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By Ducks
Utterly plotless. All you need to know is that Angel has discovered a way for he and Buffy to be together in dreams, and do... stuff... without endangering his soul. Sort of a sequel to Blanket.
Musical selection: "Feelin’ Love" by Paula Cole, from the "City of Angels" soundtrack.
To DebNockels -- to make up for the Dark stuff. ;) And to Serena, cuz she's the best butt kisser on the planet. Here's your glitter smut, girl!
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Buffy pushed him down onto the couch.
"What’s this?" he asked, unable to control the anticipatory grin that snuck across his face.
She said nothing, only arching an eyebrow at him as she reached out and hit play on the stereo.
Angel settled back to watch.
The beat began... a lazy, languid R&B rhythm.... A sexy, driving throb. Her eyes locked to his, she began to sway.
No... she began to flow... her movements thick, like blood... like lava... burning his skin.
His smile spread. This kind of pain, he could handle.
Buffy moved, undulating slow, shifting her hips, circling, thrusting. She raised her arms high above her head, compelling his gaze to follow as she traced the curves of her body, giving a suggestive lick of one slim finger, trailing the dampness over her chin... down her fine throat. Both hands smoothing the curve of full breasts, tiny waist, flat stomach. Like Salome, writhing, riding the sensual beat like a wave... calling for his head. And boy, did she get it.
Her eyes closed, mouth open, face wearing an expression of ecstasy yet to come, he heard her heartbeat climbing... smelled her blood changing, growing thicker with pleasure as she danced for him.
His own still blood roared to sudden life, rushing like a tsunami straight to his groin. His whole body howled to touch this pulsating vision... the demon’s demand -- no more waiting.
But the man knew about patience. And he knew it would be well worth it.
Her eyes opened to half-mast, heavy lidded with lust as her hands stopped at mid-thigh, skimming her legs, her sex, her belly, and all of Angel’s senses snapped wide open with the well-remembered sensation of what that very path felt like under his own hands. She slid her fingers under the hem of her filmy blouse, and as they traveled lazily over her breasts once more, the soft pillows of flesh were bared to his hungry gaze. Full and round, their rosy tips pebbling with the cool air and hot want.
Still she moved, her breasts now swaying slightly, and he could see that she’d rouged her nipples, and brushed glittering powder over her skin. She sparkled like a fine, rare gem in the firelight, and his smile slipped to a mask of dazed wonder.
The Goddess danced, the song’s beat carrying her, and her fingers undid the tie of her skirt, letting it too fall away, down her lean, tanned legs... and revealed yet more of the dazzling sparkles on her skin... like a blanket of stars.
Buffy smiled -- a seductress smile... a Jezebel smile. She was Delilah to his Samson, always, and if they hadn’t been in the Dreaming, just the sight of her, sparkling bare, gazing at him as though she was a woman starving, and he a fresh cut of meat, would surely be enough to destroy his soul.
She undulated toward him, a wave of vanilla and rose heat wafting off her skin. But it couldn’t cover her unique womanscent, the aroma of her magickal blood... not from his predator’s senses.
Angel made a mental note to send Lindsey a fucking fruit basket for this.
His love came closer, swaying only inches away now, and he was awash in her living aura, the incredible power that vibrated around her, shifting with her movement, enraging the demon, setting the man ablaze, and the Soul to blissful humming.
Her first touch -- only lightly, to his knee -- pushed a breathless gasp from his chest. His entire body contracted with the pure electricity of it, and he watched, enraptured, as his wanton, his slut, his beautiful lady, positioned herself astride his straining lap. Liquefied sex... a lazy twist of her hips and she bent down, her breasts in line with his eyes, her damp core only a moment from his erection straining inside his slacks. Her eyes met his for a beat, and then her head rolled back, her hand once again tracing her throat, one finger outlining the faded scar at its base.
Angel growled in spite of his best attempts at control, and the sound made her look at him with an knowing smile. He reached out to touch her -- he had to touch her-- but she slapped his hand and moved away, giving him a look and waggling her finger in warning.
Don’t touch.
"Oh God..." he moaned.
Buffy turned away, showing him her finely muscled back, flawless but for a tiny staked heart tattoo on the shoulder blade... the slope of her waist, the rising curve of her round derriere, every inch of her skin smooth and sparkling and just... perfect. His unnecessary breath quickened, his body’s thrumming increasing a notch every time she twitched. His erection jerked every time she cocked her leg just so and gave her hip a little twist. He blinked each time she peeked over her shoulder to give him a little grin.
"Buffy..."
She turned again, slow... and poured her flesh toward him. He could smell her arousal growing, a sweet, musky tang in her blood.
Buffy laid a gentle hand on either side of his face, and he moaned again, letting his head fall back, his eyes roll up, and just felt, as she caressed his cheeks, his jaw, his throat, his shoulders and chest. Then his shirt was suddenly gone, goosebumps rising on his dead skin under her hands. She painted each line, cut and curve with her touch, over pectorals... laterals... abs... every muscle screaming with tension, with want, screaming to grab her, throw her to the floor, take her... then, there, now, HARD.
But she was still fully in control, slow and easy, tiny touches that undid his belt and slid it out of the loops. Then she was gone.
Angel forced his bleary eyes to her, and all illusion of breathing froze. Buffy turned, spinning like a ray of light, one end of the belt in each small hand, and ran it behind her neck, down her back, inch by inch over her body...until she tossed it away.
She came back to him, and he could no longer tear his eyes from her. She bent at the waist, undoing his slacks with ease, and tugged lightly at the waist. He raised his hips, and she pulled the offensive barrier of pants and jockeys quickly away, tossing them into the pile she’d created on the floor.
