by
Margot Le Faye

It went on that way for years. They would stay apart as long as they could bear, but within days mutual need drove them to seek each other out. Sometimes he would go to her, sometimes she would find him, never by pre-arrangement so much as by unspoken agreement. Once, both had been driven to find the other, and they met halfway between their two cities.

Angel's cold skin felt as if it were on fire. He hadn't wanted to get into his car and drive toward Sunnydale. He never wanted to. But he could never stop himself. Hunger and need would hound him, until there was no rest for him in his bed, no peace for him in his home, no place for him in the city he protected. On this night, as on so many others, Angel gave in to the inevitable, praying to the God he believed was deaf to his prayers that this time would be different, that this time he would be able to walk away from her forever.

But the moment he was on the highway toward her, he wasn't thinking about saying good bye. He was thinking about the silkiness of her skin, the scent of her perfume, the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, the succulent warmth when he set his lips there, the way she trembled beneath his mouth when he took little nipping bites. He was thinking of the little gasping cries she gave as arousal washed over her, the honeyed taste of her femininity, drenchingly wet on his tongue, the silken steel strength of her womanly core gripping his manhood as she found her pleasure in his arms. He was thinking of burying himself in her flesh until night was done and the sun found him and he burned to ash in a fire no more heated than the one he found in her body.

He was thinking that two hours was too long a drive when he suddenly realized that, tonight, he wouldn't need to wait that long. He felt it in his gut, along every nerve ending in his skin: she was near. A quick glance in his rear-view mirror proved it. A petite blond in the opposite lane was pulling her car to the side: he had just passed Buffy as she headed toward LA. Angel quickly scanned the road, making sure there were no other cars around, and pulled an illegal ubie into the opposite lane.

She felt a shimmer of heat along her flesh, an electric current through her nerves. Gasping, Buffy pulled off to the shoulder, knowing that Angel had to have passed her on the road, heading toward her just as she had been heading toward him. Sure enough, a look in her rearview mirror confirmed her suspicions. A familiar black convertible performed an illegal u-turn, crossing over lines that weren't supposed to be crossed…but then, wasn't that the problem with them from the first? Fortunately, it was late, and an off night, with almost no one on this particular stretch of road. She watched her mirror as the car pulled into the lane going toward LA and sped toward her, pulling aside in its turn, a few yards behind her. The door opened…but the mirror did not show anyone getting out, or who slammed the door closed once more.

Buffy turned off her own engine, and got out of her car. He was stalking toward her, black duster billowing out behind him. He looked a predator, and he looked angry. Buffy's bruised heart took another blow. She realized he was angry at himself for wanting her. He hated her, and she supposed she hated him. But that didn’t mean a thing beside the craving they had for each other, the sheer hunger of their desire. Looking at him, she realized how much he despised his need of her. And so she kept her own expression cool, neutral, unwilling to show him how much she yearned for him when he cared nothing for her feelings at all.

She looked so cool, so indifferent, leaning against her car in a simple sheath dress of pale lavender, her dainty feet encased in a pair of thin strap sandals; scraps of leather with a bare suggestion of a heel. She looked conservative and untouchable, not like the wanton he knew her to be. Angel's ever-present anger toward her increased…but not as much as the heat in his loins. She seemed calm as he came closer. Well, he thought to himself, let's just see how calm she stays.

He said nothing by way of greeting, but pulled her into his arms, kissing her with bruising thoroughness. She responded instantly, hands going about his neck, lips opening beneath his. Vampirically enhanced senses detected the heady odor of her arousal as a rush of moisture seeped from her core. At least she could not deny him her body, however completely she denied him her heart. With a growl, Angel wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off her feet to a more convenient angle, bracing her against the side of the car as he ground himself against her. She responded by wrapping her legs around his hips and grinding right back. Through the denim of his jeans and the lace of her own panties he could feel her enticing heat, her seductive dampness. He was so hard he was afraid he would burst. No way was he going to last until they made it all the way back to one or the other of their apartments.

