The Temptation to Trust

AUTHOR: Safarigirl

RATING: NC-17 (or R, if you're a Canuck...)

DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel are Joss Whedon's. I only wish I could create characters this strong...

DISTRIBUTION: Please ask.

SPOILERS: Up to and including Enemies...

CHARACTERS: Buffy/ Angel - the chemistry is just too good. Besides, I love Angel naked, don't you?

FEEDBACK: I always need it.

Angel tensed, standing still in the moving shadows cast by the distant streetlight. Had Buffy seen him? He sincerely hoped not. He'd been discreetly trailing her on her nightly patrols ever since Faith had changed sides. Ever since he'd...Oh, no.

He wasn't going to think about it, wasn't going to remember how fragile her jaw felt under his blow, wasn't going to see the instant of surprised fear in her eyes when she came to and discovered she was chained up. He wasn't going to hear the hateful words he'd spewed at her about sending him to hell. Most of all, he wasn't going to feel the pain he'd felt when she told him she needed time away from him.

Hot tears trailed down his cheeks. Everytime he thought about it, he wept. He'd done what was needed, what she had needed him to do. When she'd asked for his help in her plan to trap Faith, he hadn't wanted to go along with it. There was so much that could go wrong, and he didn't trust Faith one inch.

He'd have been better off not trusting himself. The whole situation went out of control so fast. He was ashamed to remember his physical reaction to Faith - after he'd told her he was meant for Buffy alone, no less - and couldn't forgive himself for the things he'd said to Buffy. He didn't regret knocking Xander out, though. By that time, he needed to release his frustrations, and the guy was so annoying.

So here he was, back to square one, watching his beautiful Slayer from a distance and aching for her. He wondered if she knew he was lurking in the shadows every night. He suspected she did. She always seemed to know when he was near.

If it bothered her, she gave no sign. Night after night she strolled the streets and graveyards of Sunnydale. Occasionally Giles or her friends went with her, but more often she was alone. She was a lonely, forlorn-looking figure - a visible target. More than once, Angel discreetly scared off the human predators - pimps, drug dealers - who tried to follow her. He knew Buffy was more than capable of handling them, but it delighted him to do even this much for her.

On the other side of the road, the Slayer had paused under the streetlight. She leaned against it, flipping a stake in one hand. After scanning the area, Angel saw her cross her arms and lower her golden head, covering her eyes with her fingers. Her shoulders shook.

His heart clenched. She was crying - because of him, most likely. He wanted so much to make the hurt go away. How could he? At first he'd thought of sending her flowers, but knew it would remind her of Angelus. The one time he'd called her, she'd hung up on him. He didn't want to hound her; two-hundred odd years of dating had taught him that much about women.

Still, she looked so miserable. Angel hated it - hated her fear and his weakness that had brought them to this point. If only he could go to her. If only she were ready to talk to him again.

It was all he wanted.

His sharp eyes caught a shimmer of movement in the dark behind Buffy. The Slayer was so lost in her misery she didn't notice. There was a glint of light on steel. Angel's hair stood on end, and instinct took over. His mate was threatened. He had to eliminate the threat.

With a superhuman leap, he reached the other side of the street. Snarling, game face in place, he landed behind Buffy, placing himself between her and danger. Just in time.

Roaring loud enough to wake the dead, the largest vampire Angel had ever seen came charging out of the darkness, brandishing a battle axe. Angel ducked the first mighty sweep and smacked his fist into a ribcage like a brick wall. The giant snarled in pain and swung the huge weapon back in a two-fisted arc designed to take off Angel's head.

It never got there.

Buffy's slender arm shot up and blocked the swing. With a sharp twist, she used the giant vampire's own momentum to force the axe from his hands. Undeterred, he switched his grip to her neck.

"Angel!" Buffy cried. "Stake's in my pocket! Quick!"

Without thinking, Angel grabbed it from her hip pocket and jabbed it into the vampire's heart. The thing vanished in a cloud of dust, and Buffy dropped to the ground, choking for air.

He was at her side in a flash. "Are you ok?"

"Fine, fine," she spluttered. "Nothing a bottle of oxygen won't fix." Her startled mind finally caught up to his 'lucky' timing.

"Were you following me?"

No use denying it. "Yes."

She was furious, of course. "I thought I said I needed my space!"

The stress of the evening snapped Angel's temper. "You need a back-up, too, Slayer!" He snarled.

"I can handle myself!"

"Yeah? What about this guy? I watched - you didn't even see it coming."

"I would have been fine!" Buffy's face was burning with humiliation. Had he seen her crying over him? "I didn't need -"

That was the final straw. He seized her shoulders, shaking her roughly.

"YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DEAD! You're the only real Slayer now - you can't afford to take stupid risks!" He punctuated each word with a shake.

Buffy burst into fresh tears. Angel still had his vamp face on - bad Angelus memories were coming back.

"Angel, stop! You're scaring me!"

