Part 9
Comfort sex is like bad tequila. Looks great in the bottle, but once you open it, the rottenness pervades everything. It tastes awful and ruins your attempt to drown yourself in your sorrows.
Not all kinds of comfort are dangerous, of course. Most comfort is a good thing. There’s a comforting hug, always a good idea. I mean, who wouldn’t want the arms of a friend around you in a time of crisis? Then there’s the comfort chat, where your best friend verbally castrates your enemy, vowing to see that justice is served. So maybe your friend will never actually will send humiliating nude pictures of your boyfriend to his mother, but you feel vindicated all the same. Finally, there’s familial comfort, when the quirkiness of your family makes you glad that you’re not the only crazy one in the world. You were born that way; you can’t help it.
But the danger lies in comfort sex. It seems so, so right in the beginning. You’re sad. He’s sad. The people you both love are idiots and wouldn’t know love if it bit them in their asses. Your sexual frustration level is off the charts, and he’s the epitome of dead sexy. Your body thrums when he’s near, just reacting to the pure maleness, the electric nature of his being. What you long for is to lose yourself in the passion, forget what can’t ever be, and get some satisfaction wherever you can. With someone who feels your pain because it is his own.
But then, just as you embark on your quest for the ultimate comfort orgasm, you realize just how cheap and wrong this is. Not only are you detached emotionally from him, but your mind has begun to make him into the person you’re trying to escape. Unwillingly, your brain begins to fill in the gaps, to imagine that his chest is bigger, that his biceps are larger, that his hair is darker. You begin to imagine that he doesn’t smell like cigarettes and leather, but like silk and hair gel. And you know, underneath it all, that he’s doing the same thing to you, turning you into someone you’re not.
In your search for comfort, you’ve only compounded the problem. You’ve begun to live the fantasy you wouldn’t let yourself approach in the middle of the night. The thoughts pull you deeper into the vortex of misery, and if you don’t stop this foolish endeavor while you can, you’ll let the comfort turn into the most gut-wrenching pain of all.
***
Cordelia stared at Spike, her eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as she began to realize the ramifications of what they had started.
“Spike, what the hell are we doing?”
For a moment, he just stared back at her, trying to calm his screaming libido.
“I don’t know, Cordelia, but I think we should stop before it gets out of hand.”
They had backed away from each other, like prizefighters seeking the safety of their corners between rounds, and just as wary. Cordelia settled into the far corner of one of the couches and Spike backed against the reception counter, crossing his arms over his bare and bandaged chest as if to put another barrier up between them.
Cordelia’s breath came out in ragged pants as she stared back into Spike’s dark blue eyes. Still tingling from the passion of his mouth on hers, Cordelia felt thousands of little jolts race through her. But even though he’d made her body come alive, her mind screamed at her that she was betraying her true love. Never mind the fact that her so-called true love had just walked out the door. Probably forever.
Spike was just as flustered as Cordelia was. As good as she had tasted, as lush as her curves had been, he’d found himself wishing for someone else. For a shorter frame, a less-curvy body, longer hair, more aggressive mouth. He’d missed Buffy, and it made him angry. He didn’t want to miss her. She didn’t want him. But he couldn’t help the longing that flooded him anyway.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want each other, because on some level, they did. They truly cared about each other as friends, they definitely found each other attractive, and they were both desperately in need for some physical comfort and reassurance. But neither of them could truthfully say that some horizontal wacky could bring them anything more than pain. in the long run, anyway.
“So, are we just going to forget the ill-advised tonsil hockey?” Cordelia asked with a soft smile.
Spike smirked at her, finally able to collect himself enough to tease. “I don’t think I can forget kissing you, pet, but I know what you mean.”
They stared at each other in now-comfortable silence, each thinking about what might have happened if they hadn’t stopped.
“Well, Blondie, I gotta say. You’re one helluva kisser,” Cordelia complimented.
“Thanks, Cheerleader. You’re not to bad yourself. Had some practice, have you?”
She laughed at that, thinking back on her lip lock partners. “Most of my formative kissing phase was logged in various Sunnydale high broom closets with Xander. Can’t say it was necessarily quality time, but quantity does count, doesn’t it?”
