On A Wild Night

by Jill

Disclaimer: hysterical laughter – not even in my dreams I would want them – oh wait, should I say nightmares?
Category: Angst/Drama/Romance
Pairing: B/A – no mention of others, no others ... just B/A in all their fluffy, smutty goodness
Rating: oh definitely NC-17 baby ... all the way
Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), ffnet, several lists including BA_Fluff, if you have any of my stuff, just take it, anybody else please tell me where it goes
Spoilers: Surprise (I think)
Summary: The night of Buffy’s seventeenth birthday ... I know, I know this has been written before ... more than once ... but ... well, I was just in the mood and I think it’s never too much fluff and smut in these dark days of B/A love on the screen.
Timeline: Angel and Buffy are in his apartment – set within “Surprise” – BtVS season 2
Feedback: oh yes, please!!! send it to scarlet180482@yahoo.de
Dedication: This is for Pinkbuttercup – even though it’s not beta-read ... but this is another “out of the moment” fic. So you have to bear with the faults. Hope you’ll still enjoy!
Note: This fic was written quite in a rush ... because I’m still busy. But it just poured out ... please be kind.

He could hardly believe she was there, right in front of him, shivering like a leaf, smiling at him gratefully as he handed the clothes to her. “Put these on,” he said quietly, shivering despite the fact that he couldn’t feel the cold. He’d been cold for so long now, was used to it, only Buffy had brought warmth and ... she still shivered before him, “Get under the covers, just to warm up.” He nodded towards the curtain, the bed, trying not to remember that she’d been there before, that he’d spent nights inhaling her scent, imagining her to be with him.

He had been hard all through those nights ... and most of the days, too. It had been uncomfortable, but it had also been nice. To feel. Just to feel. And all because of her. He knew by all means of history and reason they shouldn’t have met at all. But from the moment he’d seen her, he had known she was his destiny. Something had pulled him to her. Something strong. Something he couldn’t resist.

Like now when he – almost unconsciously – followed her beneath the curtain, turning around quickly to give her privacy. “Sorry,” he mumbled, hoping he hadn’t made her uncomfortable with his presence. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she was. He should have thought first, he scolded himself silently, should have stayed outside, but he wasn’t thinking. He was reacting. He was feeling. He was wanting. He was leading with a part of his anatomy that didn’t have a very high IQ.

He knew he had no right to think that way, knew he had no right to want. But he still did. And he simply couldn’t stop.

Angel gazed at the window above, heard the rain splatter on the pavement. The clouds covered even the brightest of the stars. He felt exhausted, and bone weary, but at the same time he felt almost alive. He knew all about experiencing almost-death. But he also knew that it was just a part of the whole picture.

Suddenly he heard Buffy gasp behind him, and instantly concerned, he asked, “What?”

“Oh ...,” she was a little breathless, “Uhm ... It’s okay. I just have a cut or something.”

Clearing his throat first, feeling himself throb at the idea of seeing her with almost nothing on, he asked, “Can I ... Let me see.”

After a moment that seemed like an eternity, a whispered “Okay” gave him leave to turn. And  there she sat, clutching her shirt to her chest, a faint blush staining her cheeks, she looked everywhere but at him.

Slowly, never taking his eyes from her, he walked over, sitting down behind her, his fingers trembling when he reached out to touch her skin, chilled by the rain, but still smooth and soft like the finest of velvet.

He felt her stiffen underneath his touch, heard her faint intake of breath, and whispered, “It’s already closed. You’re fine.”

He was about to pull back, hating the mere idea to break the contact, when she suddenly leaned back, cuddling her face to his. Not thinking once again, just reacting, his arm came around her, almost out of its own will. Tears were pooling from her eyes, and her voice wobbled when she said, “You almost went away today.”

“We both did,” he answered, trying to suppress the shudder at seeing her facing the Judge, the horror to have to watch her die, the agony of being held and unable to save her. But he realized the hand on her arm was already trembling with the memory.

“Angel...,” she sobbed, her voice breaking, “I feel ... like I lost you ... You’re right though. We can’t be sure of anything.”

