Chapter Text
Buffy first noticed the mark in the shower. It was red and small, but it wasn’t a bruise or a scrape. It was an intricate pattern of loops and swirls on the skin of her inner arm, not far from her wrist, that looked like some kind of tattoo.
She rinsed water over it, scrubbed it with soap and a loofah, but it wouldn’t come off.
She thought back to the night before. Except for the whole losing her memory thing, and a big mistake with Spike at the Bronze, nothing unusual had happened. And she didn’t remember the mark being there when she went to sleep.
Buffy sighed. Great. Something new and exciting to deal with.
She reached for the faucet and made the water as cold as she could, letting it drub over her head, trying to shock herself out of her gray haze.
It didn’t work.
She turned the shower off and leaned her forehead against the tile. Another day.
“Oh, I know,” Anya said later, pulling a leather-bound book from a shelf in the Magic Box. Buffy had gathered the gang together to figure out what was going on with her new, mystical tat.
Anya opened to a page in the middle of the book and placed it on the table in front of Buffy. “Is this it?”
Buffy looked down at the small mark on her arm. The pattern matched the picture exactly. “Looks like we have a winner.”
“That’s nothing,” Anya said. “Just your standard have-sex-or-die curse.”
“What?!” Xander exclaimed, nearly knocking over his chair as he rose to his feet.
Buffy jumped at his outburst, startled. She turned quickly to look at Willow and saw shock painted over her face as well. Buffy knew she should be feeling something — outraged, upset, at least a little dismayed. But the best she could come up with was some slight relief that Dawn was in school and wasn’t overhearing this.
“It’s a mischievous little spell that used to be popular with unscrupulous matchmakers, to motivate their customers,” Anya explained, a gleam in her eye.
She was about to go on, but the shop’s door swung open, the bell tinkling merrily. Spike dashed in, smoke rising from under his blanket.
“What are you doing here?” Buffy demanded. She bit her lip to try to block out the phantom sensation of his mouth on hers. What the hell had she been thinking, kissing him again?
But, of course, she knew what she had been thinking. She’d been trying to escape the knowledge that Giles was abandoning her. She’d been trying to block out the way her life had come rushing back when Willow’s forgetting spell was broken. The way she’d had to live it all over in her mind — her mother cold on the couch, and Dawn’s tears on the tower, and the scrape of wood and earth over her hands as she dug out of her own grave.
“I wanted…” Spike’s words interrupted her mental litany of pain. “It’s just… It’s been odd. Since we went all Sheridan after the boat explosion.”
They looked at him blankly.
“You know, she’s started calling herself Diana because she was friends with Princess—oh sod it all. When we forgot who we were.”
Xander made an exasperated sound. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve all moved on, Spike.”
Buffy winced a little. For Giles and for Tara, the moving on had been literal.
Spike looked at Buffy meaningfully. She knew why he was here — he was looking for her. He wanted to talk about the kissing. Well, fat chance. And she wouldn’t let it happen again. She had to strengthen her resolve.
“As I was saying,” Anya said, clearly annoyed at having lost her captive audience, “the person cursed has to have sex with the person they love the most and then — poof — they’re free. Of course, if they don’t, they die. So it’s a good excuse to get someone in the sack.”
Buffy’s eyes flew to Spike. Could he have…?
“What’s this, Slayer?” Spike’s eyebrows knitted together. “A vulcanian curse?”
Buffy held up her forearm to show him the mark. His face fell.
Willow picked up the book from the table in front of Buffy. “She’s right. This says you have to sleep with ‘the heart’s most beloved’ or you’ll...‘perish at the rise of the sun.’”
Buffy felt dazed. Again, she reached for some emotion, any emotion, but all she could conjure was a bit of relief. If all else failed, at least it would be over by tomorrow morning.
“This is ridiculous!” Xander exploded. “A spell forcing you to have sex? It’s not right!”
“Doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to me,” Anya said. “I enjoy sex.”
“It’s a pretty bad thing if...” Willow trailed off, her eyes drifting to Buffy.
“You can’t mean...” Xander looked from Willow’s face to Spike’s, then trained his gaze on Buffy, too.
“Better get the poofter on the phone,” Spike said quietly. “And make sure you can get one of those orb thingies.”
A few minutes later, Buffy stepped outside the Magic Box, leaving Xander, Willow and Anya deep in a heated discussion about her...predicament. She wasn’t surprised to find Spike lingering in the shadows of the alley. She’d expected it.