Helpless, frozen, he stared at her. She held his gaze as she eased his knees open with familiar, knowing hands, and another moan rumbled from somewhere deep inside him. Her serious mouth twitched into a wicked smile.
Buffy dropped softly to her knees between his, her golden hair curtaining his lower body, her hot breath puffing on his aching cock. He cried out -- even that contact was too much.
Lips of fire closed tight over his cool shaft, and slid down, taking him deep into her throat. The muscles there were Slayer strong, and gripped him like a vice, sending a shudder of pure rapture through his veins.
"God... Buffy..." He tangled his fingers in her thick, soft, hair, and drew it back so he could watch... watch her steaming wet mouth climb, lips closed tight, hot tongue flicking like mothwings along his length, then descending once more, taking him balls and all, nibbling the supersensitive skin of his sac.
"Yesssss..." he hissed.
She hummed against him, a purr of satisfaction and delight, and when her mouth scaled his length again, her strong grip followed close behind, index and middle finger a ring of rhapsody on his skin. Urging his blood upward, stoking his inferno, driving him to the edge of madness.
Angel saw nothing but red, smelled nothing but her heady musk... blood and sex... and reached for her, gripping her slim shoulders hard. She allowed that small claiming, and he arched his hips, driving himself deep into her throat.
Buffy knew his responses so well, knew just how far she could take him, how long she could suck him like this before he lost all control and ended the game. Just as he rocketed to that final point, whimpering in a voice tinged with passion, fury, and desperation, she pulled away.
Before he even had a chance to protest, she swung one leg over his. Now he could feel the heat of her core against him, and she had that look in her eyes... that look that seared even deeper than her hands on his skin.
She braced herself on his shoulders and poised over his cock, teasing the head with soft, fine outer lips. Angel clenched his jaw so hard, the tendons jerked in pain.
A millimeter lower, so he could feel her arousal soaking, seeping out of her, just at his tip. He looked into her eyes, silently entreating, begging...
Please. Please invite me in.
She smiled... softer, this time. She wanted the game to end now, too. He placed a hand gently but firmly on either hip, and watched the light in her eyes as he eased her down onto him.
"Aaaangellll..." she groaned as she took him deep, his name always like an erotic song on her luscious lips.
He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close, devouring that mouth with a hunger that might have been frightening, if it weren’t so, so sweet. Their tongues slipped together and danced to a song of their own as Buffy used her super strong legs to push up so that he was almost outside of her again, and gave a minute twist of her hips.
Angel yelped her name, and she mewled in return as she rode back down. He guided her with his embrace, taking more, needing more, wanting more than anything to just be lost inside her sweetness forever...
Buffy kept the tempo unhurried, gripping him with her fierce inner muscles, pulling him out, pushing him in, milking him, draining him, filling him, drawing him into her light...
He’d had a thousand lovers in his life... probably more. But they all vanished into her, vaporized by her sanguine core molding around him, her womb shivering so powerfully against him.
The music’s beat increased, and their bodies responded in time, rising slowly, and Buffy threw her head back with a cry. Angel bit his bottom lip and clutched her, driving up and into her with all of his strength, all the burning ferocity of his need... months and years and centuries of desperate missing of her...
She matched his thrusts, riding him perfectly like she was built to do just that -- up and down, around, in and out, faster, until their preternatural bodies smacked together, sex to sex, skin to skin, and hers glistened with sparkling sweat. She panted in time with their motion, their ancient rhythm, the First Dance.
This was Heaven. Even if he never made it any farther than this, if he never laid eyes on the Ivory Gates, he’d have the unbearably hot portal of her body as blessing.
Buffy whimpered, and he could feel her muscles begin to quiver in peaking pleasure. He slid a hand slowly between them, knowing that he didn’t have much longer until his world exploded, and he wanted her flying too, right beside him in Heaven. His fingers slipped into the moist forest of curls where their bodies met, and he found that hard spot where all her nerves led. Dipping in, sliding over, tickling and worrying the trembling knot with his fingers, she tensed above him, calling out, ramming onto him, rocking her hips into his hand.
"Angel... oh... that’s ... oh, God... so ... good..."
"Yes... love...yes..."
She sighed and their bodies slammed together, hot friction, blood boiling. He spiraled his fingers into the slick flood of her juices and increased the pace over her clit. He could feel her orgasm growing, smelled it, tasted it, long before she knew it was coming... the way her heart throbbed and her blood rushed hot, and every muscle in her form shuddered, going taught, the walls of her vagina clamping down harder with each stroke.
Angel pulled her closer and rammed himself deeper. Buffy hollered some insensible jumble of words, and slammed herself onto him, impaling herself, squeezing her legs tight around his waist.
Then it hit... like a hurricane, like a tidal wave, like a Mack Truck, like a brick wall. They crashed into it together, all wet, steaming skin and desperate arms, they screamed one another’s name so the echo of their ecstasy rocked the rafters of the cabin.
The waves slowly washed away, and Buffy fell against him, still wrapped tight in his arms.
Angel sighed and pulled her close, his dead heart full with joy and sweet, sweet gratitude as she nuzzled against his neck.
"I’ve always wanted my very own stripper," he teased, kissing her sweaty brow.
She chuckled breathlessly. "Happy Birthday."
He pulled away and looked into her flushed, smiling face. "It’s not my birthday."
Her smile spread. "No? Damn. Guess I’ll have to do it again, then," she said, and snuggled back against him.
Angel laughed. She always made him laugh. She was the only being ever who could make him feel light enough to laugh.
"Damn," he replied half-heartedly.
The End
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