Author: Meghan

Summary: Angelus dreams of Buffy. Paris 1888.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: BAus

Notes:

Gaelic:

Leannán = lover

French:

"Fermez-vous petite putain riche rien de dieu!" = "Shut up you goddamn little rich whore."

PROLOGUE:

That hour before evening started, where all was quiet and seemed to slow, in a townhouse just a block from the Seine a dreamer awoke. A fiendish light glowed within his eyes that he fought to disguise in his haste to grab his paper and his pen. Furiously sketching now, lest he lose such an enticing image of maiden fair that he'd dreamt.

In remembering her lusty stare, he decided he'd start there. Almond shaped eyes, hazel leaning toward gray, unable to tell him any lies. They were a window to her thoughts and passion that trapped his with her innocent fascination. Long lashes that fluttered, coyly inviting him to beckon closer. Her pupils dilated in sated pleasure, crinkling in mirth from something he had said.

Drawing the fine line of her nose, he closed his eyes and breathed in a lungful of air trying to recall just how her nostrils flared. The elusive sound of her breathing lingered in the air as he sketched the remembered flare before creating the interesting quirk of her nose. The tiny flaw that he loved to nuzzle when bending down on his way to kiss her.

Which drew his attention to her lips. Pausing, not quite sure on where to begin, he brought the pen to his mouth and suckled the tip thoughtfully. Should they be parted in the breathless wonder of his name? Or grinning wickedly whispering 'come here'? Should those soft lips be swollen from his heady kiss? Or possibly detailing such a beautiful pout he could not resist? Not quite sure he dismissed her lips and luscious mouth, taking his pen to her ear.

The delicate pink shell he'd whispered fervently into, telling her wicked things as he thrusted inside her moist clinging heat. A tiny stud decorated the lobe, and a freckles graced the crest of her ear. He delighted in how she would shiver beneath him when his breath blew coolly inside it.

Curls tucked behind the ear where finely spun and silky soft. Strands of hair clinging to the pads of his fingers as they sifted through her hair. Golden tresses she would wear loosely so that they could frame his pillow. By now her perfume permeated the air, settling into the sheets and pillowcase- a fresh sultry vanilla scent.

Now he traced the arch of her lofty eyebrows that she raised in faint mockery or lifted as her face contorted in orgasm. She would sigh when his mouth wrapped around them and tugged gently. He loved the sound of her panting breath. He gazed at the incomplete drawing and slowly sculpted the missing lips parted in a breathy 'oh' of bliss. The shimmering gloss half kissed off of her lips, still wet from where his tongue ran along them.

When he was done he carefully set aside the drawing of such sultry ardent womanhood. The quiet surrounded the woken dreamer, his fingers now covered in ink, self satisfied with the likeness of his golden lover. He needed her like nothing he'd ever known before, however it was just that- He'd never met this lovely creature who had slipped nightly into his dreams.

Who was she, his dream lover?