I had long, drawn-out dreams of kissing you and pulling your clothing away, dreams that moved languidly; everything had a kind of mist over it. Gradually the dream became clearer, the lines of your body under my hands came into focus, vividly silky and gold-colored; the warm, clean scent of you was so real. We were moving in slow motion deliberately, torturing each other with kisses and soft hands.

We'd been tantalizing each other beautifully for so long that you were trembling and ready; I was glad, because it would take very little to bring you to pleasure. It wouldn't make you too tired, so I could have you again. I lingered over your nipples, licking them lazily, deliberately building frustration in you. Your scent was filling my head. I moved down, between your legs, and slid my arms under your hips. I kissed a line from your belly button down and nuzzled the shiny curls below. Your hips moved like the ocean, a graceful wave. I kissed the incredibly tender flesh on the insides of your thighs and next to your sex, slowly, wetly, thoroughly. You whimpered and a surge of excitment went through me, the craving to taste you was overwhelming, but I continued to keep both of us in check. The honey was seeping from you and I gave in finally, sipping it up and delving directly into your sex with my tongue.

You gave a breathy cry. I teased you gently, taking the pistil of that flower, that little bud, pressing it slightly between my lips, releasing it, sliding my tongue into you, and returning to nibble lightly again. You were so close by this time that your entire body shook with tension. I prolonged it, caressing all of you, refusing to give you completion. The moisture was flowing from you. Your thighs and my chin were wet. You started to beg.

"PleasepleasePLEASEANGEL!"

I took the plumpness of it into my mouth and worked it with my lips and tongue and you convulsed powerfully. I could feel the movement of pleasure from deep inside you, like the sea herself crashing on land. Men are always confused by the way a woman connects physical intimacy with emotion; they haven't thought this through. When pleasure comes from such a profound place inside her body, how could she feel otherwise? If women didn't make this "mistake", the world would be empty. That's where love itself begins, in the depths of a woman's body.

I held your hips locked in my arms like a drunk holds on to his beer. I rubbed my face on your belly. You sighed and reached for me; I shook my head and laid my cheek on your hip. Your breathing gradually became deeper and slower. I waited for you to escape into sleep for a time, for an hour or maybe two, then I kissed your belly button, very lightly, a whisper of a kiss, and gradually gave you more, little soft kisses creeping over you. You stirred and I paused; you sighed and I continued. You made a sweet little sound and said my name. I began kissing you again, taking more of your satiny skin in mouthfuls, licking inside the kisses, more hungrily.

"Angel," you almost whined, "Not again, I can't do it again,"

"Just one more," I said, and I slid downward, pushing the curls aside with my mouth, slipping my tongue along the petals between your legs. You cooed, my favorite sound. I knew you would be tender by this time, so I was careful, taking the little bud into my mouth very softly. I rippled my tongue along it delicately and it swelled in my mouth, growing plump again. I pressed my lips against the base of it and drew from there with loving care. You arched and whined. I moved the tip of my tongue in tiny strokes on the tip of the bud, and you shouted my name. I moved my tongue more rapidly, but just as lightly, and you exploded, driving your hips onto my mouth and shouting in desperation. You were lushly wet and I was thirsty; I indulged myself, dipping my tongue deep into you, soaking up the slippery dew.

"Angel," you panted, "That's enough. That's enough for now, that's enough,"

I kept my grip on you. I can't explain it. It's the same complaint you have about chocolate. I wanted just one more, but I wouldn't rush you, I would wait, I told you.

"No," you said, "I want you beside me, up here,"

"One more, Buffy, hunh?" I begged. It's my favorite thing, besides being inside you, it's an addiction. I can feel it when you have enough energy left to go again. Usually you fall asleep, and I love to languish there, listening to you breathing and dreaming as you gather your strength. I would wait hours. It's miraculous, to have my mouth on you. I never get over it. Of course, it's dangerous, pushing my wishes like that. My old heart that never moves, my nerves that feed on borrowed blood, my undead body never forgets that you are the Slayer. There is always an element of fear. We both knew you could crush my head like a walnut if you wanted to.

"I'm going to lose my mind, Angel. It's making me nuts."

I smiled.

"Angel," you began, and I sipped the little bud into my mouth again, twirling my tongue around it, slurping on it. You cried out. I slipped a finger into your heat and your sex contracted like a hungry sea creature; I slipped another into you and began stroking you, hunting for that little swollen bump inside, caressing it.

"Angel, goddamn it!" you shouted, and then you screamed, writhing, your sex opening and then pulling on my fingers as the climax shattered through you; then the engorged bud in my mouth suddenly softened and withdrew.

"OK, OK now stop, stop Angel, stop," "Stop" is our safe word. I released you reluctantly. You glared at me and slapped me on the shoulder. It stung.

"Brat," you said.

"If you just relaxed and slept when you wanted to-"

"Angel, I can NOT do that all night, I'm never going to be able to do that for an entire night," I climbed over you, slid my arms under you and entered you in one long, smooth thrust. Your mouth open in a silent cry. You were bright pink, lightly glazed in sweat, and your body rose to meet mine. Your sex was slick and tight, still reacting to my mouth. I wasn't going to make it long, but I had to have one more from you.

"One more, one more," I moaned, "One more, Buffy...slow?"

"Yes!" you screeched, and we moved together in a smooth rhythm, trembling in unison, watching each other. Your voice was escalating, desperate croons building with an agonizingly slow pace, spiraling up, and I bit into my lip to keep it going. I said your name through my teeth. Suddenly your eyes focused on me sharply and you paused, and then flew into it, your hands digging into my back, your face buried in my neck, your body slamming against mine.

I came back to consciousness gradually, vaguely registering pain in the flesh of my back and a supernatural fatigue. Your little hand found mine.