Spike made a face like he’d swallowed some really bad blood. “That’s disgusting, Cordelia. I can’t believe you gave that ponce a second glance, let alone spent time snogging him. He didn’t deserve you, then or now.”
She just shrugged. “Maybe not. Xander isn’t exactly my favorite person, but the guy does know how to kiss. But I never let HIM know that, of course.”
He just chuckled. “Devious.”
“Had to keep him under my thumb somehow.” She sighed, a frown returning as she remembered her present circumstances. “If only other people were as easy to manipulate.”
“You wouldn’t love him so much if you could screw with him like that,” Spike said.
She frowned at him. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So what do you say we go out and get that dinner after all?”
“Dinner?”
“We were going to go out tonight, remember? Why should we let Peaches piss on our picnic?”
Cordelia stood up and walked over to him, taking his hand and pulling him upstairs. “You’re right. I’m through with him. Let’s get you changed and we can go out and paint the town red.”
He let her lead him, enjoying the feeling of her warm hand in his. “You do know where that expression comes from, don’t you, luv?” he said with a smile.
She paused for a minute in her trek upstairs, turning back to look at him with a puzzled look. Then his insinuation dawned, and her face scrunched up in disgust.
“Ewww! Please. Don’t tell me everything comes back to some gory vampire lore.”
“Of course it does. Everything comes back to us.”
“Pfft. Is it always a part of the turning to come back with an ego the size of Texas?”
***
One Week Later
The silky, hunter green satin felt heavenly under Buffy’s fingers as she perused the merchandise at Victoria’s Secret. She’d gone out for a day of pampering, a day to herself, something she hadn’t done in years. She’d had time, especially since coming to L.A., but she just hadn’t felt up to it. The last few weeks of lazy relaxation, interspersed with therapeutic, run-of-the-mill patrolling, had rejuvenated her like nothing else had. But the girl in her needed something more. Shopping was the cure-all she needed.
Today, she’d already had a pedicure, a facial, a foot massage, and her colors done. She’d also had her make-up and hair done at the ritziest salon she could find, all paid for under the “Consultant” tab at her boyfriend’s new company. There were some definite benefits to being the girlfriend of the CEO at a major law firm.
She’d walked by the lingerie shop slowly, peering in the windows and trying to decide if she wanted to go in. Eventually, her longing for pretty clothes had won over, and she found herself stroking satin and lace like she hadn’t seen it in ages. It had been awhile since she’d bought lingerie with an intention of someone other than herself enjoying it. Not that she felt any serious heat at the idea of wearing a teddy for Angel. It still bothered her that she felt nothing more than warm loyalty and friendship for him. But try as she might, her lust for him was going nowhere fast. That standstill in their love life had prompted her to seek some help outside of herself. Sexy lingerie just might do the trick.
Sighing, she let the nightgown slip out of her fingers and turned away, glancing at the hundreds of other items in the room. They were a swath of color, every conceivable shade and texture, all constructed for the pleasures of the flesh. After a moment’s glance around the store, one item in particular caught her eye. She wandered over to a display dripping with attire in blood red. One baby doll nightie stood out, the satin and lace confection drawing her to its beauty. She touched it reverently, the color and style bringing a longing to her heart that seemed almost painful. This vivid color, the sexiness of the nightwear, brought back so many memories, all of them of Spike.
Everything seemed to come back to him lately.
It had been nearly three weeks since she saw him in that alley, and her heart was still bruised. Okay, so maybe Spike didn’t want her. Maybe he didn’t love her. Maybe she didn’t love him anymore. But she still lusted after him. She still burned for his touch, still longed to feel his lips beneath hers, longed to feel him inside of her. It wasn’t so much that she wanted him back, because she didn’t. Really. But this lust she had for him was getting in the way of her future with Angel. And that was just unacceptable.
