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"Where are we going?" she asked as they cruised down Hollywood Boulevard.  The night air rushed past, and Buffy found herself thrilled and exhilarated by the trip in his convertible.

Angel turned and smiled at her.  "You'll see," he said mysteriously.

They had talked again for a long time once Willow's reversal spell had taken effect.  And this time, the honesty wasn't compulsory.  They sat calmly across the kitchen table from one another, talking about what was happening, and what should happen next.

"Just because it was a spell that brought us together, doesn't mean that it doesn't mean anything..." Buffy said, "I mean... you know what I mean."

Angel looked at her, wondering if there was any way he could possibly adore her any more than he did at that moment.  All of the things that had happened to her since his departure had tempered her -- forced her to finally begin to trust her own will and wisdom.  Certainly she had made some mistakes -- but that was part of growing up.  That was what he had wanted for her -- to grow to womanhood unfettered by his supernatural limitations -- the darkness that surrounded him always, as it did all of his kind.

But, he was certain the Oracles would say that if this happened, if he and Buffy had been thrown together, then it was meant to be.  And he trusted the Oracles.  He certainly didn't like them, but he knew they always told the truth.  An idea began to form in his mind.

"I know what you mean," he assured her, "I agree.  This happened for a reason."

Buffy looked at him hard, searching his face for some sign of doubt... or even of certainty.  She found neither -- Angel always wore a mask of inscrutability that frustrated her most earnest attempts to know him -- really know him -- by any other means than to ask directly.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked.

Looking at her, sitting there, so serious, but still more relaxed now than she had been before, Angel felt for the first time -- no, perhaps the second or the third -- that the possibilities between them were almost limitless.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "What do you want to do?"

He had no intention of ignoring her opinion, ever again.

Buffy grinned evilly, "Well, I kind of want to finish what we started before."

He laughed, then became serious again, "We will, Buffy.  Don't worry.  There's plenty of time."

She pouted.

"We should at least have a proper date first, don't you think?" he went on, "We've never had one."

Buffy scrunched her little brow, "Don't you think we're a little beyond that whole 'date' thing?"

Angel smiled, "We're never beyond that."

She stared at him for a moment longer, wondering what he would do if she just leapt over the table and knocked him, chair and all, to the floor.  She could do it, she knew, and she was relatively certain he wouldn't put up too much of a struggle in the end.  But her curiosity was peaked.  A date with Angel... and not to the Bronze.  Could be promising.

She ignored the whining ache for him still burning in her body, and returned his smile.  "Okay," she said, "What did you have in mind?"

So now they drove in the warm California night, toward some destination Angel refused to disclose.  He'd made a few phone calls in his bedroom with the door closed, and then had taken her by the hand and led her outside.  It was funny, watching him drive.  Buffy had seen it before, a few times, but that had always been some sort of emergency, and he was the driver of a troop carrier, not her date.  He obviously knew the streets by heart -- every corner, shortcut, and traffic light, and after a few minutes, they arrived at what she assumed was their destination.

Angel pulled up in front of one of a block full of dark warehouses, and cut the engine.  Buffy looked at the plain brick building next to her.

"Um... so... we're going... hunting?" she asked, perplexed.

Angel smiled at her.  "No.  No hunting," he promised, and got out of the car.  He came around and opened her door, reaching down to help her out.

Buffy let him lead her into the warehouse through a back entrance, through aisles and aisles of merchandise she couldn't identify in the dark, until they wound up in a brightly lit office.

A fat little bald man waited for them, looking groggy and annoyed until he noticed their entrance.  Then, he leapt to his feet, gushing effusively at Angel.

"Oh, Mr. Angel! I am so glad you called!" he chirped, shaking Angel's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you so late, Mr. Mastrianni..." Angel apologized.

"No, No! Don't be silly! After what you did for my Antonia..." he shook his head, clucking his tongue sadly, "This was the least I could do for you.  Is this the lovely young lady you mentioned on the phone?"

Angel nodded.  "This is Buffy.  Buffy, Mr. Mastrianni -- the finest Old World dressmaker in Los Angeles."

Buffy turned and stared at him.  "Dressmaker?" she asked.

He grinned broadly and nodded, squeezing her hand.

