Buffy's Diary
November 1, 1997
Part 3

Timeline: Just after Halloween

I don't know what got into me, but I needed to have my hands on him. I moved my hands through his hair, it's so thick and soft, it's yummy. It's like silk. There's this amazing curve from his shoulders down his arms, it's a rich, rounded curve over the bone, solid, but it gives just enough under the fingers. His chest is smooth and cool like satin, and I was realizing that I needed to slow down....

I pulled away and sat up on the edge of the bed. He moved up beside me. I was feeling really confused. I wanted him to kiss me forever, but I wanted a lot more than that, but I didn't know how I wanted it...or.... really if....

"Buffy," he said.

"I'm sorry-" I felt so stupid, "I-I'm-"

"There's all kinds of time for all kinds of things," he said. He was so calm, so sweet, he didn't seem to mind at all, it was like nothing. I could feel it, in a way I can always feel it, the way he really only cares about me, just me being OK and happy. He really doesn't mind, I was thinking, and it amazed me. And it made me want him worse. That was the only problem.

"I want to kiss you," I said, "And- but - I don't know..."

"Nobody has to know everything," he said, "You don't have to know everything about yourself, even. Nobody really does. Being in too much of a hurry is almost never a good thing. Find what you want, and follow that at your own pace, in your own time. That's really the best way. You can't rush things, especially the good things," he was smiling softly.

"Well, at least you haven't wasted two centuries memorizing baseball scores," I said, I was gazing at him, I couldn't help it, "You know a lot, you really do," I was touching his face. I could spend hours and hours doing it.

He smiled but it was his sad smile, the one I was more used to. It looked even sadder now, after I'd seen the happy one.

"Do you feel sad a lot?" I asked him.

He looked at me for a minute.

"Not so much anymore," he said.

"Did you used to?"

He was holding my hands, stroking my fingers. He was looking at my hands.

"They're so little," he said.

I didn't know if he was going to answer me, or if I shouldn't have asked. Maybe it was rude. I could feel it, his sadness, it was like the sadness of hundreds of people, and he carried all of it by himself. It's a wonder it didn't break him. I was so awed by him. All those things to feel guilty about forever, and all that he'd lost, and he still put up with all of the crap I gave him and came back with gracious answers. My heart felt like it was swelling up, I felt like I was expanding. I was starting to feel it, the L word. Only difference was, I wasn't so scared of it.

"I've never felt any sadder than I should have been," he said. He looked up at me and his eyes caught me. They were haunted. He was bearing it, it was all he could ever do, just bear it and move on. He didn't have a choice about it and he never would. I put my arms around him. I pulled him down with me and held him. I didn't know what else to do.

I was rocking him.

"It's cold, in Ireland," he said suddenly, and I stopped rocking him and just held him while he spoke, so softly, "It's not like here. It's cold a lot, there's fog and lots of dark days, and the wind comes off the sea sometimes so strong and so raw you can feel it going right through you. I love it still, I miss it sometimes, it was my home. My people were from there, an old family. We loved the land, we loved the sea, it was part of us, we belonged to it. You don't have that so much anymore, that feeling that you're part of the land, that you're part of the sea, but it's still true, anyway. Sunny days in Ireland are rare and you really appreciate them, you just stand in the sun and love it. I'll never forget those days, what that felt like,"

I had to look at him.

"I'm not sure you'll ever have any idea what you mean to me, Buffy," he said. He wasn't making a point or anything, he was just stating it simpy, "Unless you've felt that cold going through you, you can't really know how glorious the sun on you can feel. You're the sun. You're like blue sky again,"

I kissed him. How could I not? I knew something right away when I first saw him in the mosoleum: he doesn't lie. He doesn't talk a good line like most boys will. He doesn't say it unless it's true. He might not say things, but if you ask him, he'll tell you the truth. My heart was swelling up even more, I felt like it might burst right out of me. I hugged him so tight, I heard him grunt.

"Sorry," I said, and he smiled his sideways smile, the one that starts at one corner of his mouth and sneaks over slyly, his eyes have that wry look, it's so adorable, I kissed him, over and over. He kissed me back strongly. It started building, it's this thing that happens to both of us, it comes over us and it's so hard to stop or to pull back, it feels so much more right than anything I've ever felt before in my whole life. No just good, or tingly, but right. This-is-where-I-belong right.

