Put the kids to bed!
This part is NC-17!

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

Doyle was more than a little shocked when he arrived the next morning to find the office door leaned carelessly against its frame, the hinges snapped.  Cordy followed close behind him, and gasped audibly.

"Oh no! Oh my god!" she shouted, throwing the door out of her way and bolting into the office.

Doyle blinked at the remains, and followed.  Cordelia looked around frantically -- nothing else seemed out of place.

"Jesus..." Doyle mumbled, "And throw Mary and Joseph in there, for good measure.  What the hell happened, here?"

Cordelia was already heading toward the stairs, now wielding a stake.

"I knew it!  I KNEW IT!  I TOLD YOU!" she barked at him.

He shrugged and grabbed another stake from the drawer in Cordy's desk, and followed her down into Angel's apartment.  Cordelia snuck into the living room on tiptoe, and then to the kitchen, finding Angel's coat and keys abandoned there.  Again, nothing else seemed out of place.

"What the hell..." Doyle repeated from behind her.  Cordy jumped, stake raised, barely avoiding impaling him with it.  Instead, she pointed it at him menacingly.

"You never listen to me!" she hissed, "I told you this would happen!  Now we're both probably going to die! PAINFULLY!"

"Why are you whispering?" came Buffy's own whisper from beside them.

Both Doyle and Cordy jumped, both holding up their stakes.

Buffy stood looking at them strangely, wearing Angel's robe and the pair of bunny slippers he'd procured for her at some point while she slept.  Her hair was yanked back in a messy tail, and she smiled wryly at them.

"Expecting someone else?" she asked.

Doyle grinned, tucking the stake in his waistband, "Oh, you know... Angelus..." he said lightly, "Good morning there, young Buffy Summers."

"Hi," Buffy replied, still waiting for Cordy to put her weapon away.

She didn't.  She glared at the rumpled Slayer, "You did it, didn't you? You and Angel!" she asked, taking a step forward, "Where is he?"

Buffy shot her a nasty look and pushed by, heading for the coffee maker.  She poured herself a cup and leaned casually against the counter.

Doyle felt a little pang of admiration for his boss.   That looked like one relaxed Slayer.

"He's in bed -- it's barely 9 a.m.," Buffy told her, and sipped at her mug.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes at Buffy, examining her carefully for fang marks.

"You're still here," she observed, "And you're still alive."

Buffy gave her a sarcastic sneer, "And still human, too.  So I think you can probably put that away."

Cordelia wasn't cowed.  "Not until I see that Angel is still Angel," she snapped.

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked back toward the living room.  "Fine, then, go see for yourself.  But don't blame me if he's one grouchy vampire.  We were up kind of late."

She plopped down on the couch and clicked on the TV as Cordelia stalked down the hall toward the bedroom.

Doyle was completely torn between grilling Buffy, and watching what was about to go down between Cordelia and Angel.

"JESUS, CORDELIA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" Angel's angry shout echoed from bedroom.

Buffy and Doyle both sprinted down the hall.  They scrambled into the room, and Doyle burst into a fit of laughter at the scene.

Angel was pressed against the far wall, covered by nothing but the pillow he clutched to himself.  Cordelia stood on the other side of the bed, staring at him, then at the stake she'd impaled in the mattress, and then back at him again.

"I... I'm sorry!" she shouted back, "You hissed at me! I thought..."

"I hissed because you woke me up..." Angel grumbled.

"You thought what," Buffy cut in, "Starting the day by dusting your boss was a good idea?"

"No... but..." She gestured at the rumpled bed, the naked vampire, and the Slayer drinking coffee in his robe.

Doyle laughed harder.  After a moment, Angel's face burst into a smile, and he joined his friend.  He reached down, claiming his sweats from the closet floor and slid them on before tossing the pillow away.

Buffy still menaced Cordelia.  Cordelia kept right on glaring at Buffy.

Angel and Doyle kept laughing, slapping each other on the back as they walked out of the room.

"If you ever threaten him again," Buffy hissed in Cordelia's face, "You'll find out the hard way which one of us is better with a stake!"  She yanked the one that Cordelia had wielded out of the mattress, spun it in her hand like a six-gun, and slid it in her robe pocket as illustration.

