All hail my awesome beta MamaBewear.

It took Buffy a few moments to come back to herself, and another few seconds to comprehend that she was suddenly positioned diagonally. Her head was higher than her legs, and the only reason she wasn't sliding down to the floor was that her body was currently trapped underneath Angel. "Angel," she said, twisting her head, "I think your table is busted."

"Piece of crap," he said.

"I'm pretty sure it's only meant for eating. Not other activities."

"I suppose," he said, grinning.

Angel was grinning. She had seen him smile once in a while, but grinning? Never. Her heart skipped a beat.

Her pants and underwear were down around her knees, while Angel was barely undressed at all. "Hang on," he said. His hands slid under her bottom, while her arms tightened around his neck. Her knees gripped his hips. He shuffle-walked into his bedroom, where he deposited them both on the bed, causing the mattress to bounce. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

Buffy kicked off her shoes, pulled her underwear back up and yanked her pants off. Angel lay down in the middle of the bed, on his side, leaning on his elbow. Buffy walked over to him on her knees. "Up," she said, hauling him to a sitting position. She unbuttoned his shirt and then pushed it off his shoulders, letting her hands roam his bare chest. His fly was still open and now she opened his pants button. "Take your shoes off." Angel toed them off, and then Buffy slid his pants down over his hips and off. She leaned back on her heels to take him in, now that he was nude before her.

She gave a feather light touch to his manhood, which was currently soft and sticky. She supposed that was to be expected since they had just gone two rounds on the table but she had full confidence that he wouldn't be that way for long. Using one finger, she pressed a little harder, going from head to base. She was rewarded with a slight twitch. "Nice,"said Angel. Buffy ran two fingers along the same path, increasing the pressure just the slightest bit. He twitched again.

"Want to taste you," she said, her voice low.

"You sure? Not that I'd have any objections."

She had never done this for him. She had touched him, but their relationship had only started to become more intimate not that long before her birthday. After that, they were too afraid to do much of anything. "You might have to tell me what you like."

"You just want me to talk dirty to you," Angel teased.

Buffy didn't say anything, but she could feel her cheeks heating up. She was on Angel's side, so she leaned over him. Using one hand on his thigh to brace herself, she used the tip of her tongue to trace where her fingers had just been, as Angel made a soft noise of pleasure. She repeated the motion, leaning over a little more so she could press a little harder.

"Use your whole tongue. Really lick me."

Using the flat of her tongue, she slowly licked him from the tip to the base, feeling him harden as she did so. She was tasting herself also, and the realization made heat pool in her belly. She grasped the tip firmly with her thumb and index finger, gently lifted him up, and then licked the underside, nice and slow.

"Oh, yeah, that's good, so good," Angel moaned. Buffy waited a moment, and was deciding on her next move when Angel pulled her back up to her knees. Grabbing the hem of her sweater, he yanked it over her head and then deftly unhooked her bra and let it slide off her body. Leaning over, he grabbed her sweater, folded it into a little ball, and then placed it on the floor. Scooting to one side of the bed, Angel sat, hands curled over the edge of the mattress, legs opened wide. "Sit in front of me," he said. "I want to see that pretty mouth on me."

Buffy knelt on her sweater, on her knees in front of Angel, warmth rising on her face. He carefully pushed her hair back. "So beautiful," Angel said, his dark eyes drinking her in. "I want you to tell me what you're going to do."

"Going to lick you again."

One of his big hands brushed against her nipple, and she pressed it into his palm, keening. "Not like that," Angel said. "I want you to tell me exactly what you're going to do." His hand moved against her breast again, his fingernails lightly scratching against the tip.

She jerked, heat rising. "Going to lick your cock, nice and slow." At her words, his hips rocked and his arms fell to his sides. Buffy lowered her head, bathing his cock with long wet stripes down his length. She pressed her tongue hard against the vein that ran down the back of his shaft as Angel cried out, "Just like that, oh god, Buffy, just like that. Just like that."

She had the power here. Not because she was the slayer and his human body was now weak. She would never hurt him like that. He had ceded his body over to her, it was hers to explore, hers to play with, hers to bring to the edge, over and over until she finally let him fall. He knew she would catch him. Buffy had never loved him more.