She’d wanted Angel for so long she almost couldn’t remember not wanting him. First, it had been the mystique, the somber, dark beauty that held in her in thrall. He was supposed to be her enemy, but he wasn’t. He was supposed to be evil, but he wasn’t. And that dichotomy, the man inside the demon, had drawn her in like nothing ever had. She’d fallen for him so hard that it had taken her years to recover. It was true that she’d thought herself in love with Riley, but as much as his leaving had hurt her, it had been nothing like when Angel left. With Riley, her pride had been scraped. With Angel, her heart had been torn from her chest, pulverized, and stuffed back in. She’d never been quite the same since.
Now, with the opportunity to rekindle their old relationship, she’d jumped at the chance. She’d sounded less than reluctant when Angel had first called her, but she’d already been in a lonely funk then, anyway. But the moment he’d hung up, she realized that she had a genuine chance at the life she’d always dreamed about. Angel’s arms around her for the rest of her life. His stoic presence at her side. It was more than she’d ever hoped for, and now it was within her grasp.
But then Spike had come back into her life and he was making a mess of everything. His mere presence had set her body on fire, bringing heat to the surface that had lain dormant since their affair after her resurrection. Heat that should have been flooding through her at Angel’s touch. Not to mention that his presence reminded her of her mistake, of the fact that she realized she loved him only too late. Of course, she’d put that love to rest now. It didn’t have anything to do with this lust for him. Nothing at all.
She’d been thinking about seeing Spike for awhile now in an attempt to put her wayward urges to rest. The only thing that had kept her from running to the Hyperion was the fact that Cordelia was there. The last thing Buffy wanted was a confrontation with her high school rival, especially when Cordelia was sleeping with Spike. The thought of them together was enough to make Buffy want to rip the brunette’s head off, and she’d been afraid that she wouldn’t be able to control her anger. But she knew, without a doubt, that if she didn’t see Spike, if she didn’t see them together and know that her own future with Spike was impossible, she wouldn’t be able to put these lustful feelings behind her.
Suddenly, it was as if it all seemed clearer. With renewed determination, Buffy turned her back on the pretty lingerie and exited the store, then the mall. Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of the doors to the old hotel, nervousness eating away at her. But it had to be done. She had to see him. One last time, and then it would be over. It had to be.
***
Cordelia observed the drying paint with a practiced eye. It looked like even coverage to her, the rich red paint vivid on the wood detailing. It had given just the effect she wanted; stylish, art deco, bringing back some of the hotel’s original charm. It had highlighted the architecture in the lobby in just the right way, making the space come alive and warming it up drastically. She was perched on the top of a wobbly old ladder, unwisely balanced at the foot of the stairs. Her descent proved to be more difficult than she thought, and before she knew it, her foot was sliding and she was dropping the last five rungs. Just before her head hit the floor, strong arms wrapped around her, stopping her.
“Better be careful, there, Cheerleader. Wouldn’t want to lose my only friend.”
Letting out the breath she’d been holding in her terror, Cordy smiled gratefully up at Spike. “I knew you were around here for a reason,” she joked. She placed her hands on his biceps as she straightened herself to her feet, gazing up at him in friendly acceptance. Their bodies brushed each other, but unlike last week, the sparks had dissipated, and what remained was pure, loving friendship.
That was how Buffy found them. Spike with his arms wrapped around Cordelia, Cordy with her hands stroking his arms and staring up at him, one of her signature smiles on her face. They looked like a freakin’ hallmark commercial, and it made Buffy want to puke. Either that or turn and run screaming out the door.
But she was the Slayer. And she would be damned before she would give either of them the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
Stepping into the lobby, she startled the couple with her greeting. “Hey, you two. What’s up?” She sounded cheerful, but was anything but. And Spike and Cordelia knew it, too.
Cordelia gently extracted herself from Spike’s grip, which had turned harsh as he became aware of Buffy’s presence. She also noticed how his jaw had tensed, how his bearing had slouched into his “I’m a badass vampire and nobody better mess with me!” stance. The one that needed a cigarette to fully pull off, and true to form, he was reaching in his coat pocket for his pack and lighter.
Spike wouldn’t let her get very far. Just as she started to step away, he threw his free arm out and draped it over her shoulder, pulling her back against his chest. She sighed, knowing he needed the reassurance of her touch to face Buffy.