“Shouldn’t you be calling Los Angeles instead of out here with me, pet? Time’s a-wastin.”
Buffy looked skyward and blew out a breath. “I just needed some air. It’s…a lot.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Spike took a step forward, but he was blocked from coming closer by the demarcation of sunlight on the pavement. “You can’t tell me you’re not bloody thrilled about this. The universe is giving you permission to get what you want.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What? Because of his soul?” Spike jerked his head derisively. “Willow knows the spell.”
“Willow’s track record isn’t exactly stellar lately.”
His eyes met hers and she knew they were both thinking of the same thing — the forgetting spell, the Bronze.
“It happened again, Buffy,” Spike said huskily. “We kissed.”
“I was there.” Buffy’s voice was flat. She waved her hand dismissively. “Not even dealing with that right now.”
“If you want to try…” Spike took a deep breath. “Maybe we don’t need to involve him.”
There was no leer in his tone, but there was a tiny spark of hope in his eyes. Buffy’s mouth dropped slowly open. “Spike…it’s—I don’t—”
“Forget it, Slayer.” He straightened his shoulders. “Buck up. Worse comes to worst, we’ve teamed up to take down that wanker before.”
The bit of pity she’d managed to kindle for him curdled into a pale disgust. She turned on her heel and stalked back into the shop.
Willow watched Buffy with big, sympathetic eyes as she returned to the group. “You OK?”
Buffy nodded, once. “So, what are the options besides calling Angel?” she asked briskly. “I feel like we should rule them out first.”
“You don’t want to bone your one true love?” Anya asked, confused.
“I don’t want to put anyone else in danger if I don’t have to.”
Anya raised her eyebrows. “Well, other than sex, a vulcanian curse can be broken if you get whoever cursed you to take it back,” she said. “I suppose we can rule out Angel himself, given his...performance issues. And if it’s not someone who wants to have sex with you, it’s someone who wants to kill you.”
“Someone who wants to kill the Slayer?” Buffy said dispiritedly. “Yeah, that narrows it down — to pretty much every single demon on Earth, with a healthy serving of human bad guys too.”
“Any weird demon encounters lately? Have you gotten up close and personal with a creature of the night?”
“What?” Buffy gasped. “No.”
“There was that demon that was messing with you before,” Willow said. “At—at the construction site, and here at the Magic Box.”
“But that guy went kablam,” Buffy said. “I think.” She turned to Xander. “Maybe you could go down to Willy’s and ask around? See if there’s anyone new in town who might be into super creepy curses?”
“On it,” Xander said, and the bell jingled at his departure. Buffy’s shoulders relaxed slightly. As much as she loved him, Xander had a history of being...less than sensitive when it came to Angel and his soul. It was easier with him gone.
“What else ya got?” Buffy asked Anya and Willow.
“I could try to break the curse,” Willow offered.
“Now that’s a brilliant idea,” Anya said bitingly.
“I know what I’m doing.”
Anya put her hands on her hips. “A curse is not just any old spell and you know it. It’s almost impossible to break someone else’s curse. If you get it wrong, Buffy dies. And frankly, you’ve been getting stuff wrong a lot lately.”
Willow bristled. “But I—”
“What about Angel’s curse?” Anya asked pointedly. “You can restore his soul, but you haven’t been able to get rid of the part where he loses it if he gets too happy, have you?”
“No,” Willow admitted quietly.
Buffy’s heart sped up. “You tried?”
Willow gave her a panicky look. “You asked me to.”
“I know,” Buffy said. It had been the summer after Angel left, when Buffy was trying to learn to breathe without him again. “I just didn’t know that you…”
“I didn’t want to tell you that I couldn’t.” Willow’s face brightened. “I could try again, though. I’m more powerful now.”
“No,” Buffy said immediately. She couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in — the warmth, the peace, and then waking up in a cold, dank space underground. Willow had done that to her. Her best friend. “No,” she repeated.
“But—”
“You should save your strength, Will.” Buffy touched Willow’s arm reassuringly. “In case we need you to put Angel’s soul back.”
“Even I could do that spell,” Anya piped up.
Buffy gave her a tight smile. “Good, then we have backup.”
Buffy took in a shaky breath. The layer of drab over everything in her life had made it easy to see this as an academic exercise, just another of their countless demons-and-doughnuts research sessions. But now, it was finally sinking in — sinking in like a black hole had opened inside her.
