Timeline: (After the bedroom scene in What's My Line Part 1)
Sometimes it makes me mad, and I know I'm being kind of a brat, but sometimes....I think about other things that I could do. I try not to mention it too often, because they all feel like they have to REMIND me. "You're the Slayer, you can't go to the dance" "You're the Slayer, you can't stay in tonight," It's never over. Especially with Giles. It's never over for him, either, but at least he HAD a chance to be wild and stupid. I wonder sometimes, if somebody else had been chosen, what I'd be doing...I'd be doing something. Part of me feels betrayed that I even wrote that, the part that gets that craving after sundown and wants to go for a nice walk in the cemetery and kill vampires. That's a physical craving. But another part of me wonders....because I'm not just the Slayer. I'm a person, too.
This is interesting...I come into my room and he's there, looking at things, checking out my stuff. I'm very protective of my privacy and I would have wigged if it had been anyone else. But there he was with Mr. Gordo, and it felt...normal, almost cozy. I didn't even think about minding it. He wasn't looking to make fun of me or anything. He wanted to know more. I know that's why he was doing it. He picks up things with such a soft touch, he has this way of handling things, like stuffed pigs and pictures and my sneakers, as if they're all made out of crystal, and I know they mean something to him because I mean something to him.
And when I'm cranky at him...he reacts, like anybody would, but he always wants to know what's making me cranky and I can't hide it. I tell him it's nothing, and he just gives me this patient look, this look that says, "OK...I'll wait," and then he stands there and waits for me to fork it over. In a way it's adorable, but it also works. He can pretty much find out anything he wants when he gives me that look. And career week really kind of has me tweaked.
Now that I think about it, he was tweaking in his own way, too. He was feeling....I don't know...insecure? Like when he said that he'd never be a kid, and that my life was more normal before him. But he really IS the only thing that makes sense in my life. Him I can count on. He makes mistakes sometimes, but he makes good on things. He has integrity.
He's the most consistent and supportive person I've ever had in my life.
He was looking at a picture of me during my Dorothy Hamill phase. I was embarrassed, but not like I would have been with anybody else. He doesn't judge me like anybody else would. He looks at things differently. Then we were talking about skating, and then suddenly he was talking about the rink and how they were closed on Tuesdays.
I looked at him, and a little glow started inside me.
"Tomorrow's Tuesday," I said.
"I know," he smiled sweetly at me.
I put my hand on his chest, just brushing him softly with my fingers. "So-will this be a date?"
"Yeah. Skating date. What do you think?"
"I think you're pretty cool," I said.
"Can I have a kiss, then?"
Like I would ever say no to that.
I love his mouth. He has the cleanest mouth. I don't know if it's the fact that vampires don't have tooth decay or what, but he's always cool and slightly sweet. I love the way his tongue will gradually grow warmer, like his lips do, from kissing me. I wonder what it feels like for him, that I'm so much warmer. He seems to be OK with it.
He was holding me, leaning me backward and kissing me so nice, soft, wet kisses in slow motion. When he leans me back like that I lose a sense of balance, just slightly enough to make it even more intense, more like a dream. He kissed me for a long time, and I looked up at him and my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror with me suspended in space at this impossible angle. It threw me. I pulled away a little.
"You should get some sleep," he said.
"Tuck me in?" I couldn't help it. And I didn't feel like it was foreword at all. It felt right.
"I'd like that," his smile was so warm.
"I need to...." I gestured, a little awkwardly, "I need to change,"
"Oh," he laughed a little and went to sit on the windowsill. He threw one leg over and looked outside.
I probably shouldn't have put that outfit on but I'm not sorry I did. I bought it at Victoria's Secret one time when I was thinking about him and I just kept it in a drawer forever. Well, for a couple of weeks. It's all lace, it's see-through. If Mom ever saw it she'd have a cow. It's a little bra and shorts, and it just barely exists. I put it on and my heart started to pound. I wasn't really nervous, it was something else. Mom wasn't home. I turned off the overhead light, and just my dresser light was on. I went to the windowsill and sat beside him. He turned and looked at me. If he'd had any breath it would have caught. That's the way he looked, like the air had gone out of him. It was really gratifying.