A wash of light spilled over them: headlights from a car driving past in the opposite lane. Angel snarled in frustration. Buffy reluctantly pulled her mouth free of his.

"Not here," she said. Angel looked around, realized there was a decently wooded area a few yards to the side of the road.

"Fine," he said, and tightened his grip on her. She yelped a little in surprise as he lifted her off the car, with her legs still tight about his hips, and proceeded to carry her the short distance into the woods. When they had gone far enough to be invisible from the road, Angel pushed her up against the first suitable tree he could find, and pulled away just enough to unzip his pants and free his straining erection. Buffy caught on, and wriggled against him in an effort to get her own clothing out of the way, an effort he was only too happy to abet. Angel solved the problem by the simple expedient of pushing her dress up to her waist, then ripping apart the scrap of lace beneath. Buffy gasped as cool air hit her intimate flesh, realizing her sex was bare to him, vulnerable to his touch. A brush of his fingers told him she was as ready as he was, so he drove into her with no further preliminaries, relishing her scream of need as he forced himself in as far as he could go, as far as her tiny, infinitely yielding body would take him: all the way to the root.

She tightened her legs about him, encouraging him to try to get even deeper. He rose to the challenge, pulling out and slamming back home. She whimpered against his mouth, hips pistoning to meet his hard, savage thrusts.

They coupled as if it had been years since they had come together instead of days, and as if this joining might be the last they would ever have. It was fierce and violent in its passion, consuming them both. Which suited them perfectly. Estranged as their hearts had become, angry as they found themselves, neither had the inclination for tenderness.

Buffy moaned at the lovely fullness deep inside her. She concentrated, squeezing her internal muscles around the steel-hard shaft within her, making Angel moan in his turn as she clamped down on his manhood. She sucked his cool tongue into her mouth, hungry for the taste of him. His tongue battled hers, sweeping into the heated cavern of her mouth and drinking in her own taste just as fiercely as she drank his. Their kisses were devouring, ruthless, as untamed and dark as the feelings they held for each other.

Buffy didn't care about the rough bark of the tree digging into her back, the discomfort of the restrictive clothing coming between his body and her own. All she cared about was that her Angel was with her, his mouth claiming hers, his body joined to hers. She flexed and tightened around him once more, hips pumping to meet him as he drove into her again and again. He was hitting the most sensitive places inside her, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to hold out for long. She wanted to feel him shooting inside her when she climaxed, wanted his cool seed to sooth her burning. She deliberately squeezed him again, setting up an internal rhythm to compliment the bucking of her hips. She was rewarded by the feel of his fangs descending as his passions heated and he slid into game face. With a growl, Angel slid one hand between their bodies, fingering the slick little bud of flesh between her thighs. It was too much. She came, screaming into his mouth, her body convulsing around his in pleasure. He couldn't resist the pull of her flesh. His own orgasm hit, and he thrust harder, spilling inside her just the way she had wanted, had needed him to do. They thrust together violently, hanging on to the peak as long as they could.

Long moments later, they remained locked together, recovering from the passing tempest of desire. Angel realized that he couldn't keep her pinned to the tree indefinitely, much as the idea appealed. With another brutal kiss, he pulled himself out of her, waiting as she uncoiled her legs from about him, before setting her down on her own two feet. Face morphing back to human, he stepped away and tucked himself back into his pants, while she recovered her ruined underwear and smoothed down her skirts.

She did not meet his eyes. Angel forced his anger down. If she thought he was done with her tonight, she would learn her mistake. The edge ought to be off his hunger, but it wasn't. Next week was too far away. So were their respective apartments. Fortunately, that wasn't their only option.

"There's a motel about half a mile ahead," he said coolly. "I'll register."

Buffy's startled gaze flew to his. She had been afraid that he was just going to get back in his car and head for LA, leaving her sated, yet still needy. She wasn't sure why he wasn't, but she was not inclined to argue the point. The anonymity of a motel along the highway suited her just fine. She nodded her agreement, and they walked back to their respective cars.