Those words were like ice water thrown on a flame. He stopped shaking her, and his face smoothed back to normal. He didn't let her go though - her legs were trembling so much, he was afraid that if he did, she'd fall.

He'd hurt her. Again.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said gently. "I'm so worried about you. It drives me crazy, knowing you're out here on your own. Now that Faith is your enemy, it's twice as dangerous for you. I just wanted to be sure you were safe."

Buffy shook her head. Safe. That was a joke and always would be, at least for her. Once she had felt safe in this man's arms; now, as her drew her to him, she stiffened and pulled away.

Angel's jaw tightened. She didn't trust him.She no longer felt safe with him, and what could he do to remedy the situation? He had no peace living without her. He wanted things to be right between them.

He also wanted to make sure she never got taken by surprise like this again.

"Buffy," he said sternly. "You and I both know you let your guard down tonight. That's bad. Now, if you don't trust me to watch your back anymore, then you should have someone else do it for you."

"I can't let them," she sobbed. "Last night Xander almost got killed - again."

Angel knew that, too well. He'd watched the whole thing, and had been about to rush to the boy's aid when Buffy had beaten him to it.

"It's too dangerous for them," Buffy continued. "And you, well, you're a good back-up, but I'm always afraid..."

"Of what?" He whispered.

"Of Angelus. Of you losing your soul." There. She'd said it. Finally.

"That's not likely," he began. She cut him off.

"You can't be sure of that. Ever since Faith tried to de-soul you with magic, I've been thinking about it. What if it's easier for you to lose your soul than you think?"

He stood back, sighing with frustration. How come she couldn't see it? He didn't matter, himself. She was the one who had to stay alive.

"I trust you," he said, gazing into her blue, blue eyes. "If that happened, you'd kill me, of course."

"Oh." She was really crying now, face red, eyes streaked with mascara. "Oh, Angel, you shouldn't. I- I couldn't do it last time..."

His poor Slayer. He drew her into his arms; she needed him now, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

"Hush. You were able to do it in the end. You'll do it sooner the next time." Angel was trying to convince himself as much as her. Her last words had struck a chord, deep in his soul. When he'd first come back from Hell, he'd struggled with this. She had betrayed him. Not by sending him to Hell - that he fully understood - but by not killing Angelus. He had trusted her to do what was right, and she hadn't done it. That was what hurt so much - the disappointment, the realization that she was too human to kill him when that was her job. He loved her for it now, but at the time, the queasy little notion had troubled him.

Her next words mirrored what was on his mind.

"Angel?" Her voice was small.

"Yes?"

"Do you ever blame me? For not killing you when I should have?"

He couldn't be anything but honest with her. "Sometimes. You were the Slayer, and that was your duty. Before it happened, I was so sure you would always do the right thing. It hurt, realizing you weren't the paragon I'd expected you to be."

She buried her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she murmurred. "I tried, you know."

He tightened his hold on her. "And I taunted you with your inability to do it." She stiffened in his grasp. He stroked her back reassuringly until she relaxed again. "Oh, I don't blame you anymore, Buffy. For all my guilt and pain, I don't have a death wish. I like this world, and thanks to you, I'm still able to enjoy it."

She muttered something inaudible, and her hands crept slowly around his waist. He was encouraged by this progress. He kept talking.

"The problem is, right now we don't trust each other very much, and we need to."

She tilted her head back so her chin dug into his sternum. "What do you suggest?"

Suggest? Oh, boy. She had NO idea what she was asking. Angel knew some ways to build trust, all right. A vision of Buffy, glowing and naked, rose before his eyes. Uh, not going to happen, he told his body.

On the other hand, this was a perfect opportunity...

"Willow and Giles did something for me the other day."

"Oh? What?" she asked, eyes alight with interest.

"They know you need help out here. And they also know I might be a risk, just like you said. So..." He paused, not sure if he should get her hopes up.

"So?" she prompted.

"So they tried to come up with a protection spell for me. Something that'll keep my soul attached to my body, no matter what gets thrown at it."

"Did they succeed?"

Angel frowned. This was the part that made him nervous.

"They think they went one better. They think they undid part of my curse."

Buffy froze. In the golden lamplight, her eyes were huge.

"What part?" she asked. She trembled against him, waiting for the answer.

"The part about me being truly happy," he replied. He stared off into the darkness as he said it. He couldn't bear to watch her face right now. He was afraid of what he might see there.

Buffy was a natural skeptic, and Slaying had only made her more so. She sounded skeptical now.

"Are you sure?"

Angel finally let his hand fall from her sides. He paced away from her, five steps, then back again, drawn like a moth to a flame.

"No, I'm not sure. They're not sure. It's in the ritual they used, but we have no way of knowing if it worked or not." He ran shaking hands through his already tousled hair. "Giles tested it magically. It checked out against spells, charms, things like that. But there's no way of knowing..."

"If we can be together."

