It's Only Time

It's Only Time

By a2zmom
Author's Notes

"You broke my dick," Angel said in the most solemn tone Buffy had ever heard.

"What?" The word came out half sputter, half giggle. She'd never heard Angel quite so earthy and it was somewhat surprising. Not that it should have been, considering.

He half rolled away from her so that he was semi-lying on his back. Grasping his penis with forefinger and thumb, he let the floppy appendage hit against his belly with a slight thud. "See, broken."

She smirked at him and for a second was amazed that that they could be like this. That they could just be. "I don't think broken is the right word. Tired, maybe. After all, there was the kitchen and two – no, three times in the bed." She reached out and stroked the sticky coarse hair and his now squishy manhood. Amazing that just a little while ago it seemed harder than granite. "Besides, takes two to break it."

"Be right back. Don't leave."

"Where would I go?" She watched as he stood up and stretched, worked the kinks out of his body, completely unselfconscious about his nudity. Did vampires need to work the knots out from their muscles? She thought not, and she was amazed that such a small, simple thing could fill her up with joy. He gracefully ambled out of the bedroom and she avidly watched the play of muscles in his back and ass, squirming a little from the fresh craving for him. She really had turned into a horndog.

He came back just a few minutes later with a ridiculous grin plastered on his face. "Still here, I see."

She looked at him quizzically. "You were expecting me to be gone?"

"Maybe now that you've had your wicked way with me, you're planning on finding someone else."

"I think I'll stick around for the matinee."

He bent over, hands on knees, staring mournfully at his crotch. "Not sure about later performances."

"I'm not worried," using her best sexy siren voice.

Still staring at his crotch, his slightly muffled voice announced, "I just pissed for the first time in 250 years."

"I had no idea of your hidden dork depths."

He lifted his head up, but he was still bent over. His expression had become serious. "It's just… Nothing worked. My body was just this collection of parts that was good for nothing. And now…"

She scooted to the edge of the bed and wound her hands through the hairs at the nape of his neck, interrupting his reverie. The hair here was extra soft since it had escaped the gel on the rest of his head, and she liked to sift it through her fingers. She pulled him down further so that she could kiss him. She still wasn't completely used to the fact that his mouth was no longer so much cooler than hers, but his lips hadn't lost any of their talent. He was giving her quick, barely there kisses, lightly touching his lips to hers, almost as if he thought she might vanish into the air. She made a slight noise; she wanted more, she needed more. His tongue was out now, just barely in between her lips, almost resting there, with the occasionally flicking inside. He was making her insides clench with lust. "Shush, Buffy. We've got time. We've got so much time." Without warning, he attacked her mouth, his tongue teasing, tasting, touching. She was flying and plummeting at the same time, never wanting this to end. Her hands tightened around his neck, pulling him closer, desire flooding her yet again. When he finally pulled back, they were both out of breath.

He rolled away from her and rummaged through the nightstand. Triumphantly, he stood up, holding a sketchpad and pencil. "Lie down, I want to draw you."

Her eyebrows lifted up toward her hairline. "You want to draw me naked?" Her voice had risen an octave by the last word.

"That's the idea, " he smirked.

She lay down amongst the pillows, body held out stiff and elongated. Shaking his head, he walked up to the head of the bed and propped the pillow behind her so that she was semi-reclining. Angel stepped back, surveying the scene. "Modeling doesn't appear to be one of your skills." He stood in front of her briefly and then reached out and placed his hands lightly on her sides. His fingers trailed slowly over her body, a sensual dance that awakened each tiny bit of flesh he caressed. "Turn toward me and cross your ankles." His voice was a low, throaty whisper.

She shivered and his ministrations stopped. Leaning forward, he whispered, "Cold?"

"N-n-no." She could feel a blush moving across her body as he started to touch her again. He gently moved one arm and rested it on the pillow so that she was using it to support herself. He kissed each finger of her other hand and then moved it so that she was modestly covering her sex. She felt desirable and boneless all at once. "My own private Olympia," he murmured, his dark eyes never leaving her body.

"Isn't that the mountain where the Greek gods used to hang?"