She followed the convertible, pulling into the motel driveway behind Angel, waiting while he took care of matters. She looked around as she waited. The place didn't seem too bad as such things went; part of a reputable, if inexpensive, chain. Still, it seemed so illicit. She knew, because Giles kept in touch with Wesley, that he and Cordy were as ignorant as everyone in Sunnydale about the affair Angel and she continued to have. She had to think of it as an affair, not as a relationship. The only thing between them, after all, was sex. Sex in secret, sex behind people's backs. Sex at a cheap motel, or, even though at their apartments, at times when no one would think to come by. She wondered at herself, wondered why she was willing to put up with the tawdry aspects of her need for him. Then he emerged from the office and she knew: she needed him however she could get him, and if that meant going to a cheap motel and keeping one last secret from her friends, then she would do it.

Angel came over to her car and leaned in as she lowered the window.

"Room 125," he said simply, and headed over to his own car. Buffy drove hers toward the indicated room and parked. The convertible slid in to the spot next to hers, and Angel got out. She pressed the release on her trunk, got out, and was lifting her bag out when she found herself hoisted into the air and tossed over Angel's shoulder. He grabbed her bag, slammed down the trunk, and carried her, protesting, toward the room.

"Dammit, I can walk!" she groused.

He said nothing, simply opened the door to the room, and stepped inside, dropping her bag just inside. He kicked the door closed, and kept walking until he reached the bed. Only then did he set her down, tossing her unceremoniously into the center. Her gasp of outrage turned to one of pure need as he fell to his knees at the foot of the bed, grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him, wrapping her legs around his neck as he bent toward her feminine core, which became instantly molten and damp. His tongue licked along her crevice, teasing her swollen folds.

She smelled of both of them, and he could taste the salt tang of his own seed on her nether lips. He growled in fierce, possessive male satisfaction at the taste and the smell of her, so completely marked as his. She was making the little cries he relished, and he stiffened his tongue, stabbing it inside her. She gave a high cry, arching into his mouth, and he intensified the assault, licking into her, then away, swirling his tongue over the plump little bud of flesh at the top of her nest of curls. Buffy moaned and writhed against him, pressing her hot core into his mouth, desperate for the relief he intended to deny her until she begged.

He didn’t have long to wait. Primed by her recent orgasm, she was close to another peak, her body desperate for fulfillment. She wound her hands into his hair, trying to make him increase his pressure, and bring her off. He growled against her clit, and pulled back. She nearly wept.

"Dammit Angel!" she shouted. A nip along her thigh warned her. She relaxed the grip of her hands and stopped trying to force matters. But the delectable assault was too knowing. Her breasts were stiff and swollen, the fabric of her lacy bra irritating her tender nipples. Buffy moaned as her head tossed restlessly from side to side. He would bring her close, then move away, just as she thought she was going to go over, finding another spot to lick and nibble, until she was close again…The fourth time was too much for her.

"Angel! Please!" she sobbed. And suddenly the pressure she needed was there, his cool moist tongue forceful against her delicate flesh, a long, strong finger sliding into her slick depths, adding a delicious fullness. Buffy screamed and climaxed, bucking into his mouth, churning on his finger, body spiraling out of control. Angel sucked down her honeyed sweetness as she came for him, her body yielding to him what she herself would not. He drank in the taste of her, reveling in her complete abandonment to rapture. Let her hate him, as long as she continued to give him this. He suckled delicately on her little bud until her sobs of release turned to satisfied groans, and the tension in her body relaxed. Only when she was utterly still beneath him did he move. Angel stood up, licking delectable moisture from his face, staring down at her. She looked utterly wanton, her blond hair a damp tangle about her head, her eyes heavy lidded, her face flushed from satisfaction, her pouting mouth slightly open as she drew in breath. He quickly stripped down, then joined her on the bed.