Cordelia only glowered down at her, saying nothing.

"Hey, who wants breakfast?" Angel called from the kitchen.

The two women glared at one another for a minute before their need to move on to other things overcame their perceived need to protect Angel.

"Just so you know," Cordelia told her as they walked down the hall, "He made me swear to kill him if he ever changed again.  And I, unlike some people, will keep that promise."

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

"You did not!" Willow yelped, "Did he... I mean... is... is he... grrr?"

Buffy laughed, "No, Will, he's still Angel."

"Oh! Oh, that's good, then, right? I mean, was it good? It had to be good.  I'll bet it was good -- better than good -- great! It was great, wasn't it?" her friend gushed happily.

"It was divine..." Buffy said, wondering if the Witch could hear her smile, or know that she had looked up an appropriate adjective in his thesaurus last night.

"Oh... and he took you to see Phantom... and the dress, and the flowers, and...oh Buffy! I'm so happy for you! Are you happy for you?"

Buffy sighed and fell back on the bed, closing her eyes.  She breathed in his scent, and her own, from the pillows.

"I couldn't possibly be happier," she assured her best friend.

"Then... you're not mad at me? For the spell?" she asked fearfully.

Buffy laughed, "No! God, Will, no way! Actually, I could kiss you. I owe you big, for this one."

"No... no you don't.  I already owe you.  This only pays back a little bit."

"Forget that, Willow.  This means everything to me.  Everything.  I think you should at least consider the slate CLEAN."

Willow smiled.  'For the Good of All and With Harm to None', after all...

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

Even Angel ate, as the three of them sat in his kitchen.  Doyle gobbled half the food himself, washing it down with a fistful of Tums, a pile of ibuprofen, and a Screwdriver.

Cordelia grimaced at the display.  "Here's a unique idea: Why don't you not start out, continue, and finish your day with a "couple of strong ones", and maybe then you wouldn't be walking around feeling... and smelling... like a dead wino all the time!" she scolded.

Doyle squinted at her, "I only had those coupla glasses of bubbly..." he objected.

"You drank the whole magnum.  Then you sang "Danny Boy" until you passed out on my couch," she reminded him.

He gripped his head, "I'm proud to be Irish," he insisted half-heartedly.

Angel chuckled at them, his mouth stuffed full of eggs and toast.  He might not be able to taste much, but the warmth and texture of the completely human comfort food was in perfect keeping with his lighthearted mood.  Maybe he'd make a minestrone for dinner...

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Mr. New Attitude," Cordelia snapped at him, "I almost dusted you!"

"Yah, but ya dusted his mattress, instead," Doyle said.

Angel grinned at her, "No, she just... ventilated it a little, that's all."

Cordelia frowned furiously, and leaned over the table toward Angel, dropping her voice low, "Are you crazy? What are you thinking, getting... you know... naked... with Buffy? God, Angel, where is your sense? Do you have some, like, cosmic condom you never told us about?"

"Cordelia, calm down.  Everything is fine, see? I'm still completely in possession of my soul," Angel said lightly.

"Oh, ha ha.  You could have killed yourself -- or us -- or I could have killed you! Have you gone completely loco? I mean, I know last night was all romantic and everything, but I didn't sleep with him!" She made a dramatic gesture toward Doyle, who raised his head from its perch on the tabletop.

"Hey! You would have!" he objected, "If I'd stayed conscious..."

Cordelia turned a withering look on him, "It would have taken at least twice that much champagne for me to let you come within ten feet of me.  And there's no way to keep that much booze around you long enough for anybody to get any!"

Doyle looked at Angel, "I coulda gotten her to, if I tried."

"I'm sure," Angel agreed, shoveling another heaping forkful of eggs into his mouth.

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

"So, what are you going to do now?" Willow asked once Buffy's story was done.

"I don't know, Will.  I don't know what we can do.  He's got his life here, and I've got school, and slaying, and... oh... god..."  she trailed off.

"What? What's wrong?" Willow asked, immediately alarmed.

"Riley," Buffy lamented, "I forgot all about Riley.  God, have you seen him at all?"

Willow wrinkled up her nose, "Um... well... yeah... he was... uh..."