"Bluntly, no." Hands in his pockets, he kicked moodily at the base of the light standard. A question rose to his lips, but he dared not ask it. Not yet. He wasn't sure what he felt about this situation. His emotions were a jumble of joy and fear and disbelief. Would she even want to be with him, if it were possible? Did he want her to be? Even before he'd reverted to Angelus, their relationship hadn't exactly had much of a future. Maybe it would be better to leave things as they were.

Buffy regarded his leather-clad back. She could hardly believe what she'd just heard. Angel and herself - might it possible? Her first reaction, she was embarassed to realize, was a dangerous thrill of warmth between her legs. Bad body, she scolded herself. This is serious.

It was very serious. She was not the seventeen year old who'd gamely tumbled into bed with a sexy vampire last winter. At the time, she'd convinced herself she was in love with Angel. Now she loved him, and there was a world of difference in those two states. Love, for her, was no longer a starry skyride of hormones and a vague sense of happiness. Sometime in the past twelve months, love had become a conscious decision, something she did rather than something she felt. It was deep in the marrow of her bones, and permeated her every action - not just towards Angel, but towards everyone in her world. She no longer Slayed for destiny or duty but for love - of her friends, of her mom, of Sunnydale and the world beyond it. Even, she realized with a wry smile, for love of toady little Principal Snyder, simply because he was human.

So, blithely jumping Angel's bones was out of the question. But she did want to be with him. It was a need, an ache that burned within her from day to day. She'd seen the same need burning in his eyes. He hadn't asked her to - to try anything, though. Maybe he no longer wanted her.

Maybe you should just ask, Angel told himself. The worst she can say is no. He couldn't bring himself to it. Truth was, he wasn't ready to hear a no from her. Not in this.

He briefly considered the subtle, patient approach. It had served him well in the past, but there was so much between him and Buffy now. She knew him like the back of her hand. She'd see through any such ploy in an instant.

Buffy coughed.

"Ahem. Well," she started. "I mean, well." Big sigh. "Well. That's - I guess that's good news, in a way. Have you tried it out yet?" Her hand flew to her mouth. She truly hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.

A pained look crossed his face. "No. It wouldn't be a test, anyway. You're the only woman who can make me happy like that."

Buffy drew in her breath. Angel was doing the male equivalent of tearing out his heart and inviting her to stomp on it. She opened her mouth to speak, but he plowed on.

"I might as well say it, Buffy. I want to test this thing out - with you. Do you think you could possibly want me again, after all I've done?

Want him? That was like asking a drowning man if he wanted air. Even though she wore a thick jacket, she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her suddenly hard nipples. Of course she wanted him.

"I don't trust you, Angel."

He raised a hand to cup her cheek. "I know. There's only one way I can think of proving myself to you, and you know what it is." Her pupils were dilated with desire as he leaned forward. She could smell his faintly spicy cologne. No warm breath stirred her cheek, but the vibrations of his voice made the hairs stand up on her neck as he whispered to her.

"Come by the mansion later, Buffy. I want us to learn to trust each other again."

He let go of her, and faded into the darkness.

*****

The Slayer was left staring at the lamp post. Her heart was racing, her breath came in little pants, and she felt far too warm for the weather. Her mind whirled with images - Angel's skin palely shining above her, his muscles tensing underneath her hands...Oh My...she had to sit down.

After a few moments, her unruly body calmed itself and she tried to think rationally. Eventually a couple of points became clear. They were:

1. She did need a back-up. One with supernatural speed and strength, preferrably. And a knowledge of the arcane. At the moment, Angel was the only one who qualified.

2. She owed it to Angel to at least help him discover if this new wrinkle in his soul possesion was all it could be. It wasn't fair to him to be left wondering. She could always stake him if anything went wrong, although her stomach rebelled at the thought.

3. She wanted him back. The temptation to trust him was overwhelming. She needed to find out if she could trust again - both him, and herself.

She didn't like the idea of leaving herself vulnerable to a possible attack, though. What could she...ah yes. A wicked smile played about her lips for an instant, only to be replaced by a nervous frown. She sure hoped she was doing the right thing.

For the thirtieth time, Angel paced the length of his dim living room. A fire crackled on the hearth, and the Gipsy Kings played softly in the background. He found it ironic, that he would so enjoy their music when their people were the ones responsible for his torment, but he found the lilting, haunting guitar notes soothed his nerves. He hoped Buffy would like it.

He gazed at the bed. It was set up already, and now he wondered if the red silk sheets weren't just a wee bit cheesy. Since his only alternative was black satin - what had possessed him to get such impractical sheets anyway? - he left them on the bed.

He prowled the room. He'd left her over an hour ago. Maybe she wasn't coming. Maybe something had happened to her. He shouldn't have left her there, not after dropping a bombshell like this. He should have seen her home. He checked his watch. He'd give her twenty more minutes -

"Hey."

"Buffy." He swallowed nervously. "You came."

"Yup." She glided into the room. "It took me a while to make up my mind, but here I am." She shrugged, smiling uneasily. "Although I'm still not sure I should be here."

He walked over to her and took her coat. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm not sure if you should be either."

"Oh, that's real comforting" - sarcastically.