Buffy sat up to remove her dress and slip, but evidently, she didn't move quickly enough for him. Angel pushed her hands out of the way, and lifted the garments over her head, tossing them aside. Her bra almost went the way of her panties, but he found the front clasp quickly, unhooked it, and pulled it off of her, tossing it onto the discarded dress beside the bed. Buffy was beyond caring about her clothing. She simply opened her arms and let him come into them.

She tasted herself on his mouth, and suddenly she was as wet as if she hadn't just come for him twice. She parted her legs, and moaned as he reached for her thighs, lifting her hips higher. She felt him, not at the usual entrance, but at the other, tighter opening to her body. A fresh flood of moisture trickled out of her. He had taught her to enjoy this form of sex, and she couldn't wait to feel him in her tight back passage.

Angel was too impatient to stop and find a lubricant, and Buffy wasn't objecting. Indeed, she was lifting her hips higher, rubbing the rosette opening against the head of his cock, enticing him inside. He obliged her. She moaned against his mouth as he pressed slowly forward, careful not to tear her. Her body clamped down against the intrusion, making him hiss in pleasurable pain. Then she forced her muscles to relax, and he slid further in.

Tight as her silken sheath was, this darker channel was even tighter. Angel thought he might die on the spot. He shuddered, coming to rest fully seated inside her. She whimpered, wriggling, and he began to move. Angel reached his hand between their bodies, stroking her clit in time with his thrusts into her. Her moans grew louder, the movement of her hips more frenzied. Soon, gentleness was forgotten as he slammed into her willing, yielding flesh. Suddenly, her body stiffened, and she threw her head back, crying his name as her body convulsed once more into orgasm. With a growl, he joined her, vamping out and sinking his fangs into her vulnerable throat. If anything, the spasms hugging his cock grew even more intense as a another orgasm crashed over her, building on the first. His own orgasm intensified with the spill of her salt, hot blood on his tongue, as he spilled his cold seed into her, pumping into her until she had drained him of every last drop, then collapsing over her unmoving from, still wrapped in her arms.

A few minutes later, she shifted in slight discomfort, and he gently withdrew. They continued to rest together, unspeaking and relatively content. After a while, Buffy drew away, and he let her go. She stood, looking down at him, then surprised him by extending a hand to him. Warily, he took it. She gave him a small smile, then tugged on his hand. Curious, he followed.

Buffy hadn't wanted to ruin the accord between them with words. So she said nothing, but led Angel into the bathroom. It was roomy enough. Both of them would be able to fit into the shower. She bent to adjust the water temperature. Angel raised a brow when he realized what she was up to. She wanted to shower together? Fine by him. He could think of a number of delightful ways to get both of them clean.

He quickly discovered that she had ideas of her own.

She washed him first, attentive as an houri to the faithful in paradise. Angel groaned, giving in to the sheer sybaritic, sensual pleasure of her small hands caressing over his body with the soap-covered cloth, the warmth of the water pouring over his chill flesh as she rinsed him. He grew hard in her hands when she turned her attentions to thoroughly cleaning his manhood of all traces of their most recent activity. She smiled wickedly up at him, and he smiled just as wickedly back. She took her time here, using the cloth languidly, in firm, slow strokes that had him purring. It was a good long while before she rinsed him clean, and she kept the warm water directed at him for several more delicious moments. He sighed with regret when she finally replaced the detachable shower head back on its mooring. But he was utterly unprepared when, the next moment, she sank gracefully to her knees and unhesitatingly took his rigid member into her mouth.

He had already come twice that night. He knew he could last for a long, long time.

Or, he thought he could.

She was using her hands to fondle his balls while her lips and tongue laved his shaft. One of those hands began to move inward, between his thighs, and suddenly a small, delicate finger probed lightly at his own back passage. Gasping, Angel widened his stance, letting her have better access. Unspoken permission granted, Buffy wriggled the finger gently into the opening, sucking harder on his shaft as Angel groaned his approval. She edged her finger as far inside as she could get, finding the little bump of his prostate and massaging delicately.