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Mastrianni cut in, "Mr. Angel has asked that I find something appropriate for you to wear to..." he shot a sheepish look at Angel, "My apologies.  He asked that I should find something exquisite for you to wear this evening," he looked Buffy up and down carefully, "You are a size 2, no? Petite.  What a lovely girl.  Too skinny, but... alas that is the way with today's American girl... my Antonia..." he made the clucking noise again, "But, not to worry! I have just the thing.  Here, come with me!" He took Buffy by the hand and led her away, turning back to call to Angel, "My sister Mirabella will be joining us -- she will see to Miss Buffy's hair and such!"

Angel simply smiled and watched them go.

*******************************************************

Buffy felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.  Except, without the whole hooker thing.  Mr. Mastrianni and his equally small and round sister pampered her and fawned over her, parading hundreds of incredible dresses before her eyes.  The whole gown thing made her a little twitchy, at first, remembering a particular Halloween a few years back, but the princess treatment was something she simply couldn't resist.

She finally chose a dress (a kick dress!), and Mirabella arranged her hair, make-up, and nails, and finally, Buffy was done.  She stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the elegant woman staring back at her.

"Bellisima, no?" Mirabella gushed, giving her hair a final, light spray.

"Yeah... I... guess..." Buffy mumbled.

All of this was like a dream...

"Come, come then.  Mr. Angel is waiting for you.  Oh, he will be... simply dazzled!" The little woman (who Buffy could hardly hold back from calling Mama Celeste) took her by the hand and led her back through the warehouse to the front door, and opened it for her, spilling her into the magickal night.

The sight that met her eyes left her speechless.  Angel's "classic car" was gone, and in its place was a sleek stretch limo.  He stood proud and tall beside it, resplendent in a black tux and bow tie, his arms full of more roses than she had ever seen in one place at one time before.  Buffy froze, and gaped at him.

Angel gaped right back.  He had seen Buffy dressed formally before, but never, never like this! Then, she had been a girl at the prom, young and beautiful and full of hope -- but mostly, young.  Now? The creature that stood before him was no one that he knew... 

She wore a simple black, floor-length gown that covered her from neck, to wrist, to ankle like a second skin of shimmering ebony silk.  It sparkled, catching the light when she moved, glinting off her generous curves.  Although the dress revealed no skin, every sensuous inch of her body was highlighted, drawing his hungry gaze.  Her hair was piled high in golden curls atop her head, and the only adornment she wore were the ringlets that tumbled out of the clip and spilled down her raven-sheathed shoulders.  Her makeup was equally simple -- pale, shimmering blush and a bare touch of mascara to accent her eyes.  Her lips were done in a deep, dramatic blood red, which jumped out against her otherwise elegantly monochromatic ensemble.

Buffy and Angel stood, five feet apart, staring at one another.

Mirabella Mastrianni practically jumped up and down with excitement, hugging her brother.  There was nothing they enjoyed more than playing some small part in a great romance, and from the looks on these two young, beautiful faces, this romance was undoubtedly greater than most.

After a moment, the driver's side door opened, and a neatly tuxedoed Doyle leapt out and dashed around the side.

"Come on, come on!!!" he barked at Angel, "Curtain's in 15 minutes! Let's GO!"

Angel turned bewildered eyes to his friend, still dumbstruck.

"She... she's..." he mumbled.

"Yes, yes, she's spectacular!" Doyle agreed, sprinting over to Buffy, who also still stood, gaping.  He took her hand and dragged her over to Angel, almost knocked silly by the intense electricity that surrounded them.  After putting them together, he waited for a moment, but seeing they were still unable to move, he rolled his eyes, snatched the enormous bouquet from the stunned vampire, and handed it to the equally stunned Slayer.

"Here, these are for you.  You look great.  Now, let's GO!!!"

He began herding Angel and Buffy to the car, opening the door for them and giving them a little shove inside.  Once they were sitting across from one another, Doyle closed the door and booked back to the front, and the limo's engine roared to life.

Buffy looked out the window to see the Mastrianni's waving happily to them as they drove away.  She waved absently back, unaware that they couldn't see her through the tinted glass.