"Willow, spit it out," Buffy urged her.

"Oh.  I don't think... um... I'm not sure you have to worry about Riley anymore."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean... he was... kind of... here... for the whole thing."

"He was what?"

"He was here.  He knows about the spell, and about Angel and stuff."

Buffy groaned.  "Oh, GOD, you told him about Angel?" This was not good.

"No! No! Not... told him, told him! He just... knows you're there.  He wasn't very happy when he left the other day."

The Slayer whacked her forehead with her fist, "Damn it, damn it, damn it..."

"Buffy, I'm sorry.  He just... showed up."

"No, Will, that's okay.  I'll just have to talk to him when I get back.  At least this happened before he and I got too serious..."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, not really believing that would help at all, "Good thing."

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

"So... what's next for the pair a ya, then?" Doyle asked, following Angel into his office.  The tall vampire eased his tired body into the chair and kicked his feet up on the desk.

"You mean before or after I convince Cordelia I'm not Angelus?" he joked.

Doyle was taken aback by his friend's sudden and complete reversal of demeanor.  The sullen, broody, guilt machine was gone, and had been replaced by some silly, giddy, grinning, happy thing.  Like a giant leprechaun... only scarier.

"Uh... does it matter?" he asked.

Angel clasped his hands behind his head and leaned lazily back in the chair.

"Nope, not really," he told Doyle.

"No, but seriously," Doyle went on, trying to bring some realistic focus back to the situation, "So, you're back with the Slayer, then, right? I mean, you know, since you can..." he made an obscene gesture with his hands.

Angel sat back up, serious again.

But not sullen, Doyle noted.

"Well, that's important, yes.  But... we have other things to consider.  Separate lives.  We should, really, take it easy.  Take it slow.  We have a lot to work through.  And we don't really know how or why all this happened."

The half-demon leaned forward and looked seriously at him, "But I'm thinking you did your best wooing last night.  Isn't it a little late for 'slow'?"

"That part was simple," Angel told him, "It's the rest of it that's complicated."

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

"No, please, don't tell Xander.  Or Giles.  Or Spike.  Don't tell anybody.  My dad's going to bring me home tomorrow, so I'll just... I'll take care of it then," Buffy said.

"Okay.  If you're sure.  I won't tell anybody," Willow's voice broke a little, "I wish Oz were here.  He was always the one I got to tell all the things I wasn't supposed to tell anybody..."

Buffy could have wept at her friend's misery, especially in light of her own unfolding happy ending.

"Oh, Will... don't worry... he'll be back.  I'm sure he will," she promised, and she meant it.  Come Hell (literally) or high water, once Oz got his head on straight, he'd return.  The Hellmouth was as much a part of him, and he of it, as any of the rest of them.  And Willow, even more so.

"I don't know," Willow said sadly, "I wish I could believe that, but I'm not sure if I do anymore."

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

Buffy walked into Angel's office a short time later, to find him with his feet up, reading a book and facing toward the shaded window.

He was stunning, sitting there, his brow scrunched and his lips pursed in concentration as he lost himself in whatever he was reading.

"No wonder business is booming," she said, leaning easily in the doorway, "Look how hard you work."

Angel looked up and smiled when he saw her, closing his book.

"Hey," he said, obviously glad to see her.

"Hey," she replied, and leaned over the desk for a kiss.  He complied gladly, and Buffy sat down across from him.  

"Whatcha readin'?" she asked, unable to decipher the faded leather cover.  Couldn't he, just once, pick up a paperback from Waldenbooks?

He almost blushed.  "Uh... it's... The Kama Sutra.  In French," he said sheepishly.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. "My my... somebody's being a bad boy..."

He leered good-naturedly at her, "I have a lot of catching up to do.  I need some ideas."

She grinned.  "Well... good luck with that," she drawled, "And I mean it.  Really."

Angel chuckled, "So, when's your dad coming?"

"Bright and early tomorrow," she answered sadly, "I'll be back on the Hellmouth again in time for lunch with the gang."

Angel set the book down and folded his hands on the desk, "So... you talked to Willow, then."

Buffy nodded.

"What did she say?"

"You mean, after 'Oh my god Buffy I'm so sorry' a million times?"

"Yeah.  After that," he said.