He stared into my eyes with something like shock. For a second I wasn't sure if he liked it or not, maybe he thought it was too much. But then he swallowed, and he said, "Buffy,"
He laughed. "Yeah, good," he said, "Amazing. You're amazing,"
I was looking at him in the soft light and just loving his face. He's so beautiful. I touched his cheek, and I started to feel mesmerized by him. I let my hands trace his features over andover, running my fingers over his cool lips and his eyelids, his jaw and the strong, fine line of his nose, the curves of his cheekbones, again over his lips and his chin, tracing him, worshipping him. "Angel face," I whispered. He closed his eyes and let me caress him. His lips parted. I leaned foreword and kissed him. He reached for my hands and held them while we were kissing. I pulled away and threw one leg over the windowsill and scooted right up to him, throwing my legs over his.
He made a little sound, almost a groan. I slipped my arms around his neck. One of his hands went around my back, the other stroked my shoulder.
"Buffy," so much was in that word when he said it. He said my name, but he was saying so many other things, too. His voice was full of desire and it worked on me like a drug. I kept moving my hands over him, around the back of his neck, through his hair, down into his shirt. I scooted up closer so I could really have my hands on him. I unbuttoned his shirt slowly. He was gripping the edge of the windowsill. I kissed him, slipping my tongue in and out of his mouth in little sliding strokes, over his tongue and the inside of his lips. My hands were hungry, they traveled over and over him, trying to get enough of him. The more I touched him the more beautiful he felt. I was kissing his throat, that gorgeous slant of his jaw and his neck, and he gripped my shoulders and lifted me away from him with a moan.
"Buffypleasestop," he said through his teeth.
"Mom's not home,"
I slipped my hands down his chest and let my fingers stop on his nipples and moved just the very tips of my fingers in circles over them. He took hold of my hands.
I hadn't really thought about what I was doing and I felt guilty for a minute, but it came out anyway,
"Why can't we?"
"We...I..." he paused and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it, "You're not completely ready yet,"
"How would you know that?"
"I don't know everything about how you feel. That's not what I mean. It's just...better to wait. There are so many ways I want to make you happy,"
"Don't you think I want to make you happy, too?"
"Please trust me about this, Buffy. The one thing I want more than anything in the world is to take you right now. But it's just too early,"
"What about what I want to take?"
His hands were on my shoulders and his fingers were caressing me there. I feel like he could never have his hands on me anywhere without wanting to touch me like that. He looked into me and my insides went liquid. I'm just going to write it....his eyes are full of love. I know that's what it is. They're so full of love sometimes, everything just stops.
"Please trust me," he said.
I couldn't feel rejected. He was looking at me with so much longing that I couldn't doubt how bad he wanted me. He had some of that desperate look people get when they're hanging on to a cliff by their fingernails.
I heaved a sigh and I looked at him.
"So how am I supposed to get to sleep?" I was laughing a little, but he smiled at me and looked down at my chest and then back into my eyes. It was the sexiest look I've ever seen. My heart started pounding again.
He lifted me up and slid me backward on the windowsill until I was leaning against the other side, and he followed, coming up close to me. I love it when he does that, when he takes charge of the situation like that, and that's weird because it's always made me nervous when other people do it. When you're my size you don't like being tossed around much, plus after I became the Slayer boys would try to pick me up and I'd let them have it and then I'd get in trouble. But when Angel picks me up and puts me somewhere, there's always this unspoken thing between us, this trust. If I wanted him not to all I would have to do is think that and he'd let go of me right away, because he always knows how I feel when we're together. And, I love it when he picks me up. I gives me a sweet rush...that for right now I don't have to make any decisions, I don't have to be in charge of everything. It...turns me on, I guess.
He was kissing me and his hands were starting to move all over me and I shivered strongly, so strongly that I lost my balance for a minute, but his arm was around me so I wasn't going to slip. He was kissing me slowly, taking my lips in his and then releasing them, and then he was kissing my throat and stroking his fingers under my chin, which for some reason suddenly was making me crazy. His fingers moved very lightly down and along my throat. I hadn't realized how sensitive I was there. He always finds these spots on me, these little everyday places on my body that light up and become magic when he touches them. I leaned my head back and gave myself over to the way it felt. I was breathing so hard that my mouth was dry and he hadn't even started, really.