“I need to know everything…before I talk to Angel,” she said. “What do we have to do exactly?”
“It’s not all that complicated,” Anya said. “Missionary should be fine, but if you want to get more adventurous, I can lend you some—”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Buffy ran a hand through her hair. “OK, well, that shouldn’t be too bad. I mean, we’ve done...stuff...without…” She trailed off as she thought back to the last time, to that night on the beach. She shoved the memory away.
“Buffy, there is one thing,” Willow said hesitantly. “Both of you have to...I mean, to meet the conditions of the curse, you both need to…”
“She’s saying you both have to come,” Anya said.
“Oh,” Buffy said quietly. “Um, that’s good. I mean, for a seriously messed-up sort of spell, that’s at least...considerate.”
“But Angel has to—”
“Yeah, I get it,” Buffy said. “He has to get really, really happy while also saving my life.” She closed her eyes wearily. “We do have one of those orbs, right?”
“Dawn?” Buffy called as she walked into her house, glancing around uncomfortably. “Dawnie?”
It was too early for Dawn to be home from school, but Buffy wanted to be sure her little sister wasn’t at home. The very last thing she needed was for Dawn to overhear her conversation with Angel. She’d left Anya and Willow back at the Magic Box, to wait for Xander and to give Buffy the space she needed to do this. She certainly couldn’t call up her ex-boyfriend and beg him to come sleep with her again while they were listening.
Buffy picked up the cordless phone from its charging base and sat down on the couch. Then she changed her mind and carried it upstairs to her room. Just in case Dawn came in.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the phone too tightly.
Deep down, she knew Angel would do whatever it took to save her life, just as she would do the same for him. But it was so much to ask — for him to risk his soul again, knowing it could lead to their worst nightmares.
And a little voice in the back of her brain kept saying something else, too. She didn’t have to make this call. She could walk out the door, and get into the Jeep, and drive out into the desert somewhere. She could just keep driving alone through the night. By the time anyone caught up with her, it would be too late.
There was something noble about it, right? Dying to protect others? She was so good at it she’d done it twice. The third time’s the charm, they said. Maybe this time she would even stick the landing.
But whenever the little voice spoke up, an image came with it — Dawn, tear-stained on that rickety tower. Not the first time, the second. “I need you to live,” she’d said. And the echoes of guilt and love that reverberated through Buffy made the little voice shut up again.
So she was going to call Angel. Her heart’s most beloved. It was almost funny, how not a single one of her friends had hesitated about that. On the question of who came first in the Buffy Love Sweepstakes, she’d never truly fooled anyone — not Xander, or Spike, or Riley. Not even herself.
That was why she’d been so...not excited, really, because excitement was one of those emotions she didn’t really do anymore, but...intent on seeing Angel when she came back. The sound of his voice when he called offered more than just an escape from her flooded basement and her financial headaches. It was a chance to wake up. If anything in this world could make her feel, it would be seeing Angel, right?
They’d met on the beach, a place halfway between LA and Sunnydale, a place they’d been to before. The sun had steadily slipped below the horizon as Buffy drove along the coast, but she’d still been too eager. Of course he couldn’t leave before dark.
When he finally appeared, haloed by watery moonlight, the wind fluttering his long coat, Buffy ran to him and he opened his arms to her.
“You’re here,” Angel kept saying, touching her reverently, as if he couldn’t quite make it sink in.
Buffy waited for something to change inside her. She waited for her heart to break open, for the invisible coat of dust still clinging to her skin to finally blow away. But nothing happened.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said, holding her tight. “For everything you went through.”
And at first, she tried to put on the mask, to grit her teeth and play Buffy for him the way she did for everyone else. But she couldn’t make herself do it. This wasn’t his fault — none of it was — but bitterness settled in her bones anyway. Even her Angel couldn’t compete with paradise lost. Even the person she loved the most couldn’t shake her awake.
The ache was the only thing that was real. Pain was the only thing she could share.
“What about for everything you put me through?” she asked quietly, pulling away.
“What?”
“I’m here again, Angel. But you haven’t been. You left me.”
“You know why I had to—”
“I know I went through all that pain, and in return I was supposed to get this great normal life." Her voice was calm, almost distant. "But you know what happened? My Joe Regular boyfriend dumped me, my mother died, and then — just my luck — I died too. And now I’m back and my life is nothing but demons and darkness. So please, tell me. What was the point?”