He half-smiled at her. " I try. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee?"

"No, I'm jumpy enough as it is."

She looked so forlorn, standing there in the middle of his cold mansion, her hair glowing in the firelight, that he simply had to put his arms around her. Burying his lips in her hair, he murmurred:

"I'm just as afraid as you are, Buffy. We don't have to do this."

She turned in his arms, standing on tiptoe, and softly kissed his lips. "I want to do this, Angel."

His heart leapt with the words. "You sure?"

Her only reply was a deeper kiss, slower this time, with just a hint of hunger behind it. As he responded to her questing lips, he held his own need strictly in check. Slowly, that was the key. Go slowly.

She pulled away from him. "We should set some ground rules first," she informed him in a mock-stern voice. "For safety."

"For your safety," he corrected. He brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead. "I've already given it some thought. I should..." Here he whispered, very softly, in her ear. Her eyes flew wide with surprise, and not a little speculation.

"I was thinking the same thing," she admitted. "Is that what you want?"

"It's the only way I can be sure you'll be safe from me, the first time. And I want you to keep your stake handy."

"Way ahead of you there." She pulled one from her back pocket, holding it before his eyes.

"Well then," he said, rocking on his heels. "At least we don't need to discuss birth control."

"We've gotta be the only people in this town for whom safe sex means chains and a stake, instead of condoms," Buffy noted wryly.

Angel nodded. "Comes with the territory." He couldn't help smiling. Trust Buffy to find the humour in the situation.

She snickered at her own wit, then held her arms out to him. "Angel, I've missed you so much."

He didn't reply. His mouth was too busy ravishing hers. She plunged her hands into his tousled hair - Angel had given up combing it sometime in the &lsqu;f50's - and drew him even closer to her, gently parting her lips and inviting him inside. She trembled slightly as his tongue entered her mouth, and Angel was reminded, oddly enough, of the vampire geas, that he couldn't go where he wasn't invited. He resolved to keep that rule in mind tonight. For this first time - their second first time, he realized - he would follow Buffy's lead.

Buffy's senses were filled with Angel: the coolness of his lips and tongue that gradually warmed with her own heat; the rough/smooth texture of his clean-shaven face; the subtly spicy scent he wore, that made her think of old-fashioned movie heroes for some reason; and above all, his arms strongly around her, encircling her with his protection. Even knowing the risk they were about to take, even knowing the possible outcome of this night, being in his arms made her feel strangely safe. She opened her mouth wider, wanting him to come deeper inside. His hands slid gently down her back to her waist, and stayed there, resting at the top of her swelling buttocks but going no further, while his tongue obeyed her implicit command, exploring her more intimately, a subtle promise of things to come.

Angel was sweating - already. He was no callow teenager, he knew how to control his body and take things easy, but Buffy had a way of shattering his control. He lengthened the kiss, losing himself in the moment, trying to forget what came next. His sweet Slayer wouldn't let him, however. She pressed against him, sliding her soft, strong hands under the hem of his shirt, gliding them up over his chest muscles. He moaned as her nails became entangled in the dark curls the dusted his skin. As he withdrew his tongue, she sent hers questing after it, entering his mouth. He tasted like Colgate toothpaste, and coffee, with just the faintest metallic tang of blood underneath it all. Buffy liked it; it was the way he'd always tasted, and gave a comforting familiarity to the proceedings. She trembled as she started to unbutton his shirt, but did not break off their kiss. She needed the contact, needed his strength right now. If she allowed her mind to dwell on what might happen tonight, she knew she'd run as far and fast as she could, away from here.

She did not want to run anymore. Ever since she'd sent him to hell, she'd been running from Angel. It was time to face him, to face her fears. He was going to help her do it, too. Her hands stilled as tears welled up in her eyes.

Angel slowly raised a hand to her cheek, marvelling at the incredible softness of her skin. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment.

"Why the tears?" He asked, his voice low.

She blinked them back, smiling bravely at him. "I was just thinking how, no matter how many times I run away from you, you always take me back. It's almost too much, the way you love me."

Angel returned her smile. "I've often thought the same about you."

She shook her head. "I know. It's just, well, after everything that's happened, it's hard to believe."

He chuckled. "The feeling's mutual, you know."

She sighed. "I guess I just wanted to thank you for..." She blushed. "For everything. For helping me get past my fears. For tonight."

He mock-growled at her. "Thank me when it's over. Now, I believe you were removing my shirt?" He turned a look of such puppy-dog appeal on her that she couldn't help but grin.

"Only if you behave," she admonished him.

Angel flashed her such a wide, devilish grin, that she knew behaving was the farthest thing from his mind. She arched an eyebrow at him, a challenge. He simply stood, arms wide, shirt gaping open over his gleaming muscles, an open invitation.

She pounced.

Angel wasn't quite sure what happened - one minute she was crying over him, the next he was flat on his back on the bed, and she was straddling him, her fingers feverishly undoing his buttons....

