do you remember that night?”

        “Like it was yesterday...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ...And so it began.

        The conversation between Angel and me began flowing freely after that.   Memories -- both good and bad -- were our main topic of discussion. We talked about everything, I think.    From our successes in battling the forces of evil to some of the more scary near-defeats that we managed to get ourselves out of.   Nothing was left out.

        Except for what had happened between us earlier that night.   Neither of us seemed ready to talk about it, so we both just avoided it.

        I learned a lot about Angel in those few short hours -- more than I had discovered in the three years we’d known each other.    It was fascinating to hear about events we’d lived through from his perspective.    While I always knew that he fretted constantly about Buffy’s safety, I never realized that he also worried about the rest of us, too.

        All these years, he had been watching over Giles, Xander and me like a typical guardian angel. It was almost three in the morning when I finally managed to pull that particular truth out of him. The stories came then.   Tales of the countless nights Angel followed us to our respective houses to make sure that we reached them safely.    From time to time he had even quietly dispatched a few vampires and other nasties that showed an unhealthy interest in making us their dinner d’jour.

        It was that last quiet, reluctant admission that scared me most of all.

        Maybe it was learning how close I had come to death without even being aware of it, but I suddenly felt the urge to hug Angel.   I wanted...*needed* to be near him, to let him protect me that one last time.

        I actually thought it out before I moved. I figured that if I stayed low enough, there was no way he could attack me even if he ‘turned to the dark side again.’   Following through, I scooted closer to Angel, pressing my body along the length of his leg.    Before he could chastise me, I leaned over, resting my head gently on one of his thighs. I felt the muscles in his leg go tense at first, and I sensed that he was about to tell me not to get so close to him.

        I wasn’t about to leave, though.    Even with his arms suspended by the thick metal chains, I still felt safe -- protected by my own Guardian Angel.

        “Thank you,” I whispered softly.    “Thank you for looking out for me, for watching over me all this time.”

        For the longest time Angel said nothing. The only sign I received that he had heard me at all was the eventual relaxing of the rock-hard muscle under the blanket my face was resting upon. When I realized that Angel seemed to be okay with the situation, I sighed a little breath of relief and snuggled a little deeper against his leg.

        I was teetering on the verge of sleep when I heard it, a soft whisper that matched my own of a few minutes earlier.

        “You’re welcome, Will.”

        Smiling in contentment, I finally allowed myself to fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        ‘It’s always darkest before the dawn’ -- or so the saying goes.     I’d been walking the streets enough nights to know that it’s true.   There’s something mystical about that final hour before the first hint of the sunrise makes an appearance. Usually, that hour is the loneliest of all for me. With the sky as dark as pitch and that unique scent of night itself in the air, that last hour is my private time to think, to ponder, and most of all, to regret.

        But my thoughts that night I spent with Willow were remarkably regret-free.

        I spent that hour doing nothing more than staring at the miracle that slept so peacefully against my leg.   For once, my normally non-stop mind was completely at rest.   Don’t get me wrong.  I knew that there were still a great number of things to worry over, but somehow I managed to keep them held back for a short time.

        Reluctant to disturb Willow’s slumber, I let her sleep long after the sun rose.    Tired myself and reasonably sure that our actions weren’t going to have any Angelus-type consequences, I dozed on and off, too.

        My dreams that night were unusually pleasant.   In my sleep I found myself making love to Willow all over again.    My sub-subconscious worked overtime, allowing me to love Willow on a sun-lit bed, without the chains and remorse that tainted the real-life experience.   I even had one dream where I prostrated myself to her, bowing down and kissing her feet as I thanked her for allowing me to make amends for restoring my soul.

        I woke with a start from that last one. Willow didn’t seem disturbed by the way my body jerked in reaction.   I knew she’d awakened a few times during the day, either to go to the bathroom or to get herself some water out of the otherwise empty kitchen.   Not certain that I wanted to spoil the peacefulness that had settled between us, I feigned sleep whenever she rose.   Each time, I prayed that she wouldn’t grab her clothes and slip out into the daylight, but Willow didn’t do that at all.   Instead, she did her best to quietly creep back toward me, resuming her endearing place on my leg.   As the hours passed by all too quickly, I let her sleep.    I spent that time staring at the wonder that was Willow and trying to search for the hidden meanings in the dream-images my mind had provided.