"She said, and I quote once again, 'You did not!'"

Angel looked up to the heavens, then back at her, "What did you tell her?"

Buffy smiled innocently, "Whatever do you mean?"

He gave her a look.

"What do you think I told her? That I was swept completely off my feet and out of my senses by a gorgeous vampire, who then ravished me to unconsciousness!  I told her everything.  That's what she's there for -- it's kind of in the best friend job description."

"And how did you tell her it was?" he asked playfully.

"Why, are you insecure all of a sudden?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, his smile never wavering.

"Hmmm... what did I say? Oh, right: I think "mind-blowing"... and maybe "divine"."

"Was she upset?" he asked, serious once again.

Willow, the hopeless romantic, would be the easiest of all their friends and family to convince.  Except for Doyle, of course; as long as nobody was bleeding and there was plenty of beer and a chance to worship Cordelia from afar, his partner was game for pretty much anything.

"No.  Not upset, really... concerned, of course -- the Curse and everything... She wasn't too happy that we went ahead without knowing it was safe, but..."

"Giles is going to have a stroke," Cordelia said from behind them, "And Xander, idiot though he is, will do his level best to hunt Angel down and kick his ass.  I hope you two are happy!"

"And Spike will laugh," Buffy added forlornly.  But after a moment, she brightened once again.  "But...Nothing I can't handle, don't worry."

"Buffy, maybe I should take you back," he suggested worriedly, not wanting her to have to face the inevitable flack alone.

"No worries," she insisted, "If they give me any lip, I'll just take 'em out."

Cordelia sneered at her, "Charming.  But really, Angel.  We've got work to do," she held out a small piece of message paper, "Victim-of-the-moment.  And call Kate," she added, and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Angel stared after her.

Buffy frowned, "Who's Kate?"

Uh oh.  He'd forgotten all about Kate.

"She's just... uh... she's just a friend," he said weakly.

She looked at him, "If you said it with a little more conviction, I might be more inclined to believe you," she said, unable to keep the jealousy from her voice.  Angel was kind enough, or shocked-deer-caught-in-the-headlights enough, not to call her on it.

"She's a police officer I work with sometimes.  We went out once or twice, that's all," he admitted honestly.

Buffy nodded.  "Yeah.  I've got one of those, too."

Angel looked at her, confused.

"Not a cop," Buffy clarified, "But a 'went-out-with-once-or-twice'."

"That blonde guy I saw you with at Thanksgiving?" he asked, remembering the handsome, vibrant boy he'd seen her smiling up at.

"Riley.  Yeah," she said.  It was too bad.  Riley was, genuinely, a nice guy.  But... already history.

"So, um... are you... going to... uh... are you going to see him again?" Angel asked haltingly, looking up at her.

Buffy smiled and got up, walking around the desk and climbing into his lap.

"Well, that all depends," she purred, nipping his ear, "On how tired I am when I get home."

Angel mock-glowered at her, "Is that so?" He wrapped his arms around her and held her gaze.

"That's so," she said.

He kissed her softly.

"I think maybe it's time for my lunch break," he said.

Buffy looked up at the clock, noting it had a crack in the face.  11:30 a.m.

"Close enough," she whispered, and kissed him again.

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

After a sumptuous dinner of fresh minestrone and handmade Italian bread, and a two-course dessert of flesh and sweat, Angel and Buffy sat, relaxing in the living room. 

They'd talked about their options over their meal (the food part):  what they should do next... how their relationship would move forward.  It was agreed they would return to their daily routine, visiting one another whenever possible, and try to slowly re-blend their lives.

So they sat, quiet and contented, Angel reading yet another book, and Buffy flipping through his many sketchpads and portfolios.  Each piece was finely detailed and beautifully done, capturing the fine nuances of light, shadow, and space that he observed.

She looked up at him, "You know, you're really good," she said.

"Thanks," he replied off-handedly.

"No, I mean it.  Have you ever considered giving up the battle of good versus evil to become a starving artist?"

Angel didn't look up from his book, "Can't pay penance by drawing pictures," he informed her.

"Too bad, because these are really beautiful.  Of course, most of them are of me, so..."

He looked up finally and grinned at her for a second before returning to his reading once again.

