I wake up to the sounds of football, and groan. My head is throbbing, as if it's been smashed against a stone road. I remember my dream and wince, pulling myself into a sitting position, and looking with wry amusement at my fiancé, who is sprawled on the couch, remote in hand and popcorn bowl in the other.

He glances over at me and raises his blond eyebrows. “Hey… did this wake you?” he motions to the TV set with his fingers and I shake my head, getting up and walking into the kitchen.

It smells like hot butter and microwaves in here and I rub my nose for a moment, taking a sip of cold tea that resides in the mug he obviously abandoned. “Good day at work?” I ask and he shrugs.

“Could have been better. The way the market's been going, you'd think everyone would be investing. But it was a slow day.”

“Mmmm…” his work really bores me. Not that I'd ever let him know that. Leaning against the counter momentarily, I close my eyes and all of a sudden it's flashing before me. Angel. His eyes. The sheen of his hands, covered in my sweat. The feel of his arms. His breath. Did I just see him today? Did he touch me? I suppose it's been so long since we've been together that I've forgotten what it was like.

My breathing comes irregularly as I look around the well-furnished apartment where I've lived for the last year. Mike and me. Buffy and Mike. Is that the way it's supposed to be? Damn Angel for putting these thoughts in my head. No, I have to stop blaming him. It's me and I know that. My belly feels sick and I tread lightly into the bathroom, hollow eyes gazing into the mirror.

Mike comes up behind me and loops his long arms around my little waist. His eyes are so blue. Like lakes, or the core of a flame. When I first saw them I thought he was wearing coloured contacts, but he laughed and told me if he was, he'd never pick the colour blue. He said he'd want eyes like the night. I never asked about it again. “What about you? Did you have a good day?”

I consider for a moment and let my head fall back against his shoulder. “Not good, per se. Boring would be more like it. But I did get some cheese for you.”

“I know,” he responds and his thumb touches my hipbone. “I found it. Your bone's poking out.”

“Shut up,” I say without any harshness. “When I want your opinions, I'll let you know.”

“Well that's good,” he drops a kiss on my cheek. “But it's not an opinion, it's a fact.”

“I've always been tiny,” I reply, un-daunted. We've had this conversation many times and it's getting tiring. If only he'd find something else to pick on.

Mike shrugs. “All right, all right, princess. I have to work tonight. You gonna be ok without me?”