The intensity of his gaze disappeared for a second and instead, he gave her one of his you-know-how-to-make-me-smile smiles. "Olympus. Olympia was the name of a very famous, very scandalous portrait Edmund Manet did of a prostitute in this exact pose."

Her hazel eyes snapped with sudden fire. "What?"

"Not comparing you to a hooker. I just like the pose. Besides," and here he looked so much like Angelus that for a second Buffy thought her heart would stop, "if anyone else ever touched you, I would kill them."

"Possessive much?"

"I've got issues," he said mildly, while furiously sketching. He stopped, a sudden look of worry overtaking his features. "Is that alright? Are you angry about that?"

"Not like I can't take care of myself." She could see Angel deflate into himself. "But it's sort of nice to have a boyfriend who doesn't believe in sharing."

"Boyfriend." He whispered the word as if trying it out on his tongue. "I like the sound of that."

They both fell silent while he continued to draw. Buffy watched his face, surprised at how different he seemed. He was as intense as always, but his concentration was focused on the immediate present, instead of the past he so often brooded over. Furthermore, there was a seeming distance to his expression. He was looking at her as if she was just a body instead of somebody and she wasn't sure she liked the dispassionate way he would pick up his head, glance at her and then bend back over his work. She was about to say something, not that she had any idea what that might be, when he wordlessly handed the sketchpad over to her.

It was obvious he was nervous about her reaction. The rumpled bedding was just barely hinted at; her hair splayed across the pillows in a wanton display. She looked alluring and utterly sensuous and the hint of a smile that played on her lips told a story of barely contained passion. There was also strength evident in the pose, a woman who was powerful unto herself. She lightly traced the penciled lines. He had only appeared disinterested when he had been drawing her; the picture reminded her what she had already known. He knew her in ways that no one else could.

"Wow, Angel. This is amazing. Like boring museum type amazing." She frowned a bit, looking more closely at the picture. "How come you never drew me before?"

His features darkened. "I did draw you before. Once."

"That doesn't count," waving her hand dismissively. "That wasn't you."

"Of course it was me. Who else could it have been, Buffy." The words were spit out as a harsh statement of fact. It hadn't been there since he came to her on the boardwalk, but the self-hatred that had always been present in his eyes was back in full force. "What was I thinking?" He turned away from her, stumbling toward the bedroom door.

Before he had even taken a step out the door, she was beside him, gripping his arm and dragging him along the short hallway. As a vampire, he could have put up a struggle, but as a human against the slayer, he didn't have a choice.

Two seconds later, they were squashed inside his tiny bathroom. "Look," she said, facing him toward the mirror. "What do you see?"

He was staring at himself, a horrified expression plastered across his features as his hands desperately shoved his hair down. "My hair doesn't usually look like this, does it? This is because we've been rolling around on the bed a lot, right?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Focus, Angel."

He stared at himself for a long time, until he was finally forced to blink. "What am I supposed to see here?"

Buffy reached around his body, arms locked around his waist. Her head barely came up to his armpit. "I see a man who lost the most important part of himself through no real fault of his own. As a result, all that was left was the ugliness that all of us have but most of us can pretend it isn't there." She hesitated and then plunged on. "Remember that time I shoved a cross into that vamp's mouth because I needed to find out where the Master's groupies had taken everyone?" He nodded, a question in his eyes. "I enjoyed it. I liked the feeling of power. I liked hurting her. Yeah, it was a vampire, but that doesn't matter.

"Everyone has darkness inside of them, Angel. It's just that most of us aren't forced to confront it."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, she had laid her index finger against his lips. She moved so that she was now facing him.

The first time they had made love, on that beautiful, horrible night, Buffy hadn't seen anything of his body. The fact the she had wanted him hadn't meant she wasn't nervous, and he wound up undressing under the covers. Over the last few hours, she had finally gotten to see him, but now she wanted to explore.

She traced down the side of his neck with her fingertips; when she got to where his neck flowed into his shoulder he made an odd noise, and she idly wondered if an ex-vampire would be forever sensitive in that area. Tracing his chest with her finger, she delighted in the way he shivered as she caused his nipple to harden. She continued her exploration by quickly entwining his fingers with hers and bringing them up to her lips. Swirling her tongue around each finger, she slowly pulled each finger out of her mouth, heat flaring deep inside as she did so.