Angel shook his head, a frozen look on his face, his eyes wide. “You’re right. This isn’t what I imagined for you. When you were—I was—I couldn’t—” His voice was too choked; he had to stop and swallow back tears. “But you have another chance. You can make a new life now.”
“Yeah,” she said tiredly. “A life without you. Again.” She turned then, started to walk away.
“Wait,” he said, but she didn’t stop, scrambling over the sand. “Buffy.”
He reached for her, and she tried to dodge him, and he got a hold of her arm just as he lost his footing, tumbling them both to the ground. As they untangled their limbs, he ended up hovering over her, the flare of frustration she’d inspired in him making his eyes glitter like the predator he was.
That hint of implicit danger, and the position of his body over hers, made heat blossom between her thighs, sent a thrill skittering over her skin. She welcomed the reaction — oh, God, to feel anything else right now was a blessing, the deepest kind of relief.
And once she had it, she couldn’t let it go. So she pulled his head down to hers and she kissed him. His mouth was hungry, more demanding than she expected. The kiss went on and on, and he didn’t pull away. He only kissed her harder, pinning her down against the sand, his hand in her hair, his tongue exploring her mouth.
She brought her legs up, her knees hugging him as her palms slid over his neck and jaw and shoulders. He kissed his way to her ear, the flush he raised in her skin more than making up for his absent heat.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please.” For once, it wasn’t a stop or even slow down. It was a take more. His mouth moved worshipfully down the line of her neck and she sank her hand into his hair.
“Oh, God,” she moaned softly. He was kissing her collarbone now, burying his face against her skin.
“I thought I’d never touch you again—never taste you,” he murmured. Her top dipped low in the front and he followed the trail of it with his lips and tongue, then pulled the fabric aside with his fingers until his mouth was on her breast.
This was farther than they’d gone in forever, and the sensation of his body against hers again was light years beyond anything she had felt since. She knew they shouldn’t, that this was forbidden, but that only heightened the racing of her pulse and the quickness of her breath.
“Angel,” she gasped as he nipped at the tight peak of her breast, the tiny shock of it melting into a rush of pleasure. She rode the wave and then dragged his mouth back to hers. She wanted to give him something, to feel more of him, but as her fingers fumbled for the buttons of his shirt beneath his open coat, he stopped her by pulling away.
He traveled down her body again, pushing her shirt up and spreading his big hand over her belly, before trailing his fingertips down to her waistband, her breath hitching all the way.
“Buffy...I want…”
And somehow, just minutes later, she was kneeling over Angel in the moonlight, her pants still tangled around one leg, his mouth doing obscenely pleasurable things between her thighs. It had been so long—and she’d never expected he would go so far—but not needing to breathe definitely had its advantages—and it felt so damn good that she couldn’t even find her fear.
He gave her what she needed, her whole body tingling with electricity, alive and awake and real, and when he dug his fingers into her hips, hard enough to bruise, she fell shatteringly over the edge.
Later, after they’d shaken off the sand as best they could, they stood side by side, watching the waves.
“That was the point, Buffy,” Angel said at the very first hint of light. “I want to give you so much—”
“But it’s dangerous. I know that. I wasn’t being fair. I just...struggle with the being apart part.”
“I do, too.”
“You do?” she said. “Still?”
“Every single day. Nothing changes that. Not even death.” Angel touched her face tenderly. “I have to go.”
She nodded, unable to speak, knowing the flame he’d lit within her was already stuttering out.
She took as long as she reasonably could getting home, wanting to hold on to that fading fire. She found a gym where she could shower and do a more thorough job of brushing the sand from her clothes. It was in the mirror there that she caught sight of them for the first time — the bruises shaped like Angel’s fingertips.
Those blue-black imprints haunted her as she watched them fade. Of course it didn’t take more than a day or so. For once, she cursed her Slayer healing. She wanted them back. The proof that she could still feel.
She knew she couldn’t have Angel again. Except in her fantasies, where she imagined him taking her roughly in all kinds of ways. Leaving new marks on her skin.
And so when a spell influenced her to kiss the only guy around who had anything close to his strength, she went with it — an aggressive kiss that was nothing like Angel’s, but that gave her that same hint of implicit danger.
Not that Spike could hurt her. Not without a massive headache.
