Letters from Ireland
Part 9

I woke up in a headlock.

A giggle, warm on the back of my neck. "Two out of three," you said, "Winner's the boss," and you tossed me out of the bed, onto the floor and leaped on top of me. I twisted under you, throwing you off my back and managing to stand. We circled each other. You were grinning at me.

"Getting a little slow," you taunted, "Sure those reflexes don't start to lose their edge after a couple of centuries?"

"Maybe," I said, "But I still outweigh you by a hundred pounds,"

"So what? I'm the Slayer,"

I laughed despite myself. "Let's see some Slayer-stylin', then," I said, "Come over here,"

"You come over here,"

"I'm old, but I'm not stupid,"


"Of course,"

"You just want me to be the boss tonight, that's all. That's lame, Angel,"

I dropped to my hands and swept a kick under your feet; you leaped only soon enough to avoid going down completely. You scrambled, and it was enough time for me to catch you by your legs and throw you under me, putting you in a leg hold.

"Angel, you're doing it wrong!" your complaint was muffled.

"It's your fault. You look too adorable like this," I slipped my hand over your behind, caressing you lazily. "One and one,"

"It's the wrong form,"

"Are you working right now?" I demanded.

A small silence, and then a contrite answer, "No," I laughed again, loosening my grip. You sprang from my grasp and writhed quickly, catching my arm and twisting me onto my face. I caught you behind your knee with my foot and flipped you over me. You grunted as you hit the floor; you rolled quickly and jumped onto me, pinning me with your knees in the middle of my back. I reached back, finding a grip on the pocket of your jeans, and pulled you off me. I threw you under me again, this time face up; I straddled your chest, seized both your hands in one of mine and pinned them over your head.

"I bet you think that's it," you said, a little breathless.

"Unless I'm mistaken," I said, as you squirmed under me, "This counts as a hold,"

"Almost," you said, and the next thing I knew I was on my back again, with you holding my hands over my head. Except, you needed both hands to do it.

"Should I give you a count?" you grinned. You were breathing onto my face. Your breath was sweet, like I remember apples.

"Five," I said.

"One-" you said, and I lifted my head and kissed you. You kissed me back. You were dewy with the exertion, the scent coming off your skin was like a drug.

"Cheater," you said.

"Boss," I countered.

"You're right," you said cheerfully, "Get in the shower,"

I was already under the water when you came in, undressed and holding a plastic stay-tie, the kind used to restrain violent offenders. You use them to restrain vampires for interrogation. I must have looked surprised, because you laughed at me.

"Is that necessary?" I said.

"Well," you stood half under the water with me, your nipples hardening at the change in temperature, little goosebumps rising on your skin, sucking on your lower lip and gazing at me, up and down, "I'm making the rules, and I say it's necessary. Unless you don't want to,"

This last statement was like a dare. "Want to", between us, is everything. We are both consent freaks. Nothing is left to chance. Actual restraint was something new. If I said no, there would be no question after that. You would accept it. But you were hoping I wouldn't, so I had to play with you a little.

"What do you have planned?"

"That's my business," you said, and then you were suddenly onto me, "Tease!"

I laughed.

"You're just making it worse for yourself, you know," you said, business- like, leaning against me and reaching around me to catch my wrists together, "You shouldn't mess with the boss," Your body pushed against me as you fastened the plastic, and you laughed at me.

"Ready already," you murmured, brushing back and forth, I could feel the contours of your belly pressing softly, then harder. You took the soap and slipped it between us, working up a lather on your stomach, and then you resumed rubbing against me. We were slick and the water was warm, you squirmed against me and I became harder and I was unable to do anything about it. You were going to torture me. I planted my feet firmly on the wet porcelain and told myself to stay standing.

You stroked the soap higher on yourself, moving it over your breasts luxuriously, and I watched with what a human would call bated breath. I remember everything you liked, I memorized all of it, I know how you love to have your nipples tantalized, not assaulted, I know how you love slow circles raced around them, I know how you love to be stroked under your chin with smooth caresses, and I loved watching you so much that it made me dizzy. You slid the soap under your chin and down, sighing; you lathered your breasts carefully, watching me, it was the way I liked to do it, working up a slow, rich foam, with the creamy flesh showing through the swirls of lather. You put the soap aside and leaned against me with your belly on me, and you arched your back, leaning away and holding your breasts, tracing your nipples with your thumbs, your eyes locked on mine. You sighed again and your eyes narrowed with pleasure as you stroked them. I was beginning to shake. You undulated against me, moving back and forth and up and down, your eyes glimmering with a kind of tender sadism. You looked into me as your fingers became more aggressive, rubbing your nipples and twisting them, pinching lightly and then circling, sharing every twinge you were giving yourself, and I heard a moan escape from my own mouth.

"You'll have your turn, in minute," you said breathlessly, working yourself and watching me leaning foreword with sharp longing, then you began to croon gently, your fingers worked more busily, and then you were saying, "Oh, oh, oh," over and over through your teeth, leaning backward.