"Want my mouth on you?"

"Please, yes, please, please." She watched as Angel's tongue swiped against his bottom lip in anticipation, his body taut. He was fully hard again after their initial kitchen table sex, brick red against his pale, muscular belly.

Buffy put her mouth on the head, one hand wrapped loosely around the base, just holding him lightly between her lips, brushing against the smooth texture. Angel pulsed his hips once, twice beneath her, and she immediately released him. "No moving," she said. "Stay still."

"Buffy, please," Angel's voice was husky with desire. "I need more, want more."

She wrapped a fist around the bottom of his shaft and pumped him hard twice. His body was lightly coated in sweat. Angel groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. She pushed up from the floor, kissing him hard, thrusting her tongue in his mouth, making him moan harder. Breaking off the kiss, Buffy sank back down to the floor, where she again placed just the head in her mouth. This time she sucked hard against the smooth skin, her tongue flicking back and forth at the same time.

Angel was close to shaking, his voice cracking as he begged her for more. She sucked on the tip while one hand slipped under her panties. She was soaked, and she trailed two fingers through her arousal. She leaned back from Angel, letting go with a wet, slurping sound.

"Don't stop, no, don't stop," Angel groaned.

"Pretty baby," she whispered. "Pretty boy. Makes me so wet." She put her two fingers against Angel's lips as he eagerly sucked them into his own mouth. His cock swelled even more. "What do you want? Tell me what you want, Angel."

"Want you to touch yourself while you suck my dick. Want you to come when I fill your mouth." Buffy pressed her thighs together to try to gain some relief from the ache that was building.

She ran her fingers over his lips. "Show me," she whispered. "Show me what I should do."

"Buffy," he whimpered, as he sucked her fingers deep into his mouth, his tongue flicking against them. Fluid was leaking out of his slit and Buffy used her index finger to paint his cockhead with it.

Angel released her fingers. "Please yes, fuck, please, please, Buffy, yes."

She wrapped one hand around his base again and slid her mouth halfway down his shaft. She had no basis for comparison, but she suspected his dick was as broad as the rest of him. Sliding her other hand back inside her underwear, Buffy began to move her mouth up and down his length, cheeks hollowed as she sucked against him, her hand moving against her own slick at the same speed.

Angel was babbling now, a continuous stream of curses, her name, and begging for more. He was incoherent, and it made her want to take him deeper, harder, faster.

He put one hand over the hand that was wrapped around his base, pulled it off, and then guided her finger to a spot right between his balls. She moved her other hand so that her finger was on her clit. She pressed both spots at once, while she bore down on his shaft with her lips, sucking hard. Angel cried out as she moaned around him, her mouth flooded with his release. She slowly pulled back and suckled at the tip, milking him dry as he collapsed backwards on the bed. Crawling next to him, Buffy ran her fingers down his chest.

"Jeez," Angel mumbled, obviously trying to put himself back together.

"Good?" Buffy asked.

Angel laughed weakly. "You can do that whenever you want, wherever you want."

"We should shower," Buffy said, wrinkling her nose.

"Later. I have shower plans. But I need to recuperate first."

"Plans, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Angel said smugly. "How about we take a walk."

Buffy frowned. "We smell. We smell like sex."

"Don't care," Angel whispered in her ear. "Let them be jealous." Buffy shivered.

Angel handed over a few tissues as they both cleaned up the more obvious signs on their bodies.

Buffy reached over, grabbed Angel's black shirt, slipped it on and began buttoning it up.

"You do realize that's my shirt." Angel said, smiling.

Buffy shrugged. "Mine is on the floor. Can't wear it."

Angel laughed. "Looks better on you anyway." Pulling his boxers and pants back on, he went over to his closet and grabbed a gray pullover. "I'm taking you shopping," Buffy said, peering into his closet.

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Colors. I want to see you in colors." She knew that he'd do whatever she asked. She'd have to be careful not to take advantage.

He smiled a little. "OK, maybe. We'll see." He ushered her out of his apartment, back onto the elevator, and outside.