Finally, there was nothing left but the quiet hum of the limo's engine between them.  Angel blinked, as if he had only just realized that he wasn't dreaming, and he should probably say something.

"You look... magnificent..." he said breathlessly.

His voice -- or maybe it was the thorn that pricked her finger -- snapped her back to reality, as well.

//If you can call this dream sequence "reality"...//

"You clean up pretty nice, too," she quipped.

Angel smiled.  With teeth.  Buffy thought she might faint from the rare sight of it.  She inhaled the roses deeply.

"These are... this whole thing, it's... just... incredible," she said, looking up at him again.

"You're the one who's incredible," he said softly, "All of this is just a reflection of you... and the way you make me feel."

Buffy sighed happily.  "So, curtain, huh? We're not going to the opera, are we?"

Angel chuckled.  "Not exactly."

The divider between the front and the back of the limo slid down, and Cordelia's perfectly coiffed head poked through.

"No nookie back there, you two!" she scolded, "Angelus is not invited!"  The divider slid back up and she disappeared once again.

Buffy looked at Angel, "You brought Cordelia on our date?"

He shrugged sheepishly, "We needed a driver.  That was the price," he told her.

"Can we leave her in the car?  Me, Cordy, limos and formal wear don't tend to make for a nice evening..." Buffy said sullenly.

Angel laughed, "I'd like to see you accomplish that."

*******************************************************

They barely made it to the theatre on time, and had to rush to the stairs that led to the private boxes.  Once there, an usher led them to the top floor, into an opulent box, decorated in wine colored velvet and golden accents.  As they each took their seats, the curtain went up.

Buffy had never been to the theatre, before.  The play, which she discovered from the program was The Phantom of the Opera, was something Willow had gone on and on about, when she had gone to see it with her family on Broadway.

The Slayer was entranced.  She watched the action on the stage, fascinated, unable to look away, utterly captured by the dramatic music and pageantry.

Angel watched her.  He'd seen the play many times over the years, and he found Buffy infinitely more interesting.  One of the things he'd always loved most about being with her was the discoveries she was constantly making.  Her youth was a beautiful, shining thing, and watching her acquire new experiences with innocent wonder made his ancient, dead heart sing.

His favorite song was coming up.  He had a sudden vision of dropping to his knees before Buffy and serenading her.  If this were some dramatic movie, he probably would have, but as it was, he just couldn't sing -- and Buffy would probably beat him to death with her little evening purse.  So he took her hand and squeezed, instead, and tried to ignore Doyle yawning and fidgeting beside him, and Cordelia whacking him from the last chair in the box.

"Raoul:  No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide-eyed fears.
I'm here, nothing can harm you.
My words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom
Let daylight dry your tears.
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you and to guide you.

Christine: Say you'll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime...
Say you'll need me with you
Now, and always.
Promise me that all you say is true.
That's all I ask of you.

Raoul: Let me be your shelter
Let me be your light
You're safe, no one will find you
Your fears are far behind you

Christine: All I want is freedom
A world with normal light.
And you, always beside me
To hold me and to hide me.

Raoul: Then say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Let me lead you from your solitude.
Say you need me with you
Here, beside you.
Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Christine, that's all I ask of you.

Christine:  Say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime.
Say the word and I will follow you.
Share each day with me,
Each night, each morning.
Say you love me...

Raoul:  Oh, I do...

Both:  Love me, that's all I ask of you.
*refrain*
Both:  Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Love me, that's all I ask of you."

When Angel looked at Buffy again, she was looking straight back at him, tears streaming down her face, her eyes alight with magic and love.

He squeezed her hand once again and smiled, reaching out to wipe away her tears.

It was a moment they would never forget.

*******************************************************

The ride home from the theatre was quiet and relaxed.  Buffy sat in Angel's arms, leaning comfortably into him, looking wistfully at the program in her hand, and the mass of roses on the seat beside her.

She felt breathless -- exhilarated and sad at the same time.  The thought of returning to the Hellmouth without him gave her a physical pain.  They'd been in one another's presence for less than 24 hours, and yet, it felt to her heart like they had never been separated.  And she never wanted them to be, again.