God, he wanted to help her, wanted to make it easier for her, hated to hear her speaking that way, but all that came to his mind was “Shhhh ...,” when a sudden revelation hit him. When he felt the only thing he could give her, was what he had tried to fight since the sunny afternoon in L.A. Here, tonight, after they had almost died, it seemed suddenly right. That she was a Slayer, and he was a vampire didn’t matter anymore. And so for the first time in his life he uttered the words he hadn’t thought himself capable of, “I ...”

She turned around that very moment, and it was as if he was looking right at her soul, “You, what?” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, fighting his own tears when he saw her eyes lighten up at the words. “I try not to,” he added, hoping she would understand that he had tried to fight it, that he had never wanted to burden her with the love of a monster, “But I can’t stop.”

“Me too. I can’t either,” she told him right back.

And then they were suddenly kissing, and Angel felt his body harden almost to the point of pain. There she was, in his arms, finally, but there was also his conscience rising its head. And it made him pull back against his own wishes, “Buffy,” he looked at her, saw the despair in her eyes, the mixture of love and fear, already drowning in them, but still bent to speak what had to be said. Because the last thing he wanted was for her to regret what they were about to do. “Buffy – maybe we shouldn...”

But her firm hand on his cheek stopped him, “Don’t,” she said urgently, “Just kiss me.”

And he did, kissed her when the sunk back on the bed, Buffy on top of him, her weight heavy and light at the same time. “I don’t want you to regret this,” he whispered between kisses.

“No,” she shook her head, “This is going to be too good to regret.”

He almost laughed at that, “Talk about pressure,” he murmured, letting his tongue play on her lips. “God, Buffy,” he groaned when her hands traveled lower, rubbing over his shirt, almost branding through the thin material. “I ... tried to stay away,” he told her, “Tried to be nothing but your friend.”

“Mmmm,” she replied, kissing his cheek, his eyes, the place where once his artery would have pulsed.

Their lips met again, and this time Angel deepened the kiss, tasted the fear, but also the fire in her, felt the heat of her arms coming around his neck, melted in her tender embrace. He kissed her harder, sweeping his tongue deeply into her welcoming mouth, and she met him with a fierceness that took his breath away. He’d had dozens of women, experienced woman, like Darla, but this was beyond everything he’d ever felt before.

Buffy pulled him closer, her hand gliding over his back, her fingers on his neck, in his hair, as his own hands started to explore her body and finally settled on the soft swell of her breasts. The little moan she gave in response let his control slip another notch. God, she was sweet, and all he had never dared to wish for.

Angel drew a sharp breath, when her hands suddenly slipped underneath his shirt, traveling slowly up his back, and he felt his eyes close. God, he wanted her to be always happy, always safe, and he wanted to be the man to make sure she was. He wanted to be with her, wanted to wake up with her, to hold her. He didn’t care that it seemed wrong in the eyes of others, that a vampire loving a Slayer was as close to an abomination as you could get. All he wanted was this. Feeling her. Holding her.


And then she stopped. Angel needed a moment to realize she wasn’t touching him anymore, and when he opened his eyes she was looking down at him, her eyes clear and dry. “You know what,” she said, almost conversationally, and Angel found himself considering if she was gone mad.

“What?” he managed to get out.

“Women tend to be afraid to take lead for fear of coming on too strong. Socially we’re taught to lie back – to let the man take off our clothes. Let him set the pace. Let him choose the time and place and position. Let him do the work. Hence the passive phrase ‘to be made love to’.”

He stared at her all through her monologue, and was about to ask her what the Hell she was talking about when he noticed the slight tremble of her hands, the uncertainty in her eyes. “Buffy ...”

“Yeah,” she looked at him, and swallowed.

“There is no need to be afraid.”

She smiled at him hesitantly, but it was wobbly, “I ... uh ... read that somewhere,” she said. “Probably in Cosmo. But ... what I ... What I meant ... I ... kind of like the idea.” She tried another smile, “You know, letting you set the pace. You’ve got a lot more experience ... and you’re probably going to get bored anyway, half-way through...”