It took them twenty minutes to walk a block and a half, because every three steps, they'd stop, stare at each other in the sunlight and wind up kissing. Buffy really didn't mind.

In the middle of the second block was a bodega. Angel looked at it with undisguised longing. "I've never been in here," he said.

"Now's your chance," said Buffy, grabbing his hand and tugging him inside. He was obviously overwhelmed by the sheer variety - jars, cans, boxes and bags - all of it things he had never tried. His eyes kept flitting from shelf to shelf, never settling on anything for more than a second or two. Buffy couldn't help it, she felt an odd mixture of anger and sorrow that something as everyday as an overpriced, tiny grocery should be this magical for him. She assumed that a full sized supermarket would be almost more than he could handle, with its never ending choices. Finally, he walked over to a small table that displayed fresh produce, and Buffy could see that he was staring at the peaches.

"I've always wanted to taste a peach," he admitted, almost sounding ashamed of wanting something like that. Something so simple and human.

"They're out of season here, so these aren't local, but it should be fine." She touched one. "They're hard, but they should be ripe by Sunday night. We can eat them before I have to go back."

Angel nodded slowly, looking almost dazed, as Buffy grabbed three peaches and took them to the front to pay for them.

The walk back was much quicker, both of them wanting to reduce the world to just the two of them. Angel pushed the broken table leg back into place. It would hold for now, as long as no real weight was put on it. "I'll get a new table next week," he said, smirking back at Buffy, as they remembered how it had broken in the first place. He took a plain white bowl out of his cabinet and piled the peaches into it. Carefully placing the bowl on the table, his movements were measured so that the table didn't collapse again. He then took one of the chairs and faced it outward from the table. Eyeing Buffy, Angel said, "Take your pants off and sit. I want to draw you."

His shirt was so long on her that it almost hit her knees. After sitting, Angel pushed the chair a little to the right, then rearranged the fabric of his shirt, pushing and pulling her limbs until he liked the pose. Aside from the sinister gift he had left her while soulless, he had never shown her any of his artwork. She knew that he had continued to draw her, however, because she had stumbled on a couple of pictures at the mansion. Deliberately posing was new though.

He hurried into his bedroom and came back out with a sketchpad and a set of charcoal pencils. After thirty seconds, he frowned, and rearranged her again. He wound up doing it three times in three minutes. "You are a terrible model," he complained with a smile. "You would not make money as an artist's model, because you can't stay still."

"People make money doing this?" Buffy asked, surprised.

"Of course." Angel was only half paying attention, his head bowed over his drawing as his pencil glided over the page. "You make even more for nude modeling," he said offhandedly.

Buffy's eyes widened. People made money by sitting around naked while people drew them? Her brow furrowed. "I don't want you drawing other naked people."

Angel finally picked his head up, a bemused look on his face. "It's about shadow and light. The human form. There is nothing sexual about it. Of course, with you it's completely sexual, but you're a different story. You're my muse."

"Oh. I didn't realize." A smile stole over her face. "Your muse, huh?"

"Buffy," Angel said, his gaze as direct and intense as it had ever been, "You're my muse in everything."

She dropped her eyes, embarrassed, but also happy at the thought.

Angel sketched for a few minutes more, then he placed the pad on the chair he had been seated on while he stood. He placed his hands on either side of Buffy's face and slowly brought his lips to hers, kissing her softly for what seemed like forever. His mouth was just an inch away from hers when he murmured, "Can I show you the drawing?"

She nodded, feeling almost drugged.

He brought the pad over to her, and her breath seemed to completely leave her body as she held the drawing in her hands. "It's gorgeous." The bowl of peaches sat on the hastily repaired table, a bit behind her, to the right. Even though the drawing was just done in pencil, the peaches looked delectable, and she could almost taste the juice. And the way he drew her…Buffy knew for a fact that she wasn't as beautiful as this, but she couldn't point to anything in particular that was off. She traced his pencil strokes with her finger hovering above the paper. "I don't look like this, Angel."

"You're right," he whispered. "But there was no way for me to capture your inner strength and how amazing you are. I'm not that good an artist."