Buffy looked up at his handsome face, set with a look of contentment he didn't bother to hide.  He looked dreamily out the window, a small smile playing across his lips.  She reached up and traced the beautiful anomaly with her finger, and he turned and smiled down at her.

"What?" he asked softly, seeing her strange expression.

"Thank you," she said, "For tonight... this has been the best night of my life."

Angel smiled and sighed deeply as he looked into her eyes.  She was so beautiful... so exquisite... her perfect features like the finest work of art.  He found himself thinking, yet again, that he could never possibly love her more.

"It's only just begun," he whispered, stroking her cheek before leaning down to kiss her painted lips.

*******************************************************

The magical haze hung around them like a shield of warmth, not even dissipating when the limo stopped, and Doyle opened the car door for them again.

"Last stop -- Angel Investigations!" he sing-songed, stepping out of the way to let Angel get out.  The vampire reached down and helped his lady love out of the car, and the two stood looking at one another on the curb, like a couple of lovestruck teenagers.

"Well, you two obviously don't need me, anymore," Doyle said.

Angel gave his friend the warmest smile the half-demon had ever seen on him.  He sure was a handsome bugger...

"Thanks, Doyle.  I really appreciate it," he said sincerely.

Doyle blushed, "Hey.  No problem," he said, and leaned in to whisper to Angel, "Besides, I got a free date with 'Delia out of the bargain," he grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows.

Angel chuckled and slapped him on the back, "Good luck," he whispered back, and he and Buffy stood hand-in-hand, watching as the limo drove away.

When it was out of sight, Angel looked back at Buffy once again.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, "We could go change... get something to eat..."

She looked up into his soulful mahogany eyes, and shook her head slowly, "No.  I'm really not hungry."

There was no mistaking her implication.

Angel's breath immediately quickened.  Without another moment's hesitation, he swept Buffy up into his arms and carried her inside, kicking the office door in as he went.

Buffy laughed happily and snuggled against him, glad for the millionth time for his vampire strength.  He didn't put her down until they arrived downstairs, then he did, and tossed his keys on the table, took off his coat, and loosened his tie.  Buffy leaned over to unstrap her high-heeled pumps, but Angel reached out to stop her.

"Don't..." he said softly, "Leave them on."

They breathy timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, and left her frozen, speechless.  Never taking his eyes from her, Angel took her hand once again.  As always, her warm touch shocked him, sending a wave of electric joy through his every nerve as he led her slowly down the hall to the bedroom, and stood before her, next to the bed.

Angel looked down at her, and saw that she was trembling.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, "You never have anything to fear from me."

She didn't tell him that it wasn't just fear that made her shake.  At least, not the kind of fear she thought he might be talking about.  She felt like a virgin again, like she'd never been touched before.  Like the first and only time they'd been together had never happened, and they were getting a chance to do it over again.  The rest of her shivering came from want, pure and simple.  She wanted Angel, all of him, all the time, forever.  And right at this moment, when she could feel his cool breath on her face, she felt that she might, finally, be able to have him.

He reached up and undid the black clip that bound her hair, letting all of its golden glory tumble down over her slim shoulders.  He ran his fingers through it gently, arranging it until it softly framed her face.  He lay his palm flat against her cheek and gazed down at her, his heart feeling nearly fit to burst.

"I love you, Buffy Summers," he said, "I have loved you for as long as I can remember.  And I will love you until the day I leave this Earth, and beyond."

Angel softly kissed her, and gently eased her down until she sat on the edge of the bed.  He kicked off his shoes and dropped to his knees before her, sliding his strong hands down her silk-painted legs until he arrived at her feet.  He lifted the first, and undid the thin strap of her shoe, easing it off.  He held her dainty foot cupped in his hand, and began firmly squeezing it, from heel, to arch, to toe, and back again.

"Mmmmmm..." Buffy moaned softly, relaxing under his expert touch.  He turned his focus to the other foot, repeating the same motions, and giving it the same strong pleasure as the first.

//Even her feet are perfect...//

Angel lifted the foot to his lips, and began to trace the tops of her toes.  He could hear her heartbeat quicken... smell her blood changing with sudden arousal, and rush through her veins like a fever.  He only knew the taste of her when she was frightened and sad, and the aroma of the pleasure building in her cells was like the sweet scent of fresh muffins in a bakery.  He practically drooled.