        Willow slept straight through the day from about noon onward, waking for real shortly before sunset.   I watched her eyes grow wide with confusion and shock as her gaze fell upon me. After a long moment, she seemed to regain her memory of the previous night and all it entailed.  I figuratively held my breath as I anxiously awaited her reaction.

        “A...Angel?” she questioned.   It took me a moment to realize she was still uncertain whether I was myself or Angelus.

        “It’s me, Will.   It’s really me,” I rushed to reassure her.

        I could have sworn my heart actually beat for a second when I saw her smile at me.

        It was okay.   *We* were going to be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        I set Angel free right after that.   Okay, I know it was horribly wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling at the way his newly-released -- and completely numb -- arms fell uselessly to his sides.   They way they hung there like a limp... well...let’s just say it was pretty darned amusing.

        It’s a good thing that he remained seated until he was able to move his arms again, otherwise he couldn’t have held the sheet over himself like he ended up doing when he finally stood.   To be totally honest, I’m not sure I was ready to deal with a naked Angel in the daytime, well if the last few minutes before sunset could really be considered ‘daytime’.    I guess they are, especially if you’re a vampire.   Of course my little tangent thoughts didn’t stop me from sneaking a peak as he leaned forward and back in order to stretch some of the sleep-tension out of his muscles.

        When he finished, Angel took a step, crossing the short distance that separated us.   I felt a moment of pure nervousness, uncertain what his intentions were.   I shouldn’t have worried, though.

        Using one hand to clutch the thick blanket to his waist, he reached out and pulled me into an embrace with his free arm.   Relieved that everything seemed to be okay, I wrapped both my arms around his waist and held on for dear life.

        We stood that way until Angel shifted to press his lips against my forehead in a slow kiss. Somewhere in the middle of it, I felt his arm pull me even closer to him.   It took me by surprise, to say the least.   Maybe it was because it felt so final...

        That’s when I knew.

        “You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?”  I asked, already well-aware of the answer.

        “Yes,” he confirmed simply.   Although he relaxed his ferocious grip, our arms remained wrapped around each other.  It seemed that neither of us was ready to let go just yet.   “I have to go tonight.   I have an appointment with a landlord. He’s meeting me at nine o’clock to sign the lease on the new place where I’m going to be staying.”

        “Oh.”  It was all I could think of to say.

        We held each other for a long time after that.  Despite what we’d done the night before, there was nothing sexual about our embrace -- just two friends taking comfort from each other.   We ended up staying that way until the shadows lengthened and the sun completed its nightly slide over the horizon.

        I was the one who finally pulled away first.

        “I’d better get going.   You’re going to have to get a move on if you’re going to make that appointment,” I warned as I turned away and began sorting through the various clothing on the floor.   Finding my skirt, I kept my back to Angel, using the opportunity to surreptitiously wipe a tear from my eye.

        “If you wait a few minutes, I’ll drive you home,” Angel offered with honest graciousness.

        “Drive?” I questioned.   In the past three years, I never realized that Angel even knew how to drive, let alone that he had a car.   I guess it was because he always seemed to walk wherever he was going.

        “Yes,” he confirmed with a smirk. “Believe it or not, I can drive.   I’ll even be happy to demonstrate if you’ll just give me a minute to shower first.   It’s dark out already, and I’d rather you not walk out there alone,” he added more seriously.

        “For old time’s sake?”  I teased, thinking back to what Angel told me the night before about secretly protecting me.

        “For old time’s sake,” he agree with a smile before he turned and headed for the bathroom.   “I’ll be back in a second.”

        My eyes were glued to the sleek muscles of his bared back as he left.   Just the sight of it gave me flashbacks to the night before, which was odd, because I don’t think I ever *saw* his back...

        ...Oh God.

        Oh God!

        It was then that it hit me.   All the naughty thoughts I had just experienced brought back the reality of what had happened between us the night before.   I tried to keep my mind off of it by sorting through the clothes on the floor and putting those that were mine back on where they belonged.

        Angel.   I slept with Angel.   I had *sex* with Angel.

        Oh God.