She looked down at the floor, too overcome to look at him. She doubted she deserved to be loved like this, but she would spend the rest of her life loving back him as she could

Angel took the pad and placed it back on the chair. He reached down, entwining his fingers with Buffy's, and gently pulled her up and led her back to his bedroom. "Shower?" he asked, an obviously hopeful tone in his voice.

"Good idea," she said, grinning.

He went back to the kitchen and grabbed one of the other chairs, placing it right outside the shower. She thought that maybe he was going to place the towels on it, but instead he took two large, fluffy bath towels from his closet and hung them on the bathroom towel bar. Closing the shower curtain, he stuck his hand in and turned on the shower, holding it there for a moment, checking the temperature.

Heading back to the bedroom, they both quickly shucked off their clothes and climbed in.

Once inside, Angel poured a generous amount of body wash into both of their hands. Face to face, they began to soap each other up.. Everywhere that Angel touched, he left a trail of fire on Buffy's skin. His hands skimmed down her back, past the curve of her ass, down to the top of her thighs. Buffy's hands swept down his broad shoulders, down his sides, and slid back up his chest. Angel soaped her belly, his hands traveling up, cupping her breasts, his hands sliding over them, his thumbs rubbing her hard nipples. Buffy stood on her tiptoes, arms on either side of Angel's neck as she rubbed the top of his back, her body close enough to him that his erection brushed against her. She took a step back then, switching her arms to poke underneath his arms as she did the middle of his back, then the hard globes of his rear, one hand moving in between until she reached his balls. Through it all, both of them made soft noises of pleasure.

Angel poured more liquid soap into his hand and then he got on his knees in front of Buffy, the shower drenching his hair and face. He washed one leg and then carefully bent her leg, soaping up each toe, the bottom of her foot, the top of her foot. He then placed her foot back on the floor of the shower and repeated his actions on the other leg. He rubbed his hand together, creating more suds and then massaged it into her curls, spread her legs, gently cleaning her sex.

After Angel stood back up, he splashed more soap into Buffy's waiting hands. Gracefully kneeling before Angel, she repeated his actions, washing each leg, his feet, his toes. She washed his groin, pulled back the foreskin and carefully cleaned the head of his penis, stroked his shaft with soapy fingers as he moaned softly.

When she got back up, both of them rinsed off. Angel went over to the shower head, adjusting the dial until the spray became needle sharp. The way the water was attacking her skin, it was just on the right side of painful, the way a massage felt good even as it hurt a bit. Angel pulled back the curtain a tiny bit and she could hear the water hitting the bathroom floor tiles. The chair was now in the center of the shower stall. Angel sat on it, legs wide apart and Buffy was reminded of a movie she had seen years ago, in which the climatic scene had a dancer sitting in a chair while rain pelted her. The water sluiced off of Angel, his cock standing up, curving a little toward his stomach. His face was tipped back, his eyes half closed because the water was dripping off his hair and cheekbones, as he looked at her through his dark lashes. Her hand traced the curve of his cheek, slightly stubbled, down to his jaw and then on to the smooth column of his neck where the pulse was. Her heart beat to his rhythm.

Her life was horrible and wonderful in equal measure. She had grown into being the slayer, it was as much a part of her as her nose at this point. But it also cut her off from so much. Angel understood. He loved her so much and believed in her and wasn't afraid of her. He saw her, saw all of her, and she could deal with whatever the world threw at her if she had this.

"I love you," Angel said. "I love you so much. And I want you. I want you all the time."

"I love you," Buffy answered. "And you can have me."

Buffy lowered herself and used one hand to guide his head inside of her. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and slowly bore down on him, their eyes locked. She didn't move, she just felt him. At this angle, he felt huge inside of her, as if she was being stretched to the limit. Her feet were firmly planted on the floor, Angel's hands tight against her hips. She didn't want to move, she wanted to stay like this forever, Angel trapped deep inside of her, making her whole.