After he regained his control, he began to nibble on her toes, one at a time with tiny bites that sent screaming shocks rocketing up and down her spine.  When he finished with her toes, he moved to her slim ankles.  He followed the line of each fine bone and tendon with his lips, reveling in the tiny whimpering noises that escaped from her throat.

He took his time.  As an immortal, time was really the only gift he had to give her, and he planned on taking full advantage of it.  After all... it was only because of her that he remained, however marginally, among the living.

The times they had been together this way before were different.  The first time had been desperate and frantic, an awkward, halting attempt to stave off the death and destruction that encroached on them from every direction... to keep the loneliness in their souls at bay...

The day that he was human had been all about flesh -- devouring it, taking it in in a strictly earthly sense, indulging his humanity in every sensation he possibly could.

This was about Buffy, pure and simple.  To show her, once and for all, what physical love could really be like, without pressure, without pretense, without fear or hesitation, in a way that only one who truly worshipped her could demonstrate.

He slid his hands up her legs, dragging her dress slowly with them.  He gasped a little when he reached her thighs, and found her sheer black stockings ended there, held suspended by a garter belt of exquisite black, Italian lace.

If there was one fashion Angel could honestly say he missed in more modern women, it was the habit of wearing a garter belt.

Regaining his composure yet again, he continued his journey to revealing her entire body, releasing it from the skintight confines of her dress.  Buffy sighed softly as his hands smoothed the fabric up over her hips and sides, and stretched her arms and body long and languidly as he pulled the dress over her head, then tossed it aside.  He ran his hands back down her curved, muscled length again, simply amazed at how smooth and warm she was.  He smiled at the goosebumps that rose under his touch, and watched each expression of pleasure grow, and peak, and fade from her face as he caressed her through the thin silk of her camisole.

"Oh god, Angel..." she sighed, stunned by all of the new sensations he brought out in her body.  She had only been with two lovers (if you could call Parker a "lover" -- right then, and after, Buffy never would), but she was suddenly and ultimately certain that there would never be another.

He kissed her lips gently, licking their edges with tiny flicks of his tongue, before sliding it between them, touching her tongue gently before withdrawing again.  He let his hands glide over her, molding her pleasure like a sculptor, adoring the feeling of silk, then skin, then silk again as he experienced her body.

Buffy was consumed by him -- by his electric presence, by his enormous, finely cut body hovering inches over hers.  His lips blazed a cool trail over every inch of her face: her eyelids, her lips again.  He kissed and licked her ears, her neck and her chest, while simultaneously stroking the rest of her with his strong, gentle hands.  She reached out and undid the buttons of his shirt slowly, exposing the muscles of his broad chest inch by inch, before he finally helped her throw off the offending barrier.  She pulled herself toward him, diving mouth-first into him, bringing her mouth finally into play as she lapped at his pale skin.

Angel moaned and clutched her to him, struck senseless by the warmth of her mouth, firing his dead nerves nearly to life.  In a moment, he knew he would be lost in her touch, and that was not a part of his plan... yet.

He gently pushed her back on the bed, ignoring her whimpering protest.  He lay on his side beside her, letting his free hand have full rein.  How he loved the way her body rose and fell in sensuous, fleshy curves.  There was nothing in all the dimensions more beautiful than the cut of a human woman's figure, and there was no woman's body as glorious and perfect as hers.

He brushed his fingertip under her chin and down her throat, over the fine line of her collarbone and shoulders, down over her toned arms, to her fingertips, and back again.  Over the material of her camisole, he traced the round curve of her left breast, and then her right, tickling the ultra-sensitive skin underneath each one, then licked around the outer edges to the top of each perfect globe once again.  He moved down, achingly slow, over her nipples.  They were so hard, they poked angrily at the material, tenting it to a painful point on each side.  He made a tiny circle over each tip with his tongue, causing Buffy to moan loudly and arch her back into his touch.  He leaned his head down and flicked the left peak, then sealed his lips firmly over the silk.  Gently, he licked and suckled at the rock-hard point, ending with a series of minute nips that sent shudders crashing through her that even he could feel.  Angel did the same to the right breast, rejoicing silently when his action elicited the same response once again.