        By the time I finished dressing, I was a nervous wreck.  Thoughts of Oz and Buffy were free-wheeling in my mind.   Guilt, consequences and embarrassment were dancing like sugarplums all in my head.

        Oz.  Oh God!  I had cheated on him... *again*.  And not only that, but I had done it with my best-friend’s boyfriend.   Okay, maybe not boyfriend anymore, but definitely her soulmate. Oh God.   That’s even worse.   It’s like getting double-billed on my bad-karma account...

        I couldn’t help but jump when I unexpectedly felt something grab me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        As soon as I emerged from the bedroom, I knew what was happening.   Willow was fluttering about the room like a madwoman.   It was as if somebody had found a switch labeled ‘hyper’ in her head and flipped it on.    And I do mean full-blown panic.

        I hurried over to her, grabbing her arm to gain her attention.   She nearly jumped out of her skin when I did, her eyes going wide with surprise.

        “Willow?” I asked, worried by seeing her so out of sorts.  “Willow, calm down.   Tell me what’s wrong.   Please.”   When that didn’t work, I pulled her into a hug.

        “Angel?” she asked timidly after a minute or so had passed.

        “I’m here,” I answered, leaning back to look in her eyes.   Some of the borderline hysteria was gone, but she still seemed afraid.  No, not afraid.   Guilty.    Her expression was guilty.

        Damn.

        “Please don’t regret what happened last night, Willow,” I requested earnestly.   “Because if you do, I might start regretting it, too, and that’s not how I want to remember it.”

        “I...” Willow began, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.   Removing a hand from one of her arms, I brought it up to push a red strand of hair back behind one of her ears as I spoke.

        “Last night was unexpected,” I confirmed, but quickly continued on, “it was unexpected, and beautiful, and wonderful, and magical.”  She blushed prettily, and I couldn’t stop myself from running the backs of my fingers along her reddened cheek.  “Making love with you was amazing, Willow.   But that wasn’t the only thing that I want to remember about last night.   I want to remember talking to you, seeing the world through your eyes.  I want to remember watching you as you slept and how you looked when you woke up.   I want to remember you laughing and the sexy way that you answered when I asked you where we had left off.   I always wondered how much fire was inside you, Willow; but I *never* thought -- never even dared to hope -- that I’d ever get the chance to find out.”

        “You...wondered...about *me*?” she squeaked.

        “You’re a beautiful girl, Willow,” I explained, my tone announcing my belief that I was stating obvious.   “And yes, I did think about what it would be like to be with you like that.”

        “Wow,” Willow said, her surprise making her speechless.  After a few moments, her eyes dropped to the floor, and she mumbled something that knocked me for a loop.

        “And I thought I was the only one.”

        What?   She couldn’t...she...was she talking about me?   From the way she scuffed at the floor with the toe of one of her shoes, I knew it to be true.   All this time, Willow had wondered what it would be like to be with me?   Irony, you wound me so.

        I just threw back my head and laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        We left the mansion shortly after we both stopped laughing.   Once I’d seen the humor in our situation, my reaction was similar to Angel’s. Sides aching and eyes tearing over, we finally managed to pull ourselves together enough to head for Angel’s car.

        Somehow, the huge black convertible seemed strangely appropriate for him.   Sleek, dark, and larger than life.   I guess I’m starting to understand that expression that they say about a man and his vehicle.   Well, not really, but I’m sure I’ll get it eventually.

        To my surprise, Angel was a good driver. Granted, I probably would have felt safer if he wouldn’t have kept stealing glances in my direction.   I kept wanting to tell him: ‘Eyes on the road!  Eyes on the road!’

        About halfway through the trip, we came to a stop at a red light.   Angel turned to me then, his hands gripping and releasing the steering wheel in a nervous manner.   I wasn’t sure if I should ask him whether or not something was wrong.   The light going back to green kind of took the matter out of my hands, anyway.

        “I...uh...,” Angel started slowly.   I swore I saw the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “I wanted to...warn you...that it...well, it might be a good idea to...well...avoid Oz for the next couple of days.”

        “What!?” I wasn’t sure whether I should be touched or outraged by his request.

        “No!  I didn’t mean...that is...I just wanted...”  Angel gave up for a minute, trying to find the words he wanted.  “It’s just that...my scent is on you.”