Smiling at their guest, Cordelia resigned herself to her fate as Spike’s security blanket.
“Hey, Buffy. How’s it going?”
Buffy stared her down, shooting fire from her eyes as she took in their cozy entanglement. “I’m fine, thanks. I need to talk to Spike, though. D’ya mind?”
She raised an eyebrow at Cordelia, punctuating her annoyance at the brunette’s presence.
Spike just tightened his grip. “Anything you have to say can be said in front of Cordelia. We don’t have any secrets from each other.”
“Spike,” Cordelia said, turning in his arms and looking up at him. “I have stuff to do and Buffy wants to talk to you alone. I’m okay with it.” Silently, she mouthed, “Don’t mess this up, dumbass!”
He frowned at her, but let go.
“Fine. But don’t go far, luv.”
Cordelia just smiled and shook her head at him. “Bye, Buffy.” She waved and left for Wes’s office. Once inside, she left the door open a crack and stood to listen. There was bound to be a lot of heated conversation coming up, and she didn’t want to miss it.
She wasn’t disappointed.
“Spike, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” Buffy said, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked nervously up at him. Usually, she was so calm and collected around him, her hardened walls up. Today, though, she felt soft. Girly. Unable to bury her emotional trauma. She must be PMS’ing. That had to be it. Nothing else would make her insides turn to Jell-o around Spike except for crazy hormones. Because after all, she didn’t love him anymore.
“Sure you did,” Spike said, totally unaware of the battle going on within the Slayer. His own pain was blinding him, and all he could see that she had come back to throw her relationship with Angel in his face. “Since when do you care what I do, Slayer?”
“I’ve cared about you for a long time, Spike,” she said, her eyes searching his. “You know that.”
He snorted, his lip curling up into a sneer. “I don’t need your pity, luv. Go live your fantasy life with Peaches and leave me the hell alone. I’m doing fine without your exalted presence mucking everything up.”
Hurt slammed through her at his words. There was a time when he would’ve said that he couldn’t live without her.
“Spike, I just can’t stand back and let you make a mistake like this. I mean, c’mon. Cordelia? She’s not exactly the brightest lightbulb in the box. You could do so much better.”
The vampire’s gaze turned dark, true anger for the slander of his friend coming to the fore. He may not be in love with the chit, but he did know she was one smart cookie.
“Cordelia’s got ‘nuf brains for three people. Not to mention beauty in spades. What’sa matter, Slayer. Jealous?”
“Ha! Please!” Buffy looked insulted. “Cordelia doesn’t have a damn thing that I want.”
Oops. She realized that mistake the moment it left her mouth.
Spike’s jaw tightened at her inadvertent blow to his ego.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Spike,” Buffy said, stepping closer and reaching her hand out to touch his arm. He shrugged away from her touch as if she were diseased.
“No skin off my back, luv. It’s no secret that you never loved me. I was a fool for ever thinking it would be different.”
“I know that my being with Angel bothers you,” she said, and his whole bearing tensed even more at her words. “Please don’t take this so hard, Spike. You’ve always known where you stood with me. I . . . I could never love you like I loved Angel.” Neither of them noticed her use of the past tense. Cordelia did, though, in her eavesdropping.
“God, I should hope not,” Spike said, scoffing at her. “I’d never want to be in a miserable, god-awful, ill-fated relationship like that. Bloody star-crossed lovers and all that mindless rot.”
She didn’t take his insult well. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said. Your relationship with the Poof has ruined you for anyone else. It was an unhealthy relationship, Buffy, and it still is. You’re not meant for each other. Okay, so you fell in love. Hoo-frickin’-ray. But love does nothing when you aren’t good for each other.”
“Angel is good for me,” she argued. “You just hate him, so you can’t see that.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it, and you know it,” he said. Walking up to her, he stood right in front of her, staring down at her face. His face was hard, the angled lines of his cheekbone and jaw standing out as his muscles clenched in control. “Maybe all you and I had were a few good shags, but at least we were real with each other. I loved you despite your flaws, and there’s a very long list. There was no pretense between us, no unreal expectations. You knew what I was and you came to me anyway. I knew you didn’t love me, but I loved you anyway. We were real with each other, Buffy, and that’s what’s important.”