But he tasted almost right, even if the leather jacket smell was tarnished by the scent of cigarette, and she gave in again at the Bronze, craving vampire kisses to block out the pain of everything else in her life. She lost herself so thoroughly that when she tried to put her arm around his neck, she found only the empty air a few inches above his shoulder and had to adjust.
He never seemed to notice that she’d expected someone taller.
But maybe she hadn’t given Spike enough credit. After all, he’d called it exactly right in the alley outside the Magic Box. This new mark on her skin — the one that announced her curse — was giving her permission to get what she wanted.
She wanted to feel again, even though she knew it could cost Angel his soul. She hated that she wanted it, but she wanted it all the same.
She let out a long breath and dialed the phone.
Angel answered almost immediately — “Buffy? Is everything OK?”
His voice sounded far away and she remembered that the number she had for him now was a cell. A jolt of hysteria almost made her giggle out loud: Her 200-plus-year-old vampire ex had a cell phone. She tried to remember if she’d ever seen him use a computer. Did Angel have e-mail? Did he forward those annoying chain messages?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her brain was clearly doing its best gymnastics to distract her from actually telling him what was going on — front handspring, round off, back handspring, round off, full twisting layout.
“Buffy?” he said again.
“Hi,” she choked out.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Um, I guess this is no time for bush beating, or beat bushing, or whatever.” She rolled her eyes at her own idiocy. “The thing is, I woke up this morning with a pesky little volcano curse. Or maybe it’s Vulcan?”
“Oh, God,” Angel said. “Vulcanian?”
“That’s the one.” She clenched her free hand into a tight fist. “So apparently...I need your help.”
Angel was silent for a long moment. Maybe she was going to take that solo drive into the desert after all. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“I’ll leave right at sunset,” he said, and Buffy made a strangled sound that she didn’t quite recognize as her own. “Is Willow…?”
“She’s prepared. She’s got the orb covered.” Buffy hesitated. “Where should we…?”
“My old place? The mansion? I’ve still got the keys.”
“OK," she agreed. He understood without her spelling it out. It couldn’t be here at home. There was Dawn, and the possibility that things would go wrong. “Angel?”
“What is it?”
“You don’t…you don’t have to do this.”
“But I will. Of course I will.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me, Buffy,” he said immediately. “Do you know who’s responsible?”
“Not a clue, or I’d be busting their door down. The gang’s on it, but I think by the time we figure it out…”
“I understand. I’ll be there. Soon.”
“Thank you,” she said, but it came out a whisper.
“Buffy?” Dawn yelled from downstairs. “I’m home!”
She started to say goodbye, but Angel had already hung up.
In the kitchen, Dawn had poured herself some afterschool cereal. “Want some?” she asked around crunches of Cap’n Crunch. “It’s the kind with the berries.”
“Tempting, but no,” Buffy said, making a face.
“Tara must’ve gotten it for me. I don’t think anyone else has been to the store…”
“I’ll go soon,” Buffy promised. “I’ll stock up on the Crunchberries.” She hoped the berry kind wasn’t too much more expensive than the regular kind. They probably shouldn’t be eating name-brand cereal at all.
“It’s gonna be weird, just the three of us.” Dawn stirred the contents of her bowl. “I was pretty used to having her here. She was home the most.”
“I know,” Buffy said sadly. “But I’m here. And I-I’ll be home more.”
“Will you be home tonight? Because I was thinking we could—”
“Actually, no. I have to see Angel.”
Dawn’s eyebrows lifted. “Again?”
“Yeah. This time it’s...Slayer stuff.”
“He could come over here. I know I said some kind of mean things after he left, but I was just a kid then. I was mad at him.”
Buffy smiled. “This is something we need privacy for.”
“How much privacy do you really need? You can’t do anything.”
“We can’t do what?”
“You know...bedroom stuff.”
“Dawn!” Buffy acted shocked.
“I was a kid, Buffy, not a moron. I know the rules.”
“Anyway,” Buffy said, pointedly changing the subject, “Xander is going to come hang out with you tonight.”
“Oh, you were serious about the Slayer stuff. I thought that was just an excuse.”
“I was very serious.”
“But if it’s Xander coming over and not Spike, it’s not, like, end-of-the-world serious.”
“God, I hope not.”
“What’s going on?”
“I...um, it’s hard to explain.” Buffy rubbed her arm uneasily. She’d hidden the mark beneath a sweater. She knew she should probably tell Dawn the truth, to warn her about what might happen to Angel, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “We’ll talk in the morning, OK? When I know more.”