        “Huh?” That’s me, eloquent-girl.

        “My scent...our scents...they’re all over us, and I don’t want what happened with us to cause you any problems with him.”

        “Oh.”

        “Even if you shower, he’ll probably still be able to pick up on it.   I know that you love him, Willow, and I know that you had some problems before, and I just don’t want to cause you any more of them...”

        “Angel,” I interrupted, more than a little amused by his babbling.   Just when had we reversed roles, here?   “Angel, it’s okay.”

        “Huh?”

        “Oz is with the band doing a gig in San Diego.  He won’t be back for another week,” I informed him with a smile.

        “Oh, good.”

        Guess we were back to our regularly scheduled show -- The Misadventures of Babble-Girl and Brooding Guy.

        Quiet descended again as we drove through Sunnydale’s sleepy streets.   Not knowing what else to do, I closed my eyes for a moment, loving the feeling of the wind in my hair as the open-topped convertible drove along.   I was searching for something to say when Angel uncharacteristically broke the silence between us.

        “I have...there’s something for you in the glove compartment,” he offered without looking at me.

        My curiosity bloomed as I leaned forward and twisted the knob that held the little door shut. The compartment was almost empty, littered only by a few papers.   One looked like the registration for the car, but that wasn’t what caught my attention.

        On top of the pink slip, there were two envelopes.

        Pulling them out, I noticed that they were both sealed and stamped -- one for me and one for Giles.   Both letters were addressed to our respective homes.

        “Angel?” I asked, burning to know what was in the envelope.

        “I wanted you to have that.   It’s my new address and phone number.   The phone won’t be turned on for another day or two, but that’s the number the company said I would have.  I was planning to mail those on my way out of town, but since you’re here now, I figured I might as well...” Angel shrugged his shoulders, allowing his words to trail off unfinished.

        To be honest, I was a little surprised.   I mean, I never guessed that Angel would give *me* his new address.   Buffy?  Certainly.   Giles?  Well that made sense, since Giles was kinda our Grand Pooh-ba of co-ordination.   If we found ourselves needing Angel’s help, Giles would most likely be the one to call Angel and let him know.

        But me?   Don’t get me wrong.   Seeing that envelope with my name and address written in Angel’s old-fashioned handwriting gave me major warm, fuzzy feelings.   But, for the life of me, I still couldn’t figure out why he had chosen me to give it to.  *And* he had obviously planned to do so before last night ever happened.

        “I...I wanted you know to know where I was just in case you ever needed me...my help...with anything.   I...I’ve always thought of you...as my friend...” he stopped suddenly, his expression bashful with just a trace of fear.  It was almost like he wasn’t sure that *I* considered him the same way.

        “You *are* my friend, Angel,” I reassured him.   “You always have been.”

        We both fell into silence as he drove up in front of my darkened house.  My parents were -- as usual -- gone on some conference or another. I was, however, thankful for their absence this time.   It meant that I wouldn’t have to do any explaining about where I had been the night before.

        Neither of us seemed certain as to what we should say.   I meshed my hands together nervously as Angel rubbed his thumb over some seemingly fascinating spot on his car’s steering wheel.   Finally, the quiet grew too oppressive for me.

        “It’s not fair!” I burst out suddenly. Angel jumped a little in his seat, his head pivoting sharply in my direction.   Meeting his eyes with mine, I explained myself.   “After all this time, I finally got a chance to know you -- to just talk to you when it didn’t involve ‘fighting the forces of darkness’ or some other kind of life-threatening situation.   And now you’re leaving!”

        “Come here,” Angel whispered, leaning over to enfold me in his waiting arms.   We clung tightly to each other, our mutual grief becoming almost a tangible thing.   “This isn’t goodbye, Willow,” he insisted.   “If you need me, I’ll be here for you.   Don’t ever doubt that.   And please don’t ever be afraid to ask me, no matter how silly it may seem at the time.   I worry about you. Especially now that I’m not going to be here to look out for you.”

        “I promise I’ll be more careful,” I pledged, knowing that I would be.   The fact that Angel had saved my life several times and I hadn’t even known it still gave me major heebie-jeebies.