Angel gripped her even harder, and began to slowly lift her up. She whined, she didn't want to be separated, and then the desire changed as her flesh tightened around him. She could feel each inch of him pulling against her, fever burning her from the inside. When just the tip of him was inside, she trembled with the need for more, and Angel's moan reverberated through her. He guided her back down, just as slowly as he had lifted her up, her breath escaping in a hiss of want. Her nipples were rubbing against the hard planes of his chest, and she thought she might pass out from the overload of sensation.

Curling her toes against the shower floor, she tensed her thighs and dug her fingers into Angel's shoulders, muscle and bone pushing back. She moved on him, using the same slow motion Angel had, letting her body scrape against his. As she sank back down, she captured his mouth with hers, pushing her tongue in just as slowly as his cock was pushing into her. When she was seated on him once more, completely filled, she broke off the kiss. Angel was panting, his pupils blown. "Want more," he managed to grit out.

She started to move up slowly again when his hands pulled her up faster, as fire raced through her. With each stroke he was pulling her up faster, as she found herself slamming back down on him, both of them chasing an all consuming passion. Buffy's whole body suddenly spasmed as she clenched hard around him, causing Angel to slam even harder into her as he spilled deep, his release dripping out from her. Collapsing against him, it took Buffy a few minutes to stand back up. Even then, she felt a little unsteady, completely wrung out. The water was starting to go cold, so they quickly rinsed off and then Angel shut off the faucets. Wrapping a towel around his waist after carefully bundling Buffy up, they fell onto the bed together, wet, boneless and sated.

After a few minutes, Angel tugged both towels off of their bodies and tossed them in the general direction of the floor. He'd deal with laundry tomorrow. Right now though, he pulled Buffy against him, her back against his front. He pressed open mouth kisses against her neck, sucking the slope of her shoulder. "Still have a neck fetish?" Buffy said, giggling.

"Problem?" Angel said into her skin. Buffy answered by pressing more firmly against him.

The two of them lay like that for a while, entwined with each other, just enjoying being able to exist like this. "Want something to eat?" Angel asked.

"You actually have food here?"

"Let me see what I have." He hoped Cordelia had remembered to pick up the ice cream he had asked for. As he slipped out of the bed, Buffy reached over and grabbed his shirt from the floor. He considered telling her to leave it off, but that would be very, very distracting. Besides, this way, after they ate he could slowly unbutton it and peel it off of her.

—-

Every step Angel took was slower than the one before. He felt like he was on a forced death march. He understood now, he had a greater purpose. He belonged to the world. If he was honest with himself though, he would have been more than happy to say screw the world. He could find his redemption in Buffy's arms. But not at the cost of her life. Never that. Except for saving her life when the time came, he wondered if he would ever see her again. Probably not. She would move on, while he would stay behind, an unchanging monster. He was about to break her heart, that was the worst of it. He had made her cry too many times in the past. The only saving grace was that this time, she would forget .

—-

He had already dusted four vampires and killed a random demon. It was still early, but he was done for the night. He could kill a thousand assorted creatures, and the only thing running through his head was the events of the day. The way it had actually unfolded, and the way it could have been. Angel thought his heart might start to beat, just so that it could stop and torment him further. He was almost back to his apartment when he noticed he was in front of the bodega. Without thinking, he stepped inside and headed for the produce table. He stared, wondering which of the peaches were the ones they had bought together. Snatching three of the fruits from the pile, he walked to the front and paid.

—-

He spent the next two days killing things at night, and stayed holed up in his apartment during the day. He easily overheard Cordelia complaining to Doyle that he was even more depressed than usual, and that it was all Buffy's fault. He didn't bother trying to correct her, what would be the point? That evening, he poked at one of the peaches. It had become soft, just like Buffy had predicted. He brought one to his mouth and bit. It tasted like ashes. It dropped from his hand, onto the floor. Staring at the remaining fruit, he picked one up and hurled it against the kitchen wall, where it spattered, juice and flesh everywhere. Then he picked up the last remaining peach and repeated his actions. Finally, he picked up the bowl and threw that as well, pottery shards littering the floor in all directions. He shut down at that point, simply staring off into space.

He could smell Cordelia even before she got off the elevator. He braced himself for her outrage at the state of his , she silently walked behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest as he tipped his head back and rested it against her, as he tried desperately to feel something besides cold and dead.