"You've got some imagination," she observed, looking at pictures of herself in situations and places she knew she'd never been in, "Where does that come from? Reading a lot?"

"Celibacy," he deadpanned.

Buffy laughed at him.  "Well, I hope this doesn't mean you'll lose your imagination now..."

She let her voice trail off as she looked at a nude of herself, lying on this very couch, looking up at him lovingly.  For a moment, she was blinded by a flashing vision that felt more like a memory: of munching chocolate bars and trying to stay still as he drew her.

"Stop fidgeting," he scolded her, holding the pad in his lap as he drew.

"I'm hungry.  And I think I'm turning to stone," she complained.

"Good! Then at least I'll be able to draw you!" he shot back.

It was gone again in a moment, but it left Buffy shaking.

Angel stared at her, concerned.  "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered, blinking rapidly, "I'm fine... just... tired, I guess."

It had been so vivid...

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

Armed with a duffel bag stuffed full of stakes and crosses, with Angel's favorite broadsword thrown in for good measure, they went out into the LA night for a good, old-fashioned patrol.  He took Buffy up into the Hollywood hills, to where the cemeteries were filled to the brim with the famous... and the infamous, and pointed out the final resting places of entertainment's icons as they passed.

"Did you ever stake anybody famous?" she asked him, touching John Wayne's crypt.

"A rock star once, but I don't think that counts," he told her.  "There.  That's the victim of the attack I read about in the paper."

Buffy looked curiously at the headstone, but didn't recognize the name.  They sat on a nearby wall to wait.

She swung her legs carelessly in the air.  

"So... tell me about this Kate," she said casually.

Angel looked at her, "What do you want to know?"

Buffy pouted a little, "Besides that she's a boring, hunchbacked, hideously deformed, fanged and taloned harpy? Oh, you know... the usual."

"She's... nice," he said vaguely.

"Nice? My grandmother is nice.  Are you going to ask her out, too?"

Angel frowned and shrugged, "Kate's kind of a loner... workaholic... messy past... bad relationship with her father.  We have a lot in common," he said.

"Sounds like big fun," Buffy said.

He took her hand and wound her fingers around his.

"It was a way to pass the time," he said, "She's been a good friend."

Buffy scowled.  "Did you read the Kama Sutra for her?"

Angel gave her a little shove.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"Well, did you... you know... kiss her, or anything?"

"Buffy," he said, jumping down off the wall and standing between her knees, "I haven't kissed anyone other than you in over a century.  Do you really think I'm going to just go slobbering all over the first woman I meet three months after we broke up?"

She looked at him seriously.  "You kissed Faith," she reminded him.

He sighed, frustrated, "That was different.  That was for a purpose, not because I wanted to.  You know that."

"So, you never wanted to kiss Kate?"

"I didn't say that," he said, "I just haven't.  That's all."

Buffy searched deep in his eyes, and saw that he was telling the truth.  It didn't make her feel any better.

"Does she know about me?" she asked.

"Of course not.  We don't know each other that well."

"I thought you were such good friends... What, am I some dark, terrible secret now?" she complained.

"Stop it.  What was I supposed to tell her? 'Hi, my name's Angel, and I'm a 250 year old vampire in love with a teenaged Vampire Slayer?'  You're just being difficult.  And catty."

Buffy said nothing, and stared down at her hands.

"What about you?" he said, "That Riley character.  And that other guy... what was his name..."

Buffy looked up at him in shock, "How did you know about Parker?"

He clenched his fist, trying not to remember the sensation of hearing that Buffy had given herself to someone else... and that that someone else had hurt her.

"A little birdie told me," he said bitterly, "While he was running me through with hot pokers."

Buffy watched him walk away, back down the short hill to their target's grave.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she had been so lost and lonely after he left, that she just jumped into bed with the first loser who smiled at her twice? And what about Riley? Things with him were... nice.  She kind-of liked him.  But they'd never so much as held hands, and she knew he could never hold a candle to Angel... hell, he couldn't even hold a match to Angel.

How could she tell him that none of that mattered anymore, anyway?

Her opportunity to do so passed, as the ground beneath Rachel Manion's grave began to heave and shift.