He reached for her and with one fluid movement turned then around, while he was once again attacking her mouth, stopping her babbling the only way he knew. When he felt her go soft underneath him, when he felt her body start to vibrate, only then did he break the kiss, looking down at her intently, “I’ll never get bored. Buffy, this isn’t some ... rutting in the dark. I love you. I ... never made love before in my life.”

The joy he saw flare up in her eyes at his words almost jump started his undead heart. “I love you so much, Angel,” she whispered, her voice once again thick with tears. But this time they were tears of happiness, the fear seemed to have vanished.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Angel let his hands glide down her sides, then tucked at her shirt, carefully removing it from her skin, pushing it upwards his thumbs trailing a path over the smoothness of her abdomen. He saw her eyes darken, saw them cloud over with passion, and moving down, he pressed a soft kiss right above her navel. He heard her gasp, then moan, and smiled. He hadn’t had sex for almost hundred years, and he’d told her the truth about never making love before, but it obviously paid to have that kind of experience. Some things you just didn’t forget.

Finally the top was over her head, revealing a cotton bra, something practical she’d probably put on for slaying, but for Angel it was incredibly erotic. He’d seen all kinds of underwear on woman, but nothing had ever looked remotely like this. Or probably it was the person wearing it, he thought. Buffy was simple perfection. Softness and strength in one body – deadly precision and a soul full of light and goodness – Angel knew that how long he lived, nothing would ever come close to this.

Her pants and panties were gone in a flash, and in the process Angel shed his own clothes with practiced expertise. Finally opening the clasp of her bra, he smiled at her, and saw her smiling back, her eyes so full of trust, he felt his soul sigh at the pleasure of it. She was impossibly sexy, lying there like that, her full breasts open to his gaze, her pink nipples already upright as if waiting for his touch.

Never taking his eyes from her face, he slowly lowered his mouth, taking the first nipple between his lips, suckling it gently at first, then increasing the pressure, scratching it with his teeth. He felt her tense for a moment, her eyes incredibly dark now, her hands balled to fists at her sides, she was trying to hold on to herself, while he could feel the sensation of his touch wash over her.

When he shifted his attention to the other erect nipple, she moaned, opening herself to him, involuntarily cradling his aroused and swollen sex against the heat of her legs.

Buffy closed her eyes. For all her previous bravado, she was lying there, more uncertain than ever before, torn between cringing because she was naked in front of a man for the first time in her life and going wild with pleasure and want. She felt Angel’s hands skimming her body, felt his tongue and lips follow them, touching almost every spot on her body.

What would he think of her? She had this little scar on her thigh when one vamp had once stabbed her. And there was another right beneath her breast. Would he find her imperfections repulsive.

“God,” she heard him breathe, “You are beautiful. So beautiful it almost hurts to look at you.”

Well, she could definitely live with that, Buffy thought, feeling giddy all of a sudden. She opened her eyes again and met his, the fire in them making her mouth go dry, and the sheer admiration on his face simply took her breath away. He was serious. He honestly liked what he saw.

Framing his face with her hands, the sensation of his hard chest pressed against her breasts and his rock-solid erection against the softness of her stomach was dizzying. God, how she loved him. She knew that people would probably say she couldn’t love at her age, but Buffy knew without a doubt that this man, this vampire, was her destiny.

“Buffy,” he whispered, gazing at her with almost black orbs. And that one word, uttered with such meaning, was all she needed to surrender herself completely to him. She knew that usually the first time was awkward, often the act itself was over in a minute, but it wouldn’t be like this with Angel. She heard it in his voice, saw it in his eyes ... he was giving this to her, was determined to make this night as special for her as possible.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she heard him say and the same moment shook her head in the negative.

“You can’t,” she said, “You could never hurt me by loving me.”

“God, you are so sweet,” he repeated his words from before. “So incredibly sweet. And I promise, I’m going to try my best not to hurt you.”

With this took her mouth with his, but only for a moment before he moved down slowly, once again branding her with his lips, making her shiver with delight, making her moan and wriggle with anticipation.