The mirror shimmers as I touch it and our reflections move in and out of focus. “Yes,” I reply, clearly. “Yes, I'll be fine.”

~~~

I walk down the street and my skirt feels light as it bounces against my thighs. They're not very strong anymore. I lost the Slayer strength when they relieved me of my duties. My stomach is growling, and it's not because I didn't eat anything before I left the apartment. I feel like a vampire, on the prowl, scenting for blood. Maybe I am, you know. Isn't this just going to hurt everyone? Aren't I out for the blood of the innocent?

I've never been able to let go of the nights. Its funny, cause I always hated it, when I had the duty- the constant patrol, the skulking around cemeteries and crypts. The way my hair always smelled of moonlight and dust when I got home. But when it was all over… I never could move on. I miss the way I felt as I swung my leg around and connected with an opponent. I miss training. I miss the Scoobies.

It's not like I don't see them anymore. Giles still runs the magic shop. He might move back to England someday though, and I wish he would, because then he'd be closer. I could see him. He writes me often. Long letters with that careful script. I send him postcards and don't feel bad. He knows I have nothing new to say.

Willow sends me e-mails and they're usually cheerful. She and Xander share a place now. After what happened with Spike, they can't bear to let each other out of their sight. I don't blame them, and I don't regret dusting that bastard. Never for one moment. I'm the only one that keeps in touch with Oz now, and I always urge him to go back and see Will. He thinks it would hurt her more. He lives wherever he chooses now, and it's nice when he sometimes just pops by. Oz and I get along well now that we're older. We didn't have much interaction before, but that's changed.

The wind howls by my ears, rushing into my head and making me feel slightly woozy. As I walk up to the hotel, my step falters. Entering, I nod to the doorman and the receptionist, who smile back, with those pasted on smiles of people who are hired to do a job. It smells like carpet and paint as I trek down the halls, searching the gold numbers on the doors.

Finally I see it- 145. My hand looks far away as I lift, and knock once. So softly I doubt he will hear it. Parts of me hope he won't, but of course I know he will.

“Buffy.” He stares at me, with a quiet surprise and his eyes darken to black. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” I murmur and walk past him. It's quite a big hotel suite, with a kitchen and living area as well as the customary bathroom and bedroom. “Sorry for just… showing up…”

“No, no, that's fine,” he assures me and slides my coat down my arms. His fingers brush my flesh and they feel warm. Trembling, I turn away and walk across the room to the kitchen, staring out the window.

“Do you know what I came here for?”

I hear him breathe in sharply and I imagine the movement of his chest and stomach as he does it… the muscles flexing and releasing… my own belly tightens with a yearning I had thought long dead. Until today. Until I saw his hands with my sweat on them and felt weak. He answers huskily, “Should I?”

“Maybe,” I reply and spin around, my little skirt moving against me. I'm not wearing underwear and I can see that he knows. Shifting, I feel my thighs rub together and want to scream. He's so beautiful. And I'm restless. I need this.

He walks towards me, so carefully, his eyes locking with mine, and then his thumbs brush my forearms. “What did you come here for, Buffy?”

I take a step and then I'm kissing him. My hands rip open his shirt, the buttons flying everywhere. My fingers are grasping and I can hear my belly rumble again. He starts to kiss me feverishly, and it's so hot. It's so hot. His skin burns me as I feel his hands cup my ass underneath my skirt. “Please, please…” I moan and it's like fire as his tongue drowns in the recesses of my mouth and my arms grapple for purchase. They flail and hit a cup of coffee, which shatters and the liquid swirls through the air.

I barely feel it, my hip hitting the corner of the counter, his hands hard on my back. His cock is throbbing between us and when I reach down; it's heaviness against the warmth of my palms makes my head spin. He groans and chokes against my neck, shuddering slightly as I bend and drag my tongue over the saltiness of his nipple. “Buffy…”

My name is like a lament coming from his throat, forced up and around his teeth, as if he cannot say it without pain. My legs trap him between them as he throws me down on the table, it's hard surface knocking the breath out of me for one quick moment. That's when he lowers his mouth down on mine and breathes, his air filling my lungs and I whimper, moaning his name as my knees tremble. Dizzily, I feel my head flop back and his tongue on my breasts, his hands between my legs. As I feel his fingers slide inside me, their heat makes me groan, my wetness dripping down my thighs.

“Oh God… Buffy…” he murmurs and then he's kissing me and I open my legs so wide, and he slams into me and everything goes white. It's like pain, but it's too good to be just that. I look up and see the ceiling and then Angel's eyes and they are so dark and they make me faint and it's too much for me. I scream and come with such explosive shudders that it's as if I'm shattering into tiny little pieces.

He buries his face against my neck and I feel the flood of him as he trembles against me, the sounds from his throat like whispering screams in the stillness of the room.

~~~

When I open my eyes, it's still night. My head is on Angel's stomach, my cheek against the soft hair arrowing down from his belly button. Rivers of sweat dry on my skin, and it becomes chilled. Shivering, I crawl up his body and curl underneath his arm on his chest. The knowledge that I've cheated on my fiancé barely hits me. I can't even think of it.

Angel opens his eyes and sort of smiles. “Hey,” he whispers and I snuggle against his heart.

“This is almost funny,” I reply blankly.

“What is?”

He sounds wary and I don't blame him. He should be. “This. I see you once and I can't help jumping your bones and fucking your brains out.” I laugh at my language and still my hands stroke up and down his chest. I can't stop touching his beloved skin.

He sighs almost imperceptibly and answers, “I didn't force you to come here tonight, Buffy.”

“I'm not saying you did. Do you think I think this is your fault? Believe me, I know it's mine.”

“Shush, love. It's no one's fault.”

It just kills me when he says things like that. O, my Angel. Always trying to make life just a little easier for me.

Closing my eyes, I sleep. And dream. I always dream, and it scares me like nothing else in the world.

I'm walking in the desert and it's so hot my skin puckers beneath the white gown, which flows around my body. The air is still and the sky red. The sun appears as if it's dripping blood.

He appears and he's dressed in the blackest black of night and panthers in the underbrush. His eyes glow and he takes my hands. “Come with me.”

“Where?” I ask, even though I trust him. I do trust him, because he's all I have. I know this, unequivocally, like I know my own name.

He brushes a kiss to my forehead and they come away bloody. “You know where, Byrony. Why do you ask questions when you know