He could smell her desire... feel her temperature rapidly rising under the sensitive surface of her skin.  He groaned hungrily, a growl from deep in his throat at the mixture of sensations that washed over him -- those demonic, and those more earthly.  The scent of her blood, of the dripping signal of her readiness from her core...

Fighting still to rein himself in, he slid down her body, marking his way to her center with his lips and his tongue, careful to only touch her enough to stimulate the fine hairs on her skin.  He paused at her belly, taking the time to kiss and caress this special curve -- his favorite -- before moving down once again.

Her silk panties were practically soaking, and he slowly lowered his face between her legs, pressing his nose into the cleft there, inhaling her special scent, which was edged with the soft rose perfume of the underwear.

Buffy bucked and moaned loudly, grasping desperately at him, his hair, his shoulders, wherever she could reach, so long as she could somehow pull him closer.

He ran his hands once more over her heaving chest, trailing down to where his mouth was buried.  Raising his face, he used a single finger to dip into the wet silk, easily finding the throbbing flashpoint of her desire.  When he pressed through the material and touched it, Buffy cried out, and wrapped her strong legs around his shoulders.  Feeling her body flex and pulse beneath him shattered his attempt to prolong her pleasure.  He ripped her panties away with his teeth, leaving only the garterbelt in place, and sank his mouth between the swollen folds of her sweetest, most intimate flesh.

He devoured her sweet essence as though it were the purest blood, plunging his tongue into her core in a driving rhythm, then stroking upward over her quivering clitoris, over and over again.

Buffy panted and dug her nails into him, pulling his hair as she urged him closer... deeper...

Leaving his tongue on the hot bundle of nerves, he inserted one finger, then two, and slowly, a third, into her tight opening.  He matched the stroke of his tongue to the rhythm of his fingers inside her, and in a brief moment, he could feel the first spasms of her inner muscles begin to clench and grab at his hand.

It was all he could do to keep himself from ripping off the rest of his clothes and impaling her, he wanted so badly to be inside her when she came.  But there was plenty of time for that.  He increased his pace slightly, timing it to the pounding of her heartbeat.

She screamed as she crashed over the precipice of her orgasm, ramming her hips into his face and nearly crushing his head with her muscular legs.  The waves seemed to crash over her forever, filling her vision with stars and speeding her breath until she almost lost consciousness.

Even when Buffy collapsed, panting, Angel didn't relent, only stopping when he had licked her clean.  Softly stroking the skin of her inner thighs, he kissed her sopping curls and looked up at her.

He could see it in her eyes when she opened them again.  He could hear it in her blood, in her screaming nerves.  There was no need for her to express aloud what she wanted.  It was perfectly clear:

Him.  Inside her.  Now.

She sat up and pulled him off his knees, reaching down and simply snapping his belt in half.  She panted angrily as she fumbled with the tuxedo pants' complicated fly, and after a moment gave up and simply tore them at the waist, as well.

"Hope that wasn't a rental," she grunted, pulling the ruined slacks off and tossing them aside.

He laughed as he watched her.  It was, but he didn't care.

Buffy pulled him back onto the bed with her, reaching down and into his silk boxers, finding his raging erection ready and waiting for her.  She wrapped her hot, tiny fingers around its substantial girth, and slowly stroked him, watching his face contort with pleasure.

"Oh, god, Buffy... that feels... oh..."  he gasped, throwing his head back.  He suddenly reached down and grabbed her wrist, halting her hand's soft rhythm, "Stop.  You need to stop.  I don't... I don't want to, yet," he panted.

"Too bad," she grunted, pulling his hand away.  He immediately grabbed her again, opening his eyes to meet hers.

"No," he said firmly, taking her hand out of his shorts, "Not like this.  I want to be inside you."

Her body throbbed at the words.  She took her hands and slid the boxers down his legs as far as she could reach, instead.  He kicked them off, and rubbed the full length of his hard body against her soft one.  He claimed her breast with one hand, and removed the camisole with the other.

Her skin, so long blocked from him by the material, screamed at his bare touch.  She moaned and closed her eyes for a moment, letting him ease her ache with his hands, before she reached for him again.