“Angel and I are real with each other!” she argued, her eyes flashing.
“You are so delusional, Buffy. Angel has so much emotional baggage it’s a wonder you can even move. He’s always been too wrapped up in his own drama to be the kind of man you need. The kind of demon you need.”
At her now dangerous look, he forged on. “Yeah, pet, I know you don’t want to hear it, but you do need some monster in your man. I’ve told you that before, and I stand by it. Angel may have that, but he loathes it. He doesn’t accept his demon, not like I do. He’s so wrapped up in his own bloody misery that he can’t be the one you need. You need someone who will absorb the violence and the darkness that you need to let off all the time. You need someone who will reflect the light you have back at you.”
He raised his hands and grasped her lightly at the shoulders, drawing her closer. His voice dropped to a low growl in his determination. “You’ve got this rosy picture painted for your future with Angel, but what you can’t see is that it’s fake. An illusion. There’s no possible way it can work for you. You’re both too miserable to help each other out. He isn’t what you need, Buffy. I am.”
He paused and looked down at her, watching the struggle as she warred with her emotions. He could see that she still wanted him, but she didn’t want to accept it. As he watched, he realized that his heart couldn’t take another rejection from Buffy. This time, he wanted to beat her to the punch.
So he let the axe fall.
“I’m the one you need, Buffy, and you’ll realize that one day. But by then, it will be too late. Because I don’t love you anymore.”
In the office, Cordelia knocked her head against the door jamb. Dumbass! He had her so close, and then he went and threw it all away.
Buffy’s mouth had dropped open slightly in surprise. He didn’t love her? Dammit! He was supposed to love her forever, whether she loved him back or not. Against her will, her eyes began to sting with unshed tears.
Seeing her shiny eyes only strengthened Spike’s resolve. “I don’t love you anymore, not when I have someone who loves me for me. Someone who is real, who doesn’t toss my love around like yesterday’s laundry. She’s a real woman, not a silly little girl. Not that you would know what that means.”
Buffy finally found her voice, her anger nearly consuming her. “Shut the hell up, Spike. I don’t know why I even bothered to come over here. You’re obviously in denial.”
She jerked away from him, backing up and heading for the door. “Angel and I are going to work, and you’re wrong. About everything. Cordelia is going to drive you nuts, but you deserve every bit of it.”
Opening the door, she turned her head back for one parting shot. “I hope you’re miserable with your ‘real’ woman.”
With a violent slam of the door, she was gone.
It was silent for a few moments as Spike’s folly echoed in the empty lobby. God, he really had a knack for stabbing himself in the gut and twisting the knife.
“Well that was brilliant, Valentino,” Cordelia said, striding back out into the lobby. “You almost had her convinced, then you went and screwed it all up. You’re never going to get her back if you keep throwing a non-existent love affair in her face,” she pointed out.
“I know that,” he said, still staring at the door. “She can usually see through my bullshit, but I guess she forgot how to do that.”
Cordelia thought about that for a moment. “You know, I noticed something when she was talking. She said ‘I could never love you like I loved Angel.’’
“Why don’t you shove that stake in a little deeper, luv,” he said wryly.
“No, you’re not listening, dork. She said ‘loved.’ as in past tense.”
He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Even if she did, it was just a mistake. She made it clear what she feels.”
“I don’t think so,” Cordelia disagreed. “I think she and Angel are trying to find the spark again and it isn’t there.”
“That’s not just wishful thinking on your part, is it, pet?” Spike said, finally lighting up his cigarette.
“Pfft. No. She just looked sexually frustrated. And you’d think she’d be all glowy with the post-coital love now that she and Angel are shacking up.”
“Wait,” Spike said, beginning to pace. “You’re right. I didn’t smell that on her.”
“Eww! Please don’t share your smelling evidence with me, Please!! That’s totally in overshare territory.”
He ignored her. “I totally would’ve noticed that. And it wasn’t there. I mean, she smells like him, but not that much like him.”