"Oooo," you said, bliss falling over your features, "I'm all wet now,"

I shivered, thinking about it, and you giggled and put your hand on my cheek. You kissed me gently and whispered, "Want to feel it?"


You grasped my hardness and turned, gracefully propping one little foot on the shower wall and leaning over so I could see you; you arched back, drawing my sex over yours so I could feel the slick, silky moisture there, so different from the moisture of water or soap, unmistakable. You pressed down so the petals between your legs parted and I could feel the entrance to your heat, then you pulled away.

"Buffy," I begged.

"You'd better relax," you said, "Because I want to play,"

You turned under the water and rinsed off the soap, then you stood on the edge of the tub and pulled my head down, guiding me to your nipples. I nibbled them delicately, carefully; you sighed and caressed my cheek, whispering to me.

"Oh, Angel, like that, like that, like that..." then you leaned closer, "Guess where I'm going to put my fingers right now?"

I moaned again, helplessly. I tilted my head, looking down, but my view was obstructed. I devoted myself to your nipples, which is heavenly for me anyway, but then the pleasure was creeping over you again, and you began to croon and arch onto me. You shouted and took a mouthful of my neck, then you quickly pulled away, putting your forehead against mine and looking down. Your little fingers were buried in your wet curls, and as they emerged they glistened.

"Buffy," I said plaintively.

You sighed, then slipped your arms around me.

"You know what?"

"What?" I growled.

"Your fingers feel so much better. They go so much deeper. I'm still so hungry inside. I'm so hot, I'm so wet,"

"When I get out of this thing-"

"Hush!" you said sternly, "I didn't ask you, did I? I'm the boss," You took the soap again and stepped off the edge of the tub. You slipped the soap over my shoulders and chest, lingering, over my arms and down, thoroughly; you turned me and soaped my back, pressing deeply into the muscle with your incredibly strong little fingers, and as always I melted under your touch. Your hands slid sweetly over my hips and then around me to grasp my sex suddenly; I cried out and looked down, watching your hands. You leaned around me slightly, pressing your cheek to my arm as your hands gripped and stroked and twisted in the slippery soap.

"Feel nice?"

"Yes," I almost yelled it.

"Mmmm," you said, "You're gorgeous all over, you know that?" Your hands were working me with beautiful precision, stroking firmly down the shaft and then all the way up over the tip, building an uneven rhythm, lingering on the most achingly sensitive parts and then taking up a strong, even pressure again, and I grew even more swollen in your hands, yearning, knowing that you had no plans to let me off this easy.

I was right. You turned me again and slid your arms around me, gripping tightly, and moved up and down. The foam built between our bodies. You moved down and pressed my sex between your breasts, slid further down and pressed it against your cheek. You reached up into the streaming water and guided splashes of it onto us, clearing away the soap, and then your were kissing me and lavishing me with your mouth, and I threw my head back, thumping my cranium onto the tile. You giggled richly, but you looked up almost involuntarily to check, to make sure I was OK. I smiled at you sheepishly. You stood up suddenly and your hand slid up the back of my neck, cradled the back of my head.

"You OK?" you asked.

I hesitated. "-I-"

"Your HEAD," you said.

"Yes," I seethed, "My head is fine,"

Your arms went around my neck.

"What do you want, Angel?" you whispered.

"I want to be inside you," I blurted.

"Right now?"


"Right here?"


You leaned against me, reaching to grasp the tie on my wrists. I strained on it, but you squeezed my forearm.

"Don't, you'll cut yourself," you said, and then you stretched the plastic and freed my hands. In one motion I lifted you in my arms and thrust you back against the wall of the shower; your legs and arms went around me as you grunted. I thrust my tongue into your mouth and lowered your body; your little hand wrapped around my sex and guided me into you. I cried out, feeling you at last, the singing life inside you, the heavenly shock of your heat, the sweet silky dew I was gliding in; I drove myself into you, soaking up your screams. I love to hear you scream like that. We gazed at each other, moaning and gripping each other hard enough to create bruises, slamming together, frenzied. Our cries echoed off the tiled walls. I was trying to hold back, and you caught me; you were looking at me, your eyes narrowed, your features strained in desperation.

"Don't!" you panted, "Don't. Just give it to me. Give yourself to me, do it, Angel, do it now-"

I gripped you more firmly, pressing my face into your shoulder, and I hammered into you, shouting; I could hear you and I could feel your sex drawing deeply on me, then the world went black. We stood together after it was over, still moaning in unison, our faces pressed together. Moaning had become a language, we understood each other. Finally I lowered you to your feet and then crushed you against me.

"I love you," you said.

"What if I gave you a diamond ring?" I said, "What would you do with it?"

You took my face in both hands. You have the most beautiful eyes in the world.

"Wear it," you said, "On the wrong hand,"

Buffy let the letter rest in her lap. Her tears ran freely down. He knows, she thought, he just knows everything. That's exactly what I would say. She sighed, and then sobbed. "I miss you," she said, to the living room. She wiped her eyes and shuffled the pages. There was more, and she wanted to know it all, but the frustration was agonizing. "What are we going to do?" she asked the room, "What are we going to do, Angel?"