"Back on the clock, buddy!" she called to him, as he had his back to the rising vamp.

Angel turned and looked down, just in time to see the first bloodless hand reach out of the grave into the air.  He drew his sword and waited, decapitating the newborn demon the moment its neck was clear, letting the gravedirt absorb its dust.

He looked back up, to find Buffy standing only a few feet away, watching.

"I'm sorry," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's okay.  I was right here," he said, putting the sword away.

Buffy came closer.  "No... I mean... about before.  About Parker."

Angel looked at her.  "The only thing you have to be sorry about it selling yourself short," he told her, "Showing poor judgment is a part of growing up.  It happens."

She nodded as she always did when he shared the wisdom of his experience with her.  She took another step closer, so that they stood across the freshly disturbed grave from one another.

"And as for Riley... let me put it to you this way: Riley who? I think he really likes Willow, anyway," she said.

He looked at her again, feeling the old twinge of guilt that he was once again stealing her chance at a happy, normal life.  He looked down at his shoes.

"I'm sure he's a nice guy.  Maybe you shouldn't discount him so quickly," he said quietly.

It was Buffy's idiosyncratic habit not to step on graves, so she walked around Rachel's and met him on the other side.

"You're the only nice guy I want, " she said, and reached out to take his hand.  He squeezed hers, looking up at her with gratitude.

"I don't deserve you," he said reverently.

Buffy smiled.  "You don't get to decide that anymore, remember?"

He returned her smile, "How could I forget?"

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

Buffy let the searing hot water run over her, steaming away another night's worth of vamp dust and assorted other grime.  Was it her imagination, or was Slaying a dirtier job here in LA? Maybe it was the smog...

Fighting beside Angel again was a thrill she had almost forgotten.  The way he moved so gracefully, like the shadows themselves, overwhelming opponents with sheer, brute force... the way his back flexed and his arms stretched, and his legs shot out, utterly destroying everything that got in his path...

Watching his powerful dance, and performing her own beside him gave her a throbbing ache in her every muscle -- and it wasn't from strain.

She remembered once that Faith had mentioned that Slaying made her hungry and horny.  She might have been a psychopath, but sometimes she got things right on the money.  Buffy was definitely... stimulated... by fighting.  And fighting by Angel's side, well... It beat The Red Shoe Diaries and a vibrator on Saturday night, that was for sure.

She giggled at the thought.  A moment later, she almost jumped out of her skin when the curtain was thrown back and Angel poked his head into the steam.

"Need someone to wash your back, little lady?" he drawled, smiling playfully, "Me and my buddies are free."

The play on 'watching her back' wasn't lost on her, and she chuckled.

"I think there might be room for one filthy vampire in here, but your friends are gonna have to find somewhere else to bathe."

Angel climbed in with her, already naked.  Apparently, he had been pretty confident about her answer.

She smiled over her shoulder at him, "Shower with a friend.  Nice water-saving measure."

"Yeah, well, I try to be environmentally friendly.  I could be around for a while," he quipped, taking the soap and lathering up his hands.

"The whole not breathing, eating, or processing waste thing probably helps... oh..." she moaned as his big, slick hands smoothed over her aching shoulders.

"Good?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Mmmhmmm..." she sighed.

Angel continued kneading her shoulders and neck with firm, long strokes.

"You're tense," he observed.

"Mmm... not for long," she joked.

He worked the lather, and his fingers, down to her middle back.

"What's bothering you?" he asked.

"Nothing... nothing worth talking about," she answered breathlessly.

Angel stopped rubbing.

"Awww... okay, okay..." Buffy relented.  He went back to work, moving down to her waist, "I just really don't want to go," she told him.

Angel stepped closer, so her soapy back slid against his chest.  He leaned over her and began to lather her stomach.

"I don't want you to go," he whispered in her ear, "Believe me."

As if to illustrate, he slid his slippery hands up over her breasts, teasing her nipples lightly with bubbly fingers.

"Oh... I believe you," she groaned, arching her back into him.  Angel grunted at the sensation of her round rear pressed against him, and Buffy felt him instantly harden.

He slid his hands down to her belly, and then her hips, and over her thighs, lathering her lower body completely.  He rinsed his hands and reached down between her legs, slipping his fingertip inside and caressing her lightly.