It had been centuries since anyone had done this to him. Sensations that were all but forgotten flooded back into his mind and body, and Angel came with a roar, pumping down Buffy's throat. She met him with enthusiasm, practically purring with pleasure, delighted with her ability to force such a response from him.

By the time she was done, it was all Angel could do to stand upright, even leaning against the cool tile of the shower, while she smirked at him, then turned to finish her own ablutions.

He regarded her thorough heavy lidded eyes, deciding that she was entirely too smug. He was going to have to fix that….

The rest of the night passed in an unending round of flesh and fulfillment. They took each other in a dozen ways, experimenting with new ideas, or returning to ones they knew from experience offered particular delights. Only as dawn approached did Buffy grow restless. Still keeping their fragile, comforting silence, Angel got out of the bed, closing the inner curtains, and drawing the heavier drapes over those. Assured that the soon-to-be-rising sun wouldn't pose a problem, he returned to the bed, where Buffy, reassured that their time together was not about to come to an end, welcomed him back eagerly.

They did not sleep until early morning, and they rose by early afternoon. Food was forgotten, unnecessary. The only hunger that mattered was the one they had for each other, and that could never be fully sated, only temporarily appeased.

Still, by the time the sun had set once more, both were close to contentment. He was resting in her arms, considering the gathering darkness outside their room, and the gathering heaviness in his heart.

He ought to go back to LA now, he realized. He had a case that could stand a brief delay, but not a long one. Too, Cordy and Wesley would question his absence. They had seen him last night, and might think nothing of his not being around this morning. If he failed to show up tonight, no telling what mischief they'd get themselves into, trying to find out if he needed rescuing. Sighing, he sat up slowly, gently disengaging Buffy's arms. She made no move to pull him back into her embrace. Part of him ached for that. He couldn't help wishing that he mattered enough to her that she would object to his leaving.

Buffy fought to remain impassive as Angel freed himself from her arms. She couldn't help wishing that she mattered enough to him that he would not want to leave until the last possible moment…or better yet, not leave at all. But there was no point in regret. Things were what they were. She supposed she should count herself lucky that they were together at all.

Angel dressed quickly, still maintaining the silence that had cocooned them. Until he was about to leave. He turned to her then, one hand hesitant on the door knob.

"The room is paid for through noon tomorrow," he told her.

"All right," she said softly. He seemed about to say something else, but closed his mouth. Almost angrily, he let go of the door knob and came back to the bed. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her fiercely, possessively. She wrapped her arms about him, and kissed him as fiercely back. He pulled away again, and looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

"See you," he said quietly, finally, and walked away, this time leaving the room and heading out into the night.

Buffy sighed and slid back under the covers. She should go back to Sunnydale, she told herself. She had packed a change of clothes. She should grab a shower, get dressed and head back.

But she wasn't going to.

She picked up the phone. A brief discussion with Giles assured her that patrol was covered. No, there weren't any dire warnings, no suspicious new demons, nothing that demanded her attention. If she wanted to take a night off, he was perfectly willing to let her. She'd call him back at eleven, after he and Xander were through with patrol, to check in? Fine. Reassured, Buffy hung up the phone.

Then she curled around the pillow that Angel had used, inhaling the lingering masculine scent of him, and wept.

So it went. Every week brought another clandestine, unplanned yet inevitable meeting. And each time there was no time for words, no thought for anything but the need for flesh and forgetfulness. If something inside them moved them to speak, to reach toward each other, something else insidiously whispered inside their minds, suggesting a thousand reasons to hold back. And because those reasons were so carefully built on all that had gone before, neither ever questioned the logic by which they were driven apart, no matter how often they were driven to be together. Publicly, they were disinterested allies. Privately, they were amorous enemies. And inside, each became a little colder, a little more bitter, with every passing encounter, until the thing beneath Sunnydale decided they would never be a threat again, and It could now focus Its attention on the real agenda.

And, because It did so, It missed stopping what happened on Buffy's twenty-ninth birthday.

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