Angel looked down on her, his hunger clear in his piercing eyes.  Buffy met, and held, his intense gaze.

"Do you want me?" she asked him again.

His chest heaving, his cool breath softly puffing against her face, he answered, "I need you."

She pulled him on top of her, immediately engulfed by his big body.  He bore his weight on his hands as he hovered over her, relishing  the moment, burning every detail of every sensation into his memory for eternity.

He shifted until his hardness pressed against her center, sending a shudder rocketing through him, this time.  He closed his eyes and moaned before looking at her again.

"Buffy..." he whispered, almost afraid to go on, but equally terrified not to.

Buffy placed a gentle fingertip to his lips.  "Shhh... just make love to me."

Angel exhaled deeply, dipping his face down and kissing her as he slowly, achingly eased himself inside her.  She groaned as her body stretched to accommodate him, and spread her legs wider, wrapping them around his waist as he sunk as deeply into her as the limitations of their skin would allow.

He moaned her name as their bodies met and molded perfectly, as though this was their ultimate purpose.  Angel found himself once again struggling for control, not wanting the fire that blazed through him to ever fade.

Buffy softly stroked his lust-shadowed face, and his broad shoulders and back.  He kissed her softly once more before drawing himself nearly all of the way out of her, and then easing, millimeter by millimeter, back in again.  He repeated the motion several more times, and Buffy arched her back to bring him even deeper.  One more slow thrust, one more slow withdrawal, and the last of his self-control finally dissolved.  He plunged himself to the hilt inside of her, and both of them cried out -- in pain or pleasure, neither knew, and neither cared.

Angel wound himself around her, enveloping her completely as he buried himself inside her.  Each hard, deep stroke sent him rocketing toward the edge that his body had been dreaming about since that cold day last November.

Buffy whimpered in time to his rhythm, matching his thrusts with her own, clutching him so close, she no longer knew which limb, which skin, which muscle and sinew was his, and which was her own.

"God, Buffy! I love you!" he cried into her ear.

She had heard somewhere that women physically couldn't orgasm during the act of simple intercourse.  But she found out that that was completely untrue, as the friction between them sent her screaming into oblivion once again, crying out his name.

Feeling himself clenched by her powerful muscles, both inside and out, a last single, deep thrust sent him careening to join her. 

It was a good, long time before the earth-shattering climax ceased in either of them, and they both collapsed, limp and breathless, into one another's arms.

Angel buried his face in her neck, tapping her skin with tiny, sweet kisses.

The room spun, and Buffy's heart pounded so hard, she thought it might explode.  She fought the utter, contented exhaustion that threatened to take her away from this perfect moment, and pulled him close to her, sharing her warmth and softly brushing his hair with her hand.  They were quiet for a moment, until she heard a strange hitch come from his throat.  Buffy suddenly realized that Angel was crying.  She pulled away in alarm.

"Angel? Are you okay?" She asked, lifting his tear stained face.

He nodded and smiled, his brown eyes shining.

"Are you sure?" she asked, praying silently that nothing bad would happen, "Why are you crying?"

He reached up and traced her beloved lips, her perfect cheeks, and the edges of her big hazel eyes.

"I never thought..." he said, his voice soft and broken, "I never thought we'd be together like this again.  I dreamed... but I never really even hoped."

Buffy felt her own tears burst forth.  She was so happy, she almost wished she could die, right there in that incredible moment, wrapped in his loving embrace.

Almost.

She kissed him, but said nothing, only tenderly wiped his tears away.

He caressed her face with his eyes once again. How he loved to look at her... "Tonight was perfect," he whispered, "I never want it to end."

Buffy smiled at him, hardly able to fight off sleep anymore.  She kissed the tip of his nose, and scooted over to snuggle into his chest.

"Sleep..." she said, "We'll make another one like it tomorrow."

Angel froze.  Did she know, somehow, deep inside? Did some part of her remember when he'd said the very same thing to her?  After a moment, he relaxed again and tucked his head over her own, letting peaceful rest finally take him.  It didn't matter, now.  Not one moment of the past did.  The only thing that mattered was the bright future that lay spread out before them.

With his heart's mate snoring softly in the safety of his arms, Angel slept.