        Sensing that if I didn’t let go of him then, I would never be able to, I took a deep breath and pulled myself away from him.   Angel squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to control the pain from our separation.   When he opened them again, he gave me a sad little smile.

        “Would you do me one favour,” I asked him shyly.

        “Anything,” he swore.

        “Promise me that you’ll call me when you get your phone service switched on?   I just want to make sure that you got there okay.”

        “I will,” he said solemnly.

        I hated the moment after that -- knowing that it was to be the last, for a while anyway.  I hated the injustice of it all.   I hated losing another friend, especially after all the pain and suffering we had been through the week before at graduation.  What I hated most was knowing that I had so much more I wanted to say to him before he left.

        Especially that one thing that mattered the most.   Taking one last deep look into his eyes, I tried to tell him.  But I couldn’t.  It wasn’t because I didn’t want to, but because I simply didn’t know what to say.   Still, I had to try.

        “Angel, I...” I stopped, uncertain how to go on.   “...I...”

        “I do, too, Willow,” Angel replied.   “I do, too.”

        And right then, I knew that he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        I kissed her one last time after that. While it had a bittersweet beginning -- tainted with the sorrow of two lovers parting for the last time -- it ended with the most important emotion of all:  hope.   For with that one kiss, Willow and I sealed our new relationship, that of the closest and most special kind of friends.

        “Take care of yourself, Angel,” Willow whispered.  “And try not too brood to much,” she added cheekily.

        “I’ll make a concerted effort,” I replied with my usual low-brow sarcasm.

        “I’m going to miss you,” she said sadly as she opened the car door.   “And don’t forget, that help thing goes both ways, you know.   If you need me -- or any of us -- call us *before* you get in over your head!”

        “I will, Willow,” I placated.   With that, she stepped out of the car before turning to push the door closed.

        “Be careful,” she whispered.

        My eyes followed her as she walked up the path toward her front door.   The way the bottom inch of her skirt barely showed beneath the long hem of my grey pullover made her look adorable. I’d given her the shirt after she tried to hand it back to me at the mansion.   My excuse was that I didn’t want her getting cold on the drive over, but in truth, I liked the idea of knowing that she had something tangible of mine.   And it looked great on her, too.

        In the distance, Willow had reached her door.   Once she unlocked it, she turned around and gave me a tear-filled smile.  It was only then that I finally made sense of it all -- what had happened between us, why I hadn’t lost my soul, and the scope of the gift that I had been given to me.

        I loved Willow.

        I loved her.   Maybe it wasn’t the same soul-wrenching way that I loved Buffy, but that didn’t mean that I loved Willow any less -- just differently.   While Buffy represented my ultimate fantasy, Willow offered something else equally as valuable.  She offered me comfort, a temporary safe haven from my despair.   Sadly, it was the very fleeting nature of Willow’s gift that kept my soul in tact.   I couldn’t achieve true happiness knowing that the sanctuary Willow offered could never be permanent -- just a few random days -- or even hours at a time.

        What a fool I had been earlier today.  Like an idiot, I chose to believe that my night with Willow was something I owed her.   Well, maybe I didn’t *owe* her, but it was something that I wanted to give to her -- a way to begin repaying my endless debt to her for restoring my soul.

        But the ultimate joke was on me.

        I thought last night was about me giving something back to Willow, but it wasn’t.  Not at all.   Only then did I see that Willow had once again given me something more precious than I ever imagined.

        Last night, Willow granted me absolution -- for the pain my presence in their lives has caused, for the crimes I committed against them when I reverted back to Angelus, and most all, for leaving Sunnydale and leaving them all behind.

        It’s funny, but I felt as if some of the weight had been lifted off my shoulders.   And it was Willow’s doing.   Once again, she had seen a need in me that I wasn’t even aware existed, and she had fixed it.

        “I love you,” I whispered to the figure by the door.   Knowing that she couldn’t hear me, I lifted my hand in farewell.   She gave me a sad little wave in return as I moved the gear-shift from ‘park’ to ‘drive’.

        As I headed out toward Los Angeles, I kept replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours in my head.   But instead of making me sad, they filled me with hope.   I was starting a new chapter in my life, one that included a very special relationship with a beautiful, magical red-head.

        For the first time in over two hundred years, I felt blessed.

        Thanks to Willow.

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