Stopping in front of her, Spike let a huge smile spread over his face. “They aren’t shagging. They aren’t happy. That’s the best news I’ve had in a very long time.”
“Let’s just hope you didn’t drive her to his bed with your little pep talk,” Cordelia said with a smile.
Spike’s smile turned into a grimace. “You just had to go and ruin my good mood. You’re evil, cheerleader.”
“So they tell me.”
***
The book in Angel’s hands had changed from Inferno to War and Peace, but the scene was nearly identical to the one a few weeks ago. Buffy, having just come from a heart-wrenching confrontation with Spike, burst into Angel’s apartment, tears streaming down her face and anger making her cheeks rosy. She’d killed a pack of vampires on her way home, but that had done almost nothing to salve her wounds.
But although the scenes had begun so similarly, the outcome was very, very different.
Angel set the book down on the coffee table, rising to catch her as she barreled past. “Whoa, Buffy. Slow down. What’s going on?”
“I’m just . . . I’m just . . .” more tears spilled over as she looked up at him, her whole body trembling with her frustration and anger.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her mouth closing firmly.
He raised an eyebrow at her as he stroked her upper arms with his thumbs, trying to soothe her. “Um, okay.”
He was totally at a loss for words. No big surprise there.
She looked up at him, her eyes shiny, her breathing shallow. She took in his features, his beautiful face and eyes, and Spike’s words came flooding back.Your relationship with the Poof has ruined you for anyone else. It was an unhealthy relationship, Buffy, and it still is. You’re not meant for each other. He isn’t what you need, Buffy.
“He’s so wrong,” she whispered, her hand trailing up to cup Angel’s face. “We’re good together, aren’t we, Angel?”
“Yeah, Buffy.” He looked puzzled. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Angel. Nothing at all. I just need you, that’s all. I need to be with you. I need to know that we’re forever. That we’ll be together like we’ve always wanted. I need to know that you love me, Angel.”
He didn’t say anything. She stood there, waiting, looking up at him with glistening eyes, and the words were stuck in his throat. How many times had he told her he loved her? How many times had he told her since she’d come here? And now, when the moment was made for those words, he couldn’t force them past his lips. So instead, when words wouldn’t come, he showed her the only way he knew how. But even that seemed wrong. Seemed inadequate. Seemed traitorous. To whom, he wouldn’t say. But something about it just wasn’t right.
Carefully and tenderly, he lowered his lips to hers, tasting her slowly. Their mouths moved together, brushing against each other in a kiss that was perfect in its sweetness. They tasted the past on each other’s lips, their love borne so long ago flowering between them in that moment. But instead of being a beginning to their future, it seemed, in a way, to be a eulogy for their past. A reverent goodbye for the love that would never be again.
Both steadfastly ignoring the warning signs, they plunged on ahead. Buffy’s hands came up to stroke Angel’s chest, teasing his nipples through the thin material of his shirt. Her fingernails lightly scraped him, the sensation pleasant but not arousing. His hands stroked her breasts, squeezing and cupping skillfully, his thumbs rubbing the tips until they couldn’t help but harden, but she felt detached. As if her body were responding without her.
Furious at her inability to surrender to the passion, Buffy became more aggressive. She shoved Angel back down onto the sofa, straddling his hips. Breaking their kiss, she reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He did the same with hers, reaching around to unfasten her bra. He took a moment to admire the beauty of her body, but strangely, he found himself wishing that she were built differently. He shook the thought off, knowing it was wrong.
He brought her mouth back down to his, claiming it voraciously, making up with skill what he currently lacked in passion. Their hands wandered once again, his delving beneath her pants, unzipping the front and reaching inside, finding that she was damp, but not wet like he knew she should be. She trailed her fingers over his abs, noting that the muscles barely twitched at her touch.
Even amidst all that groping, all the touching that should’ve sent sparks of desire hurtling through their flushed bodies, their eyes never met. They never connected on that emotional level that had always brought them the frenzied oblivion of two lovers who couldn’t get enough of each other. But still, they ignored it.