She breathed heavily, reaching her arm around his head for balance.  He nibbled softly on her ear as he circled and dipped his finger into her, letting her slippery body slide slowly up and down against his.

"So beautiful..." he whispered, "Watching you fight... it's like an ironic ballet... watching you... your body like the deadliest weapon in the face of an enemy... and yet," he plunged the finger he had been touching her with deep inside her.  Buffy writhed against him, moaning loudly, as he went on, "And yet, I know your body can be like this... an instrument of pleasure... pure, supreme pleasure..."

He kissed her neck, softly teasing the sensitive skin where he had once bitten her with his tongue, not slowing his attentions to her nether regions.  He bent her slowly forward so she could brace her hands against the wall, and she put her left foot up on the edge of the tub, opening herself fully to his view.

Angel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her submissive posture.  She was perfect -- every inviting inch of her.

He bent his knees and came up so that his erection slid between her soapy legs.  They opened wider to him, and he eagerly accepted their invitation, easing himself inside.  It was a difficult position, as slippery and wet as they were, but the danger of falling only made the already hot passion of their coupling even sweeter.  He thrust into her with a powerful abandon, wrapping his arm around her to dip his fingers into her curls once again.

The moment he touched the raw bundle of nerves in her body's center, she cried out, and bent over further.  Angel used his other hand on her shoulder for purchase, pulling himself firmly in and out of her, in a steady, even rhythm.

"Angel... yes..." she moaned, "Harder.  Please.  Harder."

He strengthened his grip on her, and pounded mercilessly into her yielding flesh, never losing time with his finger on her clit.  She tossed her head back, whipping his chest with her wet hair, a stinging lash that made him grunt, adding another "deeper" to her "harder".

This position... her subservience, her unerring trust in his mercy, was both tender and erotically animal, at the same time, and he found he would soon have to make a choice, if he kept fucking her that way: lose control of the demon, or lose control over his orgasm.

Angel chose the latter.

"Buffy!" he shouted, slamming into her with all of his strength.

"Yes! Angel! Yes!" she screamed.

He drove into her as he came, shouting.  After a few moments, during which Buffy could feel him still pulsing inside of her, he eased off, letting her bring her arms and leg down once again.

She turned around and smiled up at him.

"We should probably get out before we dissolve.  Or I drown.  Again," she said.

He laughed and nodded, still winded.

"Besides," he panted, "I owe you one."

Buffy scrunched up her nose with excitement, "But who's keeping track?"

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

After a few sweet hours of bedroom activity that almost required another shower, Buffy lay once again tucked securely against his chest.  Her father was due in less than five hours.

"I'll never criticize Willow's magick, ever again.  I swear," she said happily, tracing lazy lines across his chest.

"Sound policy," he agreed, and pulled the comforter up over them, "You should get some sleep.  You'll need your energy."

"Hmmm.... Yeah, I guess.  But... I just... I want to stay awake so this day can keep happening..."

Angel tried not to flinch at yet another familiar moment from That Day.  Was that what this was? Another Chance, granted to them by the Powers to make up for the one he had sacrificed for her life?  Would there be constant signs and hints like this, every time they were together from this day forward?

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, but said nothing.

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

He walked her as far as the outer office.

"So... I'll call you tonight, and let you know how things went," she promised him, not letting go of his hand as she looked up into his eyes.

//I'm not going to cry, damn it! It's only for a couple of weeks!//

Angel leaned down and kissed her softly, tenderly brushing her cheek.

"I'll be thinking of you," he promised.

"I'll be thinking about you, too," she replied.

"We'll be together again soon.  Don't forget," he said, and gave her one final, slow, deep kiss that left her reeling and gasping for breath.  He smiled as he watched her struggle to regain her composure, "To remember me by," he said, and let her go.  Buffy walked backwards into the hall, toward the outside door.

"I love you, Angel.  Thank you.  For everything."

He smiled.  "No.  Thank you, Buffy... for popping by..."

She laughed, and reached her hand back for the doorknob.

"You should probably close that," she reminded him, nodding toward the sunshine that leaked in through the spaces in the blinds behind her.

"I love you," he said, waving, as he did as she said.

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