Like every girl at her age she had thought about this, but since her relationship with Angel had gotten closer, since she’d realized she loved him, she had almost constantly pictured herself in this situation. But even in her most vivid dream, she hadn’t imagined it could be like this. Angel’s experienced mouth traveled down, touching her, sometimes his teeth were scraping slightly, and Buffy had the feeling of flying.

She could feel him touching her thighs, and involuntarily tried to close them, but with gentle hands he kept them open to his gaze. When his tongue finally dipped in her center, Buffy cried out, the sensations almost too strong to bear. Slowly, carefully he increased his pace, licking her everywhere, and where Buffy might have blushed at the mere thought of being touched that way, she was now trying to hold on to her sanity.

Could you feel that way and not simply dissolve? Could you die from making love?

That’s when she suddenly felt his teeth close around her clit, biting it gently, tenderly, and the heat shot through her, her body almost floating when she came with a shout, experiencing her first orgasm with such force, she wasn’t sure if she was even real anymore.

Still panting and trying to get her bearings she felt Angel moving up, covering her once again, and then with one swift movement he was inside of her. She felt his stretch her virginal folds, felt his probe gently. But it wasn’t uncomfortable to feel him fill her, it was ... nice ... more than that, actually. She hadn’t thought she could feel any better than she felt this very moment, but the pleasure kept increasing.

“I love you,” she heard him whisper, when he finally moved all the way inside, her maidenhead giving way to his hard softness. Buffy gasped, but at Angel’s concerned gaze, she shook her head, showing him with her eyes he hadn’t hurt her. She felt tears forming in her eyes once again, feeling happy in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“I love you,” she repeated his words, covering his cheek with one hand, “We’re one now.”

“We are,” he replied, his voice not quite steady. “You and I ... together.”

“Together,” she echoed, then tightened her arms around him when he started to move. Slowly at first, still concerned to hurt her. Still tender and gentle. But with each stroke his pace was increasing, his face changing from soft to passionate, his eyes midnight dark now. And Buffy – acting out of instinct – met each of his even strokes, arching up to take him closer, deeper, to feel him. Time seemed to stop as her entire world shrank completely down to this one man who was touching her, loving her. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. She let him fill her, all her senses working overtime as she watched her own ecstasy mirrored on his face, as she heard his murmurs and groans of pleasure, as his hardness penetrated her completely.

Angel felt the shuddering thrill of her second climax and he buried his face in the softness of her breasts as he, too went up and over the edge. The rush of his release engulfed him, rocketing him to a dizzying height. He collapsed on top of her, leaving him warm and relaxed and peacefully calm. He breathed into the soft hair lying next to him and his breath caught slightly when he heard her contended sigh, her hands moving lazily over his back. 

This woman loved him. And he wanted to be loved. God, how he wanted that. He was shaken by how badly he wanted it, wanted more than just existing in the dark. He wanted to be cared for, and to care for her, wanted to be cherished and cherish. Nothing like that had ever existed in his life before, and he wanted to hold onto it, to this moment, to this woman.

Buffy turned her head and brushed her lips against his neck. She didn’t say anything, but he knew without a doubt that she loved him. Loved him the same way he loved her.

This was what it was like to make love with someone who really cared. It was incredible – being loved so completely, on so many levels. It made the rather ordinary act of sex seem a miracle. It heightened all his supernatural senses and made his heart seem ten times as big. It took his metaphorical breath away and filled his lungs with sheer joy and laughter.

It made him want to smile – all the time.

He felt her arms tighten around him when she shifted slightly to remove his weight from her tiny form. She sighed again, and he smiled at her, her lids already dropping with sleep. God, how he loved this woman, this courageous girl, this exciting lover. She was all he ever hoped for – and much, much more.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispered, when she laid her head on his chest, her breath already evening with sleep. “I love you, Buffy.”

“And I love you, Angel,” she replied, a little smile appearing. With that smile on her lips she finally fell asleep, and only then Angel let himself join her.