Dawn shrugged. “I’ll just get the whole story out of Xander later.”
Buffy tried not to think about what he might say — she was just grateful he’d agreed to Dawn duty.
“I’ve got some time before...the meeting,” Buffy said. “Can I interest you in some trashy daytime TV?”
Dawn led the way to the couch and Buffy grabbed the remote. She could definitely use a few minutes of distraction.
Buffy hadn’t been to Crawford Street in a long time. The mansion still looked the same, with maybe a pinch more doom and gloom than she remembered.
The door was slightly ajar and yawned open when she knocked. “Angel?” she called out, stepping inside.
She’d taken her time getting there. Last time, she’d jumped the gun and ended up waiting on the beach by herself for Angel to arrive. But this place still felt like Angel’s home to her, even if he hadn’t lived there in years, and she wanted to let him settle in.
And, boy, had he ever.
A fire glowed in the hearth and at least a dozen candles were twinkling around the room. The crackling warmth surrounded her in memories, and she put down her duffle bag, which was mostly stocked with weapons. That felt familiar, too.
She just hoped she didn’t have to use them. She hoped she wouldn’t even have to alert Willow and Anya, who had agreed to a cop-like stakeout from Xander’s car, which was parked out front. Anya, true to form, had wanted to be closer to the action, but Willow overruled her. If Angel felt his soul start to come unglued, Buffy’s plan was to grab her weapons and run outside for help.
If only she’d known what to do the first time.
She shook off the regret as she heard a sound from one of the bedrooms. “Angel?” she called again.
She took a few steps closer, just as a mattress started poking through the doorway. “Let me help,” she said, grabbing the other side. Together, they placed it in front of the fire, and Angel spread a cozy, fuzzy blanket over the top.
“The rooms are drafty and dusty,” he said. “I thought this would make you more comfortable.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, hard.
“Angel, I…”
“Shh,” he said sweetly. “No more apologies. Just tell me the plan.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, tilting her face up toward him. “I mean, we can do whatever you’re comfortable wi—”
He half-smiled. “I mean, if things go wrong.”
“Right.” She filled him in about Anya and Willow and the weapons. Then she made sure the weapons were close to their little love nest, just in case.
“Is there anything you think I should know?” she asked.
Angel looked thoughtful. “It, uh, it didn’t happen right away.”
“I remember,” Buffy murmured. She still couldn’t believe she’d slept right through it. That his utter desperation hadn’t even woken her up.
“So we’ll need to be careful,” he said. “After.”
Buffy swallowed. “You're sure about this?"
“I won't say I'm not worried, Buffy, but yes."
“OK. We’ll just...ease into it.” She put her hand on his arm tentatively and he answered with a hand on her waist.
“Right,” he breathed.
“Should we…” She moved closer to him, searching his face, taking in his expressive eyes and generous lips. “Do you...” His face was closer now, just inches away. “...want to talk or…” And then his mouth was on hers. She wasn’t sure which of them had closed the last bit of distance, but so much for easing into it. The intensity cranked up to 11 in an instant.
By all rights, it should have been awkward. They should have been uncomfortable, uncertain. But their bodies had always spoken the same language.
Every inch of her felt sensitized, the slightest touch of his hands, his lips, his tongue, potent and overwhelming. They moved like they were dancing, their mouths crushed together, never missing a step. Buffy reveled in the steely strength of Angel pressed against her, in the way he touched her like he would never be able to have enough. He was already getting hard, and she wondered if he’d spent the last few hours imagining this — or trying not to — like she had.
She reached for the buttons on his shirt, the way she had that night on the beach, and he automatically moved his hands to stop her.
“I want to see you,” she said thickly, and he let his arms fall back to his sides. She went slowly, pressing impulsive kisses against each stretch of newly revealed skin, feeling drunk on emotion. After all the numbness, it didn’t take much to intoxicate her. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, standing in awe of the shape of him. She’d never seen anyone so beautiful.
She didn’t want to miss any angles — she might never get the chance to undress Angel again — so she stepped around him, trailing her lips over his spine as well. He shivered and then groaned when she nuzzled over his tattoo, wrapping her arms around his waist, inhaling the soap-and-water scent of him, the lingering traces of leather and copper. Heat swirled through her belly. She peeled off her now too-warm sweater and let it drop to the floor.
