His body flush against hers, a mist of cotton candy kisses and a shower of love declarations. Hands roaming up, up, further, further, there. Touching, and kissing, and feeling, and memorizing each other. Her fingers were timid, palms brushing over his broad chest. She was a little girl becoming a woman. She was so afraid. He was a sinner, but he was her saint. Down, down, down, further, further, there. The sound of a belt buckle jingling sliced through the silence of the room. Both were breathing ragged, bracing tight against each other. This is it, this is it. Forward, forward. The boy is a solider, he waits for permission, spear at the ready. She grants all his wishes with another candy kiss. There's a twinge of pain, but the pleasure overtakes her and she forgets the toils of the world. It's pains and plights drift away. Their bodies rock together, a primal motion. Purely instinct, it's been happening since the dawn of time and mankind. It's something visceral and something pure and something neither of them could explain, even if they wanted to. It's sweaty, and rough, but soft, and tender. Tongues and teeth and the friction of hips. It was him, and her, and a symphony of jagged breaths. It was love and passion personified. And then it was over. They lay, bodies interlocked. Her head rested against his chest, and from her mouth puffed heavy breaths, rolling over his sweaty skin and soothing him. His hand traced up and down her arm, he held her close and protective. "I love you." Angel murmured tiredly. A smile captured Buffy's lips, and she pressed a light kiss onto his chest in reply. Tonight they lived in a perfect world. Tomorrow would be an entirely different story.