Ethan Rayne is definitely on my beat-to-a-bloody-pulp list. He got away again. I really hate that guy. And poor Jenny. Actually, poor Giles, because when creepy things happen to people when I'm around, even if I fix them, the blame tends to fall on me, and I have a feeling she's going to blame this on him. I hope they're going to be OK. Giles needs her.

Giles took Jenny home, and Angel walked me home. He's so awesome. He always helps when he can. And I love the way he fights. He really knows how to throw it all on the line. We were walking back through the cemetery, which is a shortcut to my house, but it's also a habit. Slayer habit.

"You know, you come in pretty handy sometimes," I pushed my fingers through his, entwining them. He glanced down at me, smiling.

"Glad I could help," he said.

"You more than helped," I said, "I don't know what we would have done, otherwise,"

"It's got to be hard for Giles," he said, "It's pretty disconcerting when your past comes after you in the form of a demon,"

Oh, yeah, I thought, he'd know something about that.

"Of course, that's what makes him the kind of Watcher that he is," he said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, if you've walked in shadows, you know your way around them.. You know how they move, what they want, how to outsmart them, how to fight them. If you've never walked in the dark you don't know how to hunt in it,"

"So-all the scary stuff he was into when he was younger scared him into being, like, a super-clean guy?"

"Something like that. But it's not just about being scared, it's about knowing. I'm not sure how it is for Giles. That's just how it works a lot of times,"

"That's how it worked for you,"

"Yeah. Pretty much,"

"You're super-clean," I said, stretching up to reach my arms around his neck, "Come here and let me smell you,"

"What?" he laughed.

I started to pull him down to me, but he lifted me up instead. I nuzzled him under his ear and rubbed my cheek on his neck. "That's nice," I said sniffing, "Is that Ivory soap?"

"Yeah," he said, almost apprehensively, "Why?"

"You smell like a different soap practically ever time I see you, but you smell like Ivory a lot. It must be one of your favorites,"

His eyes sparkled at me. "You noticed?"

"Yeah," I laughed a little, "What's with you and soap?"

He set me down, "It's a weakness. It's kind of a long story,"

"I'm all ears,"

"Maybe some other time," his face was a little darker. Something like a not-so-nice memory maybe, I thought, so I let it go.

"So, Giles is way freaked,"

"Shaken up, maybe. It would be nice for him to know you still trusted him,"

"You're right," I said, and I looked up at him again, marveling at him. He always seems to think of everything. "I should let him know,"

"It could mean a lot,"

"I trust you," I said. It just came out. And it was true, it's one of the truest things I've ever said.

His eyes were so warm. "That means everything," he said. I slid my arms around his waist and pressed my face to his chest. He wrapped me in his arms. I feel so safe there, it's the best place in the world. I couldn't help it, I was rubbing my face over his chest. He was wearing a cotton shirt and it was pretty thin, I could feel the contours of him under my cheek and it was mesmerizing. I knew he tries to control himself all the time and he's super-conscious of the age difference between us, but sometimes I'm so lonely for him to touch me that I ache all over, I just wish we could be together like other people get to be. I wish, a lot, that I could be somewhere alone with him and feel all of my skin next to all of his, and touch him anywhere I want, and kiss him anywhere I want, and not be worrying about it all the time. It's not like it's an abnormal thing. People do it all the time. Well, other people. It's just so unfair to always not have what you want.

I kept rubbing my face over his chest and I couldn't help brushing my lips over his nipples and I could feel them tighten and stand up, and it made me warm, just to feel that. He was stroking my hair, and I had the feeling he was going to pull away. I caught his face in my hands.

"Sorry," I said.

He kissed me softly, a very gentle moist kiss that lasted a long time. I was breathless, I moved against him, brushing my chest up against his. He ran his hands up my back and into my hair and held my head. The kiss was still going. I slipped my hands over his chest again, I needed to feel him, but I stayed away from his nipples-barely. I traced them but I didn't touch them, I trailed my fingers over his chest, teasing him. He moaned very softly, and that unhooked something in me, that sound, my heart jumped, I pressed myself against him again, rubbing so he could feel my nipples. They were so hard they almost hurt.

Then he surprised me. His hands stroked around my back, under my arms, and up under my chest, cupping me in both hands. I gasped, because I hadn't expected it, but I planted a kiss on him right away, partly because I just had to and partly because I didn't want him to think that I didn't like it. His hands moved over me softly, I was wearing a top that doesn't need a bra, so it was almost like feeling his hands right against me. He wasn't touching the most sensitive spots and I started to feel flushed, my face was tingling, my body was waking up all over. He just takes his time, no matter how he touches me, always. This wasn't any different. He was caressing me with his fingers, using so much careful attention, being so gentle. It was like he was afraid he'd miss touching one little spot on me. He was just barely holding them, covering them with gliding strokes, except where I was starting to want it, bad. He was tracing my nipples with little wavering lines.

I was trying to be patient, but I was starting to tremble and little sounds were coming out of me.

There was a low stone wall behind us and suddenly I was sitting on it and he was standing between my legs, holding my face.

"What do you want, Buffy?" he asked me softly, his eyes were full of craving, but also that incredible, eternal kind of patience. His hands moved down.

"Touch me!" I said, and he lightly stroked the ball of each thumb across each one of my nipples and I felt the ground go out from under me. I couldn't get enough air. It was like the bottom dropped out of the world, I clutched on to his belt loops to keep from disappearing. I was completely his right then, if he would just keep touching me like that, if he would just keep delicately tickling my nipples, and stroking them, and rubbing them, I would do anything. My blood was pounding, I was shaking. I had to hold on to him to stay on the wall. His fingers caressed me, over the tips of my nipples, around them in semi-circles, swirling over them, taking them in his fingers with a feather-light hold and stroking, over and over. All I wanted was more. He didn't show any sign of stopping, he kissed me and his fingers kept working me, I was almost sobbing by this point. It was like torture that you can't get enough of and he was doing it with infinite patience, pushing me right to the point where it was finally unbearable. I rocked foreword on the wall so that my jeans tightened against my body, squeezing me between my legs. I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms went around his neck. I could feel a light sweat coming up on me. I pushed against him, gripping onto him. His fingers were dancing over the very tips of my nipples now, he knew exactly how lightly to do it. His name started coming out of me in an unbroken line, "AngelAngelAngel," and then I was screaming and driving myself against him. I was shattered. I leaned against him, my breath heaving in and out of me, weak and quivering.

He lifted me off the wall and then we were on the grass. His arms surrounded me. He was kissing my eyelids and my nose and my cheeks and he whispered to me.

"You're so beautiful, Buffy, so beautiful, so beautiful," he said. I curled up in his arms and listened while the echoes of feeling moved through me and gradually subsided. He held me for a long time.

We walked the rest of the way home without talking but his arm was around me snugly the whole way. He kissed me under the window of my room.

"I-" he stopped, "I'll see you soon," he said.

I should feel more self-conscious then I do. I just don't, at all. Why should I, really? Angel isn't the kind of person who would go around the next day telling everybody he'd gotten to second base with me. He just doesn't even think that way. Everything that happens between us happens because we feel it. It means something. I know that. He makes sure that I know that. Plus, he's so into making me happy, he isn't selfish at all. Sometimes I almost wish he'd be a little more selfish, but maybe sometime. The closer we get, the more I miss him when he's not around. Like right now, I miss him. I wish he'd hold me while I fall asleep.