He was kissing my shoulders and that place where my neck hollows down into my shoulder, and goose bumps came up all over me. I watched him as his mouth moved down. He takes mouthfuls of me the way most people take their first mouthful of ice cream, pausing after his tongue touches to let the sensation move over him, then taking a second mouthful with more expectation, more craving. I was breathing so hard that his hair was stirring every time I panted. His hands slipped up quickly over me, up over my chest with a touch like feathers, and a long sound came out of me that sounded like sob.
More and more lately, I get wet because of him. At first I wasn't sure it was a good thing, but I read up, and it is. It's amazing how fast it happens, he does one thing and I'm soaked, I'm all slippery. It would ordinarily be the kind of thing that would make me jump up and go check, except now he was kissing lightly all over me, on top of the lace, and I knew exactly what it was. He stayed away from my nipples forever, he kissed every other inch of them. It was like last time, except his kisses were wetter and more aggressive, and his hands cupped me and stroked me at the same time. His thumbs circled my nipples over and over, and his kisses got bigger and greedier the whole time.
I reached up to undo my bra, I was so into what he was doing that I would have done anything, but he stopped me.
"Not yet, not yet," he whispered. He wants to savor everything we do, he wants to make it all last as long as possible. And he wants to make me wait. He knows what it does to me, and he loves to do it to me. Someday, payback. Serious payback.
I was sitting up by this time and craning toward him. I slid my arms around his waist and hung on because any minute, I could feel it opening up under me, any minute I'd fall in. I'd fall in to this deep abyss, soon I was going to loose it.
He took my right nipple in his mouth gently and stroked his tongue over it. My whole body flushed with heat and I shouted, and shouted again. His thumb moved over my other nipple at the same time, he curled his tongue underneath in a circle, he slipped it quickly back and forth. Suddenly I was on him, right on his lap, slamming myself against him. I gripped his hips and drove against him again, and I could feel him, so hard, right against me, and I lost it. I imagined him inside me, and then I was screaming. He suckled my other nipple, he was relentless, and it kept coming over me like a seizure, it wouldn't stop.
Finally the feeling ran out. I was heaving for air, I was dripping sweat and I knew my shorts were soaked. He was kissing my face, creeping little kisses up and down my cheeks and nose, and I was feeling self-conscious about being all sweaty, but I threw my arms around him, and he was so nice and cool. I pushed my face into his neck and held on while it subsided. He held me.
It was like heaven. I felt warm and tingly all over, I felt safe, and I wanted to feel him in my hand. My hand slipped down and just brushed over the length of him. He caught my hand.
"Let me touch you," I whispered.
"I -I can't"
I pressed my cheek against his, my lips moved on his cheek when I asked him.
"What is it, Angel?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
I looked at him. There it was, that dark thing in his eyes. That heavy darkness.
"You're not ready," I said. I was starting to understand.
He didn't say anything, but he let me look in his eyes.
"You're the one who's not ready," I said.
The darkness deepened on his face. I stroked his cheek, wishing I could chase it away. I would if I could, I'd squash that darkness. Like a bug.
"Talk to me," I said.
"It's your bedtime," He took me up in his arms and swung off the windowsill. He carried me to the bed. He tucked me in, and then he laid down beside me, above covers, and pulled my head onto his shoulder.
"I know you care about me," I said.
"More than anything," he said.
He couldn't answer me. He couldn't talk about it, and I knew it. I let it go.
I pushed his shirt aside and laid my cheek was on his bare shoulder. He smelled like a spice of some kind, very faintly. His skin is more satiny than satin is. He held me with so much patience and affection that the safe feeling crawled all through me and I drifted off. It's the best place in the world to be, and especially to fall asleep in. I slept like a rock.
I don't know what I would do with my life if I wasn't the Slayer, but it's not even a question worth asking, really. And I don't know what I would do if I'd never met him. I don't know how long I'll make it as a Slayer. If there were old Slayers hanging around that would be one thing, but there aren't. Slayers die pretty often, and there's no telling what I'm going to be up against next. All I can do is fight the best I can, for as long as I can.
But I know one thing: no other Slayer had an Angel. He changes the score for me. Sometimes I think that I can make it to grow up and even have a life, as long as I have him.
A lot of times I think that growing up and having a life would be nothing