Her fingers danced over his belt teasingly. Then his hand was covering one of hers, directing it lower, to the erection that was straining his fly. “Buffy,” he moaned as she moved against him, the sign of his need making her slick with desire. But after only a few seconds, he guided her hand away and used it to tug her in front of him.
He made quick work of her silky camisole and her bra, and then they basked in the feel of skin on skin. He massaged her breasts, dragging his thumbs over her nipples, the slight roughness of his hands an exquisite contrast to her softness.
And then she couldn’t wait anymore. She tore open his belt, tugged down his fly, and stripped his lower half. She stared up at him as she knelt on the floor. A naked Angel was truly a sight to behold. Buffy had never really been impressed by that crucial portion of the male anatomy, aesthetically. Who was, really? But Angel — god, Angel had the most gorgeous cock. Her mouth watered for the taste of him.
“I’m not sure if you should...” he said quietly as she licked her lips.
“Just for a second. Just this once,” she said and waited until he nodded. It was all so fleeting, this time together, and the knowledge of that spurred her on.
She wrapped her fingers around him and swirled her tongue over the tip, tasting a hint of salt as he swayed slightly on his feet. She tried to memorize this — what it was like to give pleasure to him in a way that had for so long been off-limits — as she took him gently into her mouth.
“Buffy,” he gasped, letting out a glorious groan as her efforts intensified. “That’s so—oh God.” His stomach muscles tensed. “I can’t—”
And she pulled away reluctantly, kissing her way up his body instead, lightly, quickly, trying to be reassuring. She focused on taking off the rest of her clothes so he could have a moment to recover. When she was done, she could actually feel his gaze on her, intense, wanting.
“I need you,” he whispered, “but...” A glint of fear flickered in his eyes, his expression a war between wanting to let go and needing to hold back.
She clutched his hand, leading him over to the mattress to lie down. He touched her then, his hands mapping as much of her as he could, his fingers gliding through the wetness between her legs until she was shaking with desire. It was time.
“Ready?” she asked.
He took in a ragged breath and nodded.
“Listen,” she said. “I know you don’t want to lose your soul, and I don’t want that, either.” Buffy put his hand on her neck, curling his fingers and pressing them against the scar he had left with his bite. “So squeeze.”
“Buffy,” he said with confusion, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Exactly. Maybe that will help.” She held his gaze steadily. “I’m strong,” she said, and for the first time since she came back from the dead, she recognized the truth of that simple statement. “I can take it.”
It was more than that. She wanted it. Desperately.
He seemed to recognize that truth, and his hand tightened. Not too much, just enough. Enough to feel it.
He watched her closely, and she knew he was being careful, listening to her breathing. She’d trusted him to take her blood, once upon a time, as she saved his life. It wasn’t much to trust him with this, as he saved hers. He was still watching her as he positioned himself between her thighs and slid inside in one smooth stroke, so deliciously perfect, so absolutely right. It was everything she wanted, and so much better than what memory and imagination could dream up, and it took only a few thrusts before she was delirious with pleasure. He loosened his grip, but his hand stayed in place, warmer now, and sweet without the pressure.
She was glad he kept it there, because as they moved together, deep and steady and so so good, she couldn’t stop the “I love you” from bubbling up to her lips. The presence of his hand was a check, reminding her not to say it out loud; she mouthed the words instead. Angel, with his eyes squeezed shut, didn’t see it, wasn’t supposed to be thinking it, but she saw his lips move silently as well.
And then his hand tensed on her neck for one last moment, a fleeting erotic embrace, and they found their highest peak together.
As she tumbled back down to reality, Buffy realized her cheeks were wet with tears — both her own and Angel’s. Her heart broke apart and pieced itself back together a hundred times a second as they clung to each other.
It was after, she reminded herself. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
“I think I was in heaven,” she blurted out. “And—and it’s been so hard, being back.”
Angel looked at her without surprise, with only understanding. He pushed her hair away from her damp skin and tucked it behind her ear. She told him everything in a rush — the grave and the bills and Giles and Willow. “I kissed Spike,” she admitted guiltily.
“I did worse,” he said. And his secrets came spilling out too, how dark things had been for him, how he had pushed everyone away. He had friends now with names she didn’t recognize, Charles and Fred and Lorne.
There were parts of his story that stung, pieces that pierced her through. But she knew the road she’d been traveling herself, and the grim places that it could lead. She knew what it was to hurt so much you went numb.