I donít have the greatest will power in the world. Holding him, running my hands over his back, up the back of his neck, and him kissing me like he does, teasing me, it was so intense, and the biggest problem was, I couldnít blame him for it. He only ever went as far as I went, he took the lead from me, so any trouble that got started would be my fault. It was getting bad; I was breathing like Iíd just run home and every little nerve in my skin was hyper-awake, every place he touched me was lit up. I just wanted more and more of him. My hands were all over him. I love the way my hands glide over his skin, heís got wonderful skin. I wanted to rub my face in his hair and taste him all over, I tasted his neck, the sweet angle of his jaw, his shoulder inside his shirt. He loves it when I touch him, I know it. He moves his cheek closer to my hand, or turns his head so I can reach his neck, itís so much like an animal loves to be scratched. Itís really sexy. I was kissing him deeper and he was doing it, too. I was plastered against him. He rolled us over so that he was crouched over me again, but he kept kissing me, he didnít try to go. I pulled him down so he was lying right on me and I made a noise out loud, there was no way not to, it was incredible to feel the full length of him against me. He pulled his hips up, leaning on his forearms. He was looking at me.

"Rushing isnít what itís about," he said.

I canít explain it, but I had to. I pulled him back down onto me and I wrapped my legs around his hips. Then we both made sounds out loud. I could feel him. I mean, HIM. I was shocked, because I never really knew what all those dirty jokes meant, about size and everything...but it was really scary. I just thought, no way, Iím never going to be able to do that! It just seemed impossible. I donít mean I was going to do it tonight, but I guess I thought...at some point, maybe...it was scary but it was so exciting, too, more exciting than anything Iíd ever felt.

I took his face in my hands and kissed him wetter and deeper than I ever had. It was hard to do, because I was already so out of breath. I moved on him and that roller coaster feeling was coming on, and I couldnít stop. I didnít want to stop.

I do this thing sometimes when I canít sleep and Iím thinking about Angel. I put a pillow between my legs, really tight, and I clamp onto it and I move against it, and I do it until everything else disappears and Iím hot all over and I almost scream but I donít because Mom would come running in. But then, when itís over, I sleep great.

I was almost doing the same thing, only I was moving against him, and I was totally losing it. He slid one hand under my back, down to the small of my back, not any lower, and he lifted me up and sideways, so that the edge of his hip was between my legs, and he started sliding me up and down against him, so I was feeling the same things but he was moving me...how does he know how to do everything? It was like heíd already memorized my rhythm, my motion, and like he knew that the edge of his hip was just right, it pressed on me just right, and he was scooping me up and down, a little faster, and before I knew it the room exploded, everything exploded. I was clinging to him. My heart was pounding, I was breathing so hard, Iíd been saying his name a lot. I was trembling, and I was starting to feel weird, because Iíd never felt that way with anybody before. Not just that feeling, but also, being so open like that. I was starting to feel so embarrassed and so scared, but he was stroking my hair and he was whispering to me and it seemed like somehow he was happy. I mean, nothing much happened for him.

He kept telling me how beautiful I was, and how much I meant to him. He laid down beside me and pulled me up so my head was on his chest. His hands, the way he was talking to me, it was so soothing, and I fell asleep.

Suddenly I woke up. It was dark. He was still there. He was pulling back the covers, and he lifted me in his arms and put me in the bed and pulled the covers over me.

"Do you have to go?" I said.

"Itís four-thirty," he said. I looked at the clock.

"Oh," he had to get home, I realized. Then I remembered everything that happened and I didnít know what to say.

"I donít want to go," he said, "But I have to. Get some sleep, OK? Iíll see you soon."

"Yeah," I said.

"Have coffee with me tonight?"

It took me a minute. Oh, yeah, duh, it was morning. "OK."

"20th century, all right?" he said, "And if one of your friends is talking to me, please come up anyway. Iíll be waiting for you, Buffy. I wonít be there to see anybody else."

I had to laugh, "OK."

"I-" he stopped suddenly. He almost seemed to take a breath. Then he said, "Iíll see you soon. Sleep."

I watched his shadow swing sleekly out the window, graceful and silent. I missed him beside me. I wonder what he almost said?