Her hand drifted lower, playing in the dark tuft of hair above his sex. Angling her hand just a tiny bit, she started to stroke him with feather light touches, just enough so that she could feel the stickiness from their prior bouts and she could see the head begin to peek out from it's hiding place made of skin. His leg muscles were beginning to tense and he shoved his hips forward in an effort to gain more friction. All she did was move her hand away until he stopped squirming, then she began the game again.

"Buffy." His voice was low and husky. "Buffy, please." Angel never asked for anything; he certainly never begged. A surge of power traveled her body along with a deeper, more primitive surge of desire. In one fluid motion, she was kneeling before him.

From this angle, his cock looked huge and somewhat menacing. She had never done this before and she tentatively stuck her tongue out to lick the smooth skin in front of her.

"Wait." She blanched, mortified. Was it that obvious she didn't have any idea what she was doing? She realized in the same instant that he was reaching into the shower next to them and grabbing a huge bath towel that he meticulously folded into halves, fourths, eighths and carefully placed on the floor for her. A wave of tenderness overtook her. **Mine** The thought made her almost dizzy and she leaned forward so she could completely posses him.

He tasted tangy and then she realized with a start that was because she was tasting herself from their prior exertions. He had filled her over and over earlier in the day. Now, she wanted him to fill her again, but this time she would be in control. She licked and nibbled her way down his length, swirling her tongue around all the little surprises he held – the smooth feel of the head, the rougher skin right behind it, the pulsing vein on the underside. She could hear Angel making little breathy noises. She pulled back; letting her teeth gently scrape the head of his cock as she looked up and saw him leaning over her, gripping the sink, the tip of his tongue circling his lips, mimicking the way her tongue was swirling around his dick. She could see his eyes, black with desire watching her, watching her as his dick disappeared into her mouth. Her nipples were tight and aching, her cunt tensing with want as she started sucking him harder. She swallowed him down, big and hard and slick, back and forth, in and out, and he felt like he was swelling even more and then, suddenly, he was jerking and pulsing in her mouth and she tasted salt and a slight undertone of bleach. Even more though, she tasted him – leather and new cut grass and cinnamon. She let go of his cock with a loud, slurpy pop, licking the last little traces away.

He stood back from the sink, smiling with a slightly dazed expression. He collapsed next to her and pulled her into his side, nuzzling into her hair.

"Was it ok?"

Angel laughed a little. "Yeah, I'd say so."

"I wasn't sure. You know, the first time we were together…" As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. She could see his eyes darkening in anger.

"Come on." He pointed toward the living room and he sat down on the leather couch. As Buffy started to walk past, toward the chair, he tugged her onto his lap instead.

"I remember everything I said to you. And you can't know how sorry I am. But you need to know, the things I said were lies but they weren't really lies." At Buffy's expression of pain, he rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. "I am not winning any awards for explaining myself here, am I?"

"When I said I had to leave after that performance, that was because without a soul I couldn't stand to be near someone who loved me like that. It scared me."

"Oh. But you also said I was lousy in bed. So that's true also." She was biting her lip, head turned away.

"What I said was you have a lot to learn about men. Which is true." He tightened his arms around her waist as she tried to pull away. "But that's just mechanics. And the more you're with someone, the more you find out how to make them happy. It's part of the fun of it all. What no one can teach you is how to make someone else feel wanted and loved. You're the only person who's ever made love to me."

"Wow, that's -"

"Sappy, yeah I know. Don't tell anybody."

She didn't say anything, just placed her hands on top of his and pressed her body more firmly against his. She could feel his chest expand and contract beneath her, could hear his heart in the quiet of the room. She had to go back to Sunnydale on Sunday night; school and patrol awaited her. She had no idea how they were going to work things out, but right at that moment, she didn't care. No matter what her friends or Giles or even Angel said, she was aware that she had a short life ahead of her. At least now all the hours would be filled with joy. They had been back together less than one afternoon, and each moment she would remember and savor always.

The End

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Author's Notes:
Rating: NC 17
Summary: Additional scenes from IWRY

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