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TITLE: The Love Dress

AUTHOR: Copper 

EMAIL: coppersinger@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: Owned by JW, WB, Mutant Enemy, Fox, the writers and the actors who bring these amazing characters to life. No infringement intended. 




SYNOPSIS: Love and candlelight.

NOTES: The title, and inspiration, is from a forward I received today (Thank you, Deb!) and though it didn’t turn out quite as I thought it would I still hope you enjoy.

FEEDBACK: If you feel so inclined, of course.

DEDICATION: For Tango, not quite what you ordered but still… and for my beloved Babblers, especially Nariya, Leisa, Trammie and Kendra.

As the elevator slowly creaked its way down, its passenger, tired though he was, couldn't help but smile.

It was Friday... and the faint scent of vanilla and feminine musk lingered in the air telling him she was home.

Angel ran one large hand through his dark hair and started to unbutton his maroon silk shirt just as the iron doors of the old elevator opened.  Stepping through he was struck dumb.

All around the apartment was the soft glow of candlelight and delicate rose buds of the deepest crimson. And standing in front of him, with a chilled glass of champagne in her right hand, was Buffy...

Buffy bare... save for high-heeled, black shoes, their thin straps around her slender ankles, diamond earrings, and the silver claddagh on her left ring finger.  Her golden hair was pinned up in a mass of curls that he couldn't wait to pull down and all he could do was stare as the flames danced their reflections across her every curve.

She watched as Angel's eyes darkened from milk chocolate to bittersweet, a shiver of desire passing through her body.  Taking a sip from the glass, Buffy walked to her lover and lifted it to his lips.  In silence they shared the champagne, their only contact through the glass and their eyes.

Empty, the glass was gently placed on a nearby table. 

Angel reached up and tenderly searched for the pins holding up her hair, placing soft, wet kisses on each bejeweled ear before the curls tumbled over her shoulders.  Keeping one hand supporting her neck, he moved the other through the blonde mass and, keeping her now moss-coloured gaze with his dark one, slowly lowered his lips to hers.

Once, twice, three times she felt his lips rub hers, softer than the silk he wore against his skin, before they deepened to little sipping kisses.  She loved his kisses, whether hard and fast or slow and oh so tender, they conveyed love and desire and Buffy gladly returned them measure for measure.

When she felt him catch her upper lip in his teeth and slowly run his tongue inside, Buffy let out a breathy moan and pressed herself further into Angel's arms, her fingers twining in the short, soft hair at his nape.

He savoured the taste of champagne and Buffy on the tip of his tongue and lowering the hand from her hair, he splayed it across her back as he covered her mouth fully, delving inside to trace each crevice.  At the touch of her tongue to his own, Angel let out an almost growl and let instinct and learned knowledge take over. 

For minutes - hours - the lovers stood in the candlelight, making love with only their mouths and tongues and teeth before, as one, they stopped and just stared.

A smile, soft and loving and adding more sparkle to her eyes, curved Buffy's reddened lips as she spun in a leisurely circle, feeling her mate's eyes take in every nuance of her body. She felt his appreciation, his male satisfaction and desire, knowing he looked and saw any flaws as marks of beauty and character, simply because they were hers.

As she faced him once again, Buffy lifted her hands to unbutton his shirt, brushing her lips against each new patch of flesh she bared before gently pushing the shirt to the floor.  For a moment, she allowed herself the pleasure of running her fingers and eyes over his smoothly muscled chest and stomach before kneeling to remove his shoes and socks.

Angel just watched as she rose to undo his belt buckle, button and the zipper on his black slacks, giving a quick satisfied smile when her eyes darkened as his boxer clad arousal came into view.  Then he stepped out of the pants at her signal.

For a moment, Buffy just sat on her heels taking in each sinew of his now bare legs, before carefully removing his boxers and allowing herself to place a brief kiss on the end of his cock.  Again she stood and this time she pulled his face close, a whispered whim in her eyes.

Angel easily lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom with its soft romance of dusky light and satin sheets. Taking one long look at her precious face, he lowered her and then himself to the bed's comforts.

Again, their lips met and tongues caressed each other, dueling, loving but this time their hands weren't idle.

Large, pale hands traced the soft curve of breast and hip while slender fingers outlined the well-defined muscles of a broad male back and taut buttocks before slipping around to gently scrape nails and raise his nipples.

Buffy's head fell back, eyes shut, against the pillows as his lips left hers to trace her collarbone and the slightly raised scar above it.  And when those tender, firm lips found her breasts, taking small mouthfuls before Angel finally, finally took the rose-coloured buds of her nipples into his mouth, she was helpless to prevent her tiny moans of pleasure.

At the sounds of Buffy's passion, Angel felt himself pulse with desire and reached a hand down between her spread thighs.  He knew if he looked, and he did love to look, that she'd be pink and open and so lovely but he just ran his fingers over her nether lips, lightly brushing her clit before delving two fingers into her dew.

At his touch, her eyes opened and she watched, waiting.  As though sensing her gaze, Angel met it with his own and pulling one thigh around his waist, neither conscious of its wetness, he unerringly entered her body.


Her tight sheath gloving him, his fullness filling her, each completed the other and Buffy and Angel savoured the feelings within.

And then they moved. He pulled out and thrust in, her hips moving in delicious counterpoint, both luxuriating in each movement, their hands joined by her head and eyes locked together.

Eyes of moss that turned emerald and bittersweet chocolate to gold as the storm built, but neither lost the loving need.  And when they felt their climax upon them she offered him his mark and he accepted, accepting her gift of love and acceptance.

Only when they'd come back to earth and were cuddling, her hands making lazy patterns on his chest did they say, 'I love you,' their first words of the evening.

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