Her hand strayed to his fly, unbuttoning and unzipping, only to find that he wasn’t even hard yet. Despite the hunger of his mouth, his body told a completely different story. They both stilled as her hand closed around him, their eyes still not meeting. In that moment, the wrongness of this whole endeavor crashed around them both.
Gently, Angel pulled Buffy’s hand away from him, then zipped his pants back up. she grabbed her shirt and slipped it back on, and once their nakedness was covered, they looked into each other’s eyes.
“Buffy, I—,” Angel stopped, not knowing what to say.
She held her finger to his lips, smiling softly. “I know, Angel. The time isn’t right. I guess I’m not as ready as I thought, and neither are you.”
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said, his face the picture of contrition.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We have plenty of time to get it right. Why don’t we just hit the sack for tonight?”
She stood up, pulling him with her. “Will you sleep with me, Angel? Just sleep? Hold me?”
He smiled at her softly and nodded.
Without saying another word, Buffy took his hand and pulled him back to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind them.
***
“Angel, you’re such a dumbass. Just let me put some ointment on it, okay?”
“Cordy, vampire here. Got supernatural healing abilities.”
“Duh! But even supernatural isn’t instantaneous. ‘Sides, the ointment keeps infection away.”
He sighed. “Fine. Do whatever makes you feel better.”
Her smile turned sultry as she approached him with the ointment. She placed one hand on the uninjured portion of his chest and pushed him back onto the sofa. Once he was seated, she hiked up her skirt to mid thigh, then straddled him, her thighs squeezing his, her bottom snuggled between his outspread legs.
“Oh, I know what would make me feel better, grr guy.” She unscrewed the cap and squeezed a bit of the medicine out, then spread it on his healing wound.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he asked, distracted by the feel of her fingers on his chest.
“Some more field research on vampire stamina.”
It took a moment, but the light dawned. He reached up and grasped her hips, his fingers pulling her skirt even higher. “I think that can be arranged, Miss Chase. Your test subject is primed and ready.”
She grinned, screwing the cap back onto the tube and putting it aside. She took one finger and ran it slowly down his chest, beginning at the collarbone and ending just below his navel. There, her hand spread out, her palm reaching down to caress the bulge in his pants. “I do believe you’re correct. The subject is definitely primed and ready.”
He growled, his mouth coming up to nip at her chin. He captured her mouth with his, a demanding, breath-stealing kiss that lasted until Cordelia pulled away, gasping for air.
Her tenuous control made him smile. “Shall we commence with the test?”
“Angel!” she breathed. “Enough with the silly roleplaying already. Just make love to me, okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said breathily, running his hands under her skirt. He growled in pleasure when he realized she’d left her underwear at home. “God, I love you so much, Cordy.”
He made short work of her buttons, removing her shirt and bra in record time, and before Cordelia could catch her breath, she was naked atop him.
Her beauty nearly blinded him. High, perfect breasts stared at him, the nipples dark against the rest of her pale flesh. Just seeing her like this, her skin rosy with passion, her mouth swollen from his kisses, made him so painfully hard that he could barely stand it.
Reverently, he reached one hand up to grasp a breast, rolling the tip between his fingers.
“Cordelia—,” he moaned, his mouth descending to taste her. . .
“Angel,” Buffy’s voice roused him from the dream, only to find that he had her in a tight hold, his arm wrapped around her waist and her breast firmly in his grip. His heavy arousal was poking directly into her ass; in fact, as he awoke, he found he was actually grinding himself into her. Once fully awake, he yanked his hand away as if he’d been burned, then scooted a few feet away across the bed.
“Buffy, I’m sorry, I was dreaming, and I—,” he stopped, not wanting to explain any further.
She smiled at him softly. “I know. And I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“I apologized. Isn’t that enough?” He looked scared that she might want him to explain further.
“That’s not what I meant. I just think that a serious conversation is in order when my boyfriend is moaning another woman’s name in his sleep.”
Oh, crap.
“And . . . ,” she paused, a shadow of pain crossing her eyes. “And when I wish that it was someone else grinding his hard-on into my ass.”
He just blinked at her.
“I think a talk might be a good idea,” he said after a moment of enlightening silence. “After a shower. A very cold shower.”