Buffy fought with the tiny, fiddly buttons on Angel's shirt. They were in her way, and suddenly she couldn't wait to have him nude, to see him tensing beneath her. With a snort of impatience she seized his shirt in both hands and yanked....

Angel gasped as buttons went flying. He felt a jolt of fire in his loins. He'd been undressed by dozens of women over the centuries, but this was the first time one of them had ripped the clothes off him. It shocked him. It was unbelieveably arousing to know Buffy was so eager for him, but she was going way too fast. Her lips were trailing burning kisses all over his bare chest, her hands were reaching for his zipper. He groaned as she brushed against his erection. Fascinated, she closed her hand over the bulge in his leather jeans.

She was so artless, so eager. Angel realized with a start that she was still innocent, that she hadn't been with anyone else since that rain-soaked night when they'd first made love. The knowledge only seemed to inflame his desire even more. Control. He had to slow her down, at least until she got the chains on him. Then, he'd give her a free hand. Angel groaned at his own bad pun.

Buffy was a bit startled when Angel trapped her wrists and held her arms out. She'd been enjoying his body, delighted with the reactions she could provoke from him with the slightest touch. She met his eyes and saw the desire burning there.

"Buffy.. Chains.." he gasped.

Blushing at her own forgetfulness, Buffy reached for the heavy manacles which he'd attached to the stone pillars on either side of the bed. She snapped one around his compliant wrist, and was about to do the other, when she paused. She was still fully clothed.

She laid the manacle aside for the time being, and gently placed Angel's free hand on the top button of her blouse.

"Undress me first," she whispered.

Angel swallowed. Like a man in a dream, he slowly eased first one tiny button, then another, through their holes, exposing the creamy flesh of Buffy's neck, her delicate collarbones. His fingers glided down the pale green silk, following the valley between her breasts. She sat absolutely still, thigh muscles tense against his sides. Her body was hot on his stomach where she straddled him. His own lack of body heat made him all the more aware of hers, and as he popped open yet another button, he felt her temperature rise. He could hear her racing heartbeat. The firelight flickered across her hair, making it sparkle. Her sweet perfume filled his nostrils.

Buffy gasped as Angel slowly cupped his palm over her right breast. She leaned into his hand as he squeezed it, delighting in the sensations he was causing. He found her nipple beneath the thin silk - she wasn't wearing a bra tonight - and she moaned as he rolled it between thumb and forefinger. It was as if a slow flush of pleasure radiated out from where he touched her. He raised himself to her. He couldn't quite reach - the chain was a shade short - but Buffy read the intent in his eyes and arched towards him. Triumphantly, he seized her nipple between his lips, wetting down the material until she was rock hard and squirming on his lap. He quickly undid the rest of her buttons.

She shrugged her shoulders, allowing the garment to slide free, and Angel had to sit back and admire her. To him, she was beauty personified. The warm glow cast by the fire gilded her velvety skin. She was tanned brown from head to waist.

"You sunbathe topless?" Angel blurted. He winced. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

She shrugged. "Sometimes. Our back yard is fenced off, you know. Lots of privacy."

He whimpered. What a mental image! "I'd give my eye teeth to see that." Again out loud! What was the matter with him?

Buffy giggled, which made her breasts bounce deliciously, Angel decided. "I can get Willow to take a picture, if you like," she offered.

Angel could only moan. His head was filled with a vision of the two girls lying almost naked on the green grass. It was torture, pure and simple!

Buffy smiled wickedly. By the stunned look on Angel's face, his imagination was taking him some interesting places.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" He growled.

"Would you like a picture?"

Snarling, he pulled her down to him. "What I would like, Slayer, is to screw you until we both pass out," he hissed.

Buffy smiled at him, but he immediately saw the flicker of fear she was trying to hide. Shit. He'd moved too fast. She wasn't ready for his unbridled lust. Not yet. Smoothing one hand across her brow, he kissed her again, not too soft, but without urgency. He was rewarded when she relaxed, pressing her breasts down into his chest, and she nibbled at his bottom lip. The contact was sheer electricity for Angel. Her small body on top of his felt like a blanket of fire.

Buffy ran her lips over Angel's face, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, all the while fighting down the panic his last words had sparked. His free hand stroked idly up and down her spine, making her shiver with excitement. He was hanging back, she realized, letting her decide what to do next. Which was great, except that Buffy had only done this once before. She had no idea how to proceed.

As she shifted position, something hard pressed against her stomach. Angel moaned in his throat, and suddenly she knew what she wanted. Scootching a little further up the bed so her knees were on either side of his broad chest, she waited until his hand returned to her waist. Placing hers over his, she guided him to the pull on her zipper. Angel's eye flew wide open as he understood what this meant. He tugged the zipper down, and she assisted him as, one-handed, he shoved her slacks down over her slim thighs and calves.

By the time he had the pants at her ankles, she was standing over him. A lazy smile played across his features. From this angle, she was truly an awe-inspiring sight. All that lay between him and her most intimate secrets was a wisp of pink lace. She kicked her pants aside, walked down to his waist, and somehow shucked the leather jeans off him.

Freed from the confines of his clothes, his erection tented his black silk boxers. Buffy stood watching him, her head cocked to one side. Reaching into the pocket of her own slacks, she withdrew the stake. Angel eyed it anxiously. He so hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

Stretching over him, so that he got an eye-popping eyeful, she placed the stake behind his head, out of his line of sight. Entwining her fingers in those of his free hand, she kissed him again, driving her tongue deep into his mouth, drawing his fire until the need was raging in his veins. He was so focussed on the kiss, he barely noticed when she snapped the other manacle shut, trapping both his arms.

If he'd had breath, he would have gasped. As it was, he could only stare into her wide blue eyes. He'd suggested this, it was true, but now that he was truly at her mercy he felt a little nervous. What if she decided this was a perfect opportunity for revenge? He'd hurt her so much.

Buffy saw the apprehension in his face. She could almost hear what he was thinking. Angel had spent so much of his life with people he couldn't trust, that now he could barely trust her. Running her fingers along his brow, she smoothed out the tension lines forming there, until he relaxed his grip on the chains and smiled at her, eyes shining. Their lips met again, exchanging feathery light kisses.

Buffy allowed her mouth to follow the line of his jaw, down his neck, out over his powerful shoulder and along his arm. Angel shivered as her hot little tongue danced from his elbow to his wrist, surprising him with the sensitivity of his own skin. He cupped his palm around her face as she licked it, tongue travelling in a slow arc up the outside of his thumb, flickering to the fleshy web between thumb and palm, and then to his fingertips. She nibbled at them, caressing the rest of his hand with her fingers. Flickers of lightning pleasure ran down his arm, igniting his whole body.

Buffy loved his hands.They were thin and hard, strong and elegant. Their cool skin was dry to the touch - so different from the sweaty teenagers who asked her out at school. She lingered over this one, trying to express with her mouth and fingers exactly what she felt. With these hands, Angel had saved her life more times than she could count. He'd held her and helped her, and as her tongue slithered over his calloused palm one last time, she remembered his hands exploring her body. She felt a tug of desire and wanted to have his hands on her again. She slid up so her breast rested where her tongue had been, and moaned as he obediently kneaded it.

Angel closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her, her weight in his hand. Her breasts were perfect, full and round with pert pink nipples. Unlike many small women, she was endowed with wondrous curves. He trapped her erect nipple between his fingers and heard her whimper in pleasure. He fought down his body's reaction. It was getting harder to hold back. He prayed Buffy would soon be ready for him.

The slight clink of Angel's chains brought Buffy back to reality. She backed away from his reach, chuckling as he made one last, playful snatch at her. Sitting back on her heels, she allowed her frankly admiring gaze to roam over his sleek, rock-hard physique. Angel felt her regard like a touch; everywhere it went, his skin tingled. He was already naked but it seemed she was undressing him again, this time with her eyes. Her responded stare for stare, enjoying the way her shoulders flexed as she raked her nails down his chest, mesmerized by the shifting of the muscles beneath her flesh.

She shifted back, straddling his thighs now instead of his stomach, and Angel groaned as her heated, wet cunt briefly brushed against his throbbing member. Even through the thin fabric of their underwear, he could feel her desire gathering there. He wrapped his hands firmly around the chains again. Soon, he told himself, soon.

Buffy noticed his involuntary twitch as she rubbed against him. It brought an answering flush of warmth to her already-swollen womanhood. With a soft sigh, she seized the waistband of his boxers and set him free.

Angel hissed as the heated air swirled around him. Then her delicate, strong hand closed over him and he lost contact with reality. He surged against her fingers. She tightened her grasp on him, using his pre-cum as a kind of lubricant, sliding her thumb down the ridge on the underside of his shaft. Her other hand gently closed around his balls, and Angel thought he would explode right there.

"Please, Buffy..." He whispered, not sure what he was asking her for. All he knew was the maelstrom of pleasure she was building for him, and that he couldn't lose control. Yet.

Buffy fondled him with innocent curiosity. When she and Angel had first made love, he'd done everything for her. Since then, she hadn't had the opportunity to get physical with someone, so this was her first time seeing a man, well, up close. She found Angel's erection fascinating. And stimulating. She blushed, recalling how he'd felt thrusting into her. Soon, they'd be doing that again. First, she would....

Angel gasped her name as her warm mouth closed around him. It was all he could do to hold on to his sanity. He'd pictured this a thousand times in his mind, but now it was incredibly real. Her sweet breath puffed across his cool flesh like the oxygen feeding the embers in his hearth. When her tongue darted down the length of him, he tensed upward, thrusting into her mouth. She swallowed, and he cried out.

"Buffy! For the love of..."

Buffy hadn't expected it to be like this. She'd taken him into her mouth as a kind of experiment, and now it seemed her senses were full of him. He tasted sweet and salty at the same time, and she eagerly explored his contours with her tongue. Dimly, she heard him cry her name, and she knew she was driving him mad. The knowledge of her power over him was the purest aphrodisiac. She was suddenly aware of her femaleness. It was as if Angel's desire for her gave her the key to a whole new kingdom.

Swiftly as a swooping songbird, she rose above him, hands on the waistband of her panties. Catching on to what she intended to do, Angel raised himself as high as the chains would let him.

"May I do that?" he asked, voice low and hoarse with need.

She was puzzled. "How?"

"Come closer," he whispered. She shuffled up the bed until his nose was inches from her belly. She looked quizzically down at him, confused, then gasped as he took the elastic between his teeth and started to pull her panties down. His lightly stubbled chin scraped along her inner thigh.

She quivered.

Angel lowered her lingerie to her knees, and paused. This close to her, her spicy sweet woman's scent was like a heady drug. If his heart could beat, it would be pounding now, just as hers was. Her thatch of blond curls was just at eye level. Leaning forward, he dipped his tongue between her folds, lightly flickering it over her swollen flesh. She was juicy and dripping for him, and her clit throbbed against his cool tongue.

Buffy moaned as he invaded her most secret of places. The difference in their body temperatures heightened her awareness of every move he made. As he gently squeezed her against his teeth, a jolt of ecstasy shot through her. Just for an instant, but it was enough. She arched her hips towards him, swaying with need.

As Angel felt her begin to respond, he knew he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Withdrawing his mouth from her, he dragged her panties further down. Lost in the moment, she obligingly stepped out of them, and he spit them aside. Graceful as a swan, she slowly folded herself onto her knees again. Guiding him with her hands, she positioned him at the entrance to her hot mystery.

Angel fought back the haze of desire long enough to ask:

"One last time, Buffy - are you sure about this?" His voice was harsh with need now, almost growling, and he knew that, no matter what happened later, he did not want her to say no to him now.

She reached out, entwining her fingers in his. "So sure," she murmurred, "it'd take more than a demon to stop me now." With that, she thrust down, impaling herself on him.

Angel was surrounded in pleasure so intense, all that had come before seemed to pale in comparison. At long, long last, he had her again. This was worth everything he was risking.

Buffy threw her head back, arching out her spine in an effort to accomodate him. He seemed to fill every nook of her, pressing in to the very core of her being. It felt so ... right, having him inside her. As right as Slaying did, as if she were built for him and him alone.

Slowly, she raised herself up, muscles tightening as she did so. Angel thrust up to meet her. His arms burned to be wrapped around her, his palms itched to touch her skin. He yanked on the chains, but they held firm. Frustrated, he growled, face changing to his vampire mask.

Buffy opened her eyes and saw the change come over him. She froze at the top of her stroke, fear dueling with arousal. Angel saw the fear in her eyes and stilled instantly.

There was complete silence in the room as vampire and Slayer regarded each other for an agonized instant, balanced on the knife edge between terror and desire, love and hate. Then, gently, with infinite slowness, Buffy pushed herself down on him again. When he was fully buried in her, she bent forward, deliberately kissing his fanged mouth.

Angel's heart sang within in him, even as tears formed in his eyes. This was what gave him true happiness - her complete acceptance of everything he was. Sex he could have had with anyone, but only Buffy could touch him this way.

And boy, was she touching him! His hips surged upward, matching her rhythm, as her sharp nails raked down his chest. She was riding him hard now, faster and faster as her own need took her higher. He rose with her, the two of them soaring up, up, up, until she was all he knew or cared about. At the last moment, she savagely kissed him, thrusting her tongue in and out of his mouth the same way he was thrusting in and out of her. Her tight muscles clenched around him, one final thrust, and wave after wave of joy crashed over them.

They remained poised on that pinnacle of pleasure for an instant, then collapsed onto the red silk sheets.

*****

It could have been a few minutes or a century later when Buffy stirred on his chest. Angel was watching her with a smug male smile on his face. He was almost humming with satisfaction. It annoyed her.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" He was stalling for time.

"Will I need to use my stake?"

He sighed. "It's still a bit too soon to tell."

"When will you know?" She reached behind his head and picked up her stake.

"I figure about a half hour."

"Was it a good test?" She looked anxious. He hastened to reassure her.

"It was incredible. You were incredible. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are by firelight?"

She pretended to think about it. "I'm sure you haven't."

He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth wide, a mock surprised face. "You're jokin', surely! I never told a pretty young girleen like you how lovely you are?"

She giggled. His Irish accent was a deliberate exaggeration, meant to make light of the moment. The sound of her laugh warmed his heart. Almost immediately, though, she sobered. She sat up next to him, wrapping her arms around her naked knees.

"The hardest part's always the waiting," she said, abruptly. "I hate it! I'd rather be doing something."

Angel sighed. He wanted to hold her, comfort her. The rasping rattle of his chains reminded him exactly why she needed his support right now.

"Waiting is doing something," he pointed out. "It's just not always a productive something."

She frowned, mulling over his words. "I guess you're right. I'm not very good at the whole patience thing, that's all."

"So I've discovered, " he chuckled, remembering her eagerness as they made love.

She thumped him on the shoulder. "Oh, men! Do you all have such one track minds?"

"I haven't got a one track mind," he replied, stung. "I have - let's see now, one... two... three - at least three tracks."

"Really?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "What might they be?"

"Easy. Loving you, protecting you, and caring for you." He wanted to look at her, but found he couldn't, as he continued, "You truly made me happy tonight, Buffy. No matter what happens to us, I want you to know that."

"Oh, Angel!" She dived forward, burying her head on his chest. Her tears scalded his skin. "I loved loving you, but now I'm so scared..."

Her stake rested next to his heart, still clasped in her hand. Angel felt the rough wood pressing into his skin. He shivered. He was as scared as Buffy, but glad she kept herself protected.

After a brief storm of sobs, Buffy rolled to her side. One arm still stretched across Angel's chest. She wanted him to hug her, needed to feel his protecting embrace, but it was still too soon, and she couldn't unchain him yet.

The fire had died down to glowing embers. A late-night chill was creeping through the room. She reached out and pulled the silken covers over both of them. In spite of their tense vigil, she felt langorously satisfied. She stretched, feeling the slight pull as muscles she didn't know she had protested their mistreatment. She knew she wouldn't be sore for long, so she luxuriated in the body memory of Angel's presence.

Angel was completely still. The sense of peace filling him was beyond anything he'd experienced yet. Her pulse pattered on his chest, and her even breathing filled his ears. One of her arms was possesively laid across him, as if to tell the world: "Back off! He's MY vampire!"

As she was his woman. He recalled the primitive instinct that had seized him earlier, when he knew she was in a danger only he could see. It rose in him now, a pure, natural, ancient need to keep her safe. He'd never felt it for any other woman. It was ironic. If ever a girl could look after herself, that girl was Buffy, and yet she inspired such loyalty and protectiveness in him. Maybe it was because he always saw her emotional vulnerability first. He sighed. More than anyone else in her life, he knew how vulnerable she was.

He hoped fervently that Willow and Giles were right. If he suddenly lost his soul again, Buffy would be scarred forever. He also knew with certainty that if he did lose his soul right now, Buffy wouldn't hesitate to kill him this time. She'd learned so many painful lessons, his Slayer. He winced to think that he'd taught her most of them.

Buffy's breathing deepened and slowed. Her muscles relaxed. She was asleep.

Let her sleep, Angel thought. She's right on top of me - she'll wake up if I start thrashing in pain, or something.

With his woman next to him, Angel dozed off.

Buffy woke in a panic. She wasn't in her own bed! Furthermore, she was lying on a man's chest! Naked! With a stake in her hand!

As that last fact registered, the final fog of sleep cleared from her brain. She leapt out of the bed, eyes franctically scanning Angel, looking for any sign of soullessness. The vampire sprawled on the silk sheets, arms outstretched, wrists still safely encased in iron. He looked dead, which, Buffy knew from experience, meant he was peacefully asleep.

His eyes flew open.

Buffy swallowed nervously. Time to face the music. She drew back one hand, stake at the ready, unaware of the magnificent sight she presented to Angel. His eyes focussed on a naked Buffy in her battle-ready stance.

A sleepy smile spread across his face. "I'm still dreaming," he murmurred. "Good morning, gorgeous."

With an embarassed squawk, Buffy snatched the trailing edge of the bedclothes and wrapped it around herself.

"Not so fast! First tell me who's in there!"

Angel pondered her question a moment. He poked in the dim emotional recesses of his brain. Yup, one hundred years, six months of painful remorse, still intact. It felt lighter somehow, but it was still there.

"It's me," he replied.

"Me? What me?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to have to remember that you are not a morning person."

"That's not the point," she snapped.

"Well, how about this? I remember everything we did last night. It was fantastic. I can't wait to do it again."

"Angelus could say those things."

"Could Angelus say that he loves you?"

Hope flickered in her eyes. "You mean -"

"As Xander would say, I'm still Soul Boy."

She was hesitant. She still didn't - quite - trust him. She was tempted to, though, he could see that.

"Buffy," he sighed. "When I was Angelus, I did terrible things, but he wouldn't be able to let those words cross his lips, and you know it." He prayed she would believe him. "I know you still don't trust me, but I'd sure like to win back that trust. Please, Buffy, believe me."

She regarded him for a minute more, then she was bounding across the bed to him, unlocking his chains, weeping and laughing at the same time as he swept her into his arms. She flung the stake over her shoulder. The wooden clatter as it hit the floor echoed in the big room.

She was kissing him with sweet urgency.

"It's really true," she kept repeating, over and over again. "I can't believe it's true."

"Yes, it's true," he whispered back. "Now it's my turn to make you happy."

She leaned back to get a good look into his dark eyes. He thought he would drown in hers.

She sighed as she finally gave in to her temptation.

"You will," Buffy replied. "I trust you."

End

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