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Kennedy
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Willow's moans sound in my ear, harsh and breathless; her skin feels soft slick sweet under my hands; the taste of her is heavy in my mouth, hot and thick and strawberry ripe and overwhelming. She's amazing like this; twisting and whimpering under my hands and my mouth, her voice crying my name as a moan when her hands grasp wildly at my hair, spread over her milk-pale skin like a blanket. This is what I wanted, what I've needed; to love her with every inch of who I am, and to be loved in return. I feel her contract under my mouth, my fingers pressing into her slick warmth, her thighs heavy on my shoulders. She's beautiful and alive and my reason for this fight. Tomorrow we'll do our best to save the world, and she'll belong to everyone again. But for this one night she's completely mine.
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Spike
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Her soft blond hair presses under my chin, against my throat. Buffy smells of heat, of devotion, a little of fear, and under that… something that might be hope. The scent is clean and sharp, like the air after a summer storm. She smells like life, and I allow myself a moment of peace at that. I did that, with my words, and maybe, just a bit with my love. Me, the big bloody bad; the same git who spent months agonizing about her, and then went halfway around the sodding world to try to be what she needed. I brought her back to life. For this one night it almost makes up for all the horrors I've done before. Before the soul, before the chip, before my love for Buffy overwhelmed me. Her breathing is slow and regular as she sleeps; I can feel her heart beating against the stillness of my ribcage. Buffy trusts me to hold her like this, to protect her, to keep her safe. And even if the world ends tomorrow, I will not fail her again.
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Robin Wood
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Faith tastes of darkness; of ashes and fire, the sharp tang of danger and the chill of the blackest part of the night. Her skin is softer than I expected, but its stretched taunt over muscles as tough as steel. Then she begins to move, and she is steel in my arms, molten and solid at the same time, strong yet yielding, unbreakable, and, oh god, so warm. I remember the way I felt when I looked at Buffy for the first time. There was some attraction, but mostly it was wonder that a girl so small, so tiny, could do what she did every day. But this… what I feel for Faith is so much more intense because Faith is so much more then Buffy is. She's deeper, darker, more alive. Buffy is nothing but a pale, washed out version of the woman pressed to me. Faith understands the shadows that I've lived with all my life in a way that Buffy can't. I've been dead inside for so long, and now Faith is reminding me what it's like to be alive. Even if I die tomorrow I'll have known that feeling for one night.
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Xander
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She's familiar; slight weight pressing down into me, sweet tasting red mouth, supple breasts, rolling sinuous hips. It doesn't matter that we're on the floor, that we're not supposed to be together. None of that matters; not the wedding that never happened, not her tears in her beautiful white dress, not my blood. This is us, the way it was always supposed to be. Her hands slip through my hair, catching on the elastic of the eye patch for just a moment. Anya says nothing, does nothing, and I'm grateful for it. No matter what else is different right now, this is the same. This is still amazingly, wonderfully the same, and I love her even more right now then I did before I screwed everything up with her. This might not be for forever, but, then again, forever might not be too long. It almost doesn't matter, not if I can have this one more time.
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