After they’d talked themselves out, lying next to each other without touching, Buffy’s arm began to tingle. She held it up for Angel to see and they watched in the dying glow of the firelight as the red swirls of the mark faded away. She was safe. She was alive.
Outside, the sun was beginning to rise. Buffy needed to get home, to be there for Dawn’s morning routine. She dressed reluctantly, explaining that she didn’t want her sister to worry.
“Will you...be OK?” she asked, and they both knew what she meant.
“I think so.” He rubbed a hand absently over his chest, almost like he was checking.
She knelt beside the mattress, not sure how to say goodbye.
“Tell Dawn I said hi,” Angel said softly, affectionately. Then his face grew serious again. “As complicated as this was, I’m grateful...that it was me.”
She started to speak, but he stopped her. “Don’t say anything. Not right now.”
She nodded, the words echoing in her head. It will always be you.
Then she kissed him chastely and left him behind.
The morning was pale gold and chilly — Buffy was glad for her sweater. She walked slowly to the street, trying not to remember the way she’d fled this mansion on another morning, a lifetime ago now, and caught the first bus out of town.
This time, she was staying put. No solo drive out into the desert.
Buffy rapped loudly on the window of Xander’s car, startling Anya and Willow, who had clearly fallen asleep. She opened the back door and poked her head inside.
“Buffy! Omigod, is Angel OK?” Willow grabbed frantically for her supplies.
“He’s fine. And I’ve got a clean bill of arm, too.” Buffy clambered the rest of the way in and buckled herself in the back.
“How was it?” Anya asked after a yawn. “Angel seems like he would be very good at sex. He’s clearly had a lot of practice.”
“To that I say — Willow, please drive us home.”
The ride was a drowsy kind of quiet, and Willow was thoughtful as they climbed up the front steps on Revello Drive. She waved to Anya, still waiting in the car. They’d promised to wake up Xander — the odds were 99 to 1 that he was passed out on the couch with the TV still on — and send him out to her.
“I thought Anya and I might, y’know, kill each other dead last night,” Willow said as Buffy dug for her house keys. “But we actually talked. She knows some resources that might help with the way some of my spells are going haywire. Stuff to help find a balance.”
“That’s great, Will,” Buffy said, trying to smile.
Balance. That was what she’d found with Angel — a place somewhere between hell and heaven, pain and perfect happiness.
But she could already feel it sliding away.
By twilight, the fog settling around Buffy was even thicker. She kept reminding herself that she was strong, but she didn’t feel like much of a match for the gathering gloom.
Angel would be getting in his car soon, driving back to LA, back to his Freds and his Lornes. To a life she couldn’t share, though the reasons for that seemed less convincing than ever.
“She has a special knack for love spells,” Xander said. “Underworld famous, apparently.”
“Who?” Buffy asked, making herself pay attention.
“The sorceress who came to Sunnydale this week. The suspect we got a lead on after hunting down a bunch of dead ends?”
“Right,” Buffy said.
The bell over the door announced Spike’s arrival. “Went by the spot,” he said to Xander. “She’s skipped town. The whole place was cleared out. Found this, though.”
He held up a photograph of Buffy. It looked like it had been taken on the UC Sunnydale campus.
“What is this?” Buffy asked, taking it from him.
“Probably what this sorceress used to curse you.” Spike shrugged. “Turned out all right, yeah? I don’t see any Angel dust on you.” He smirked. “I guess you don’t quite do it for him anymore. It’s always sad when the perfect happiness goes out of a relationship.”
To Buffy’s surprise, Xander turned and punched Spike right in the face. “Ow,” Xander said loudly, shaking his hand.
Buffy was about to hug Xander and to punch Spike even harder herself, but the door jingled again, drawing everyone’s attention. Angel was standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” Buffy asked in astonishment.
“I’m not leaving,” Angel said, stepping inside. “Unless you tell me to go.”
Buffy shook her head, crossing the room to him, her heart swelling and her head spinning.
“I can stay a few more days,” he said quietly. “And then we’ll figure out what to do after that. Between here and there, we can...find a balance.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Spike began.
“Shut up,” Anya snapped happily.
“Are you sure about this?” Buffy asked, ignoring them.
“We tried it the other way, and it didn’t go the way I hoped. I don’t want to be just another person in your life who left you, Buffy. I’ll stay if you want me to.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “I want you to.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I have a feeling we’re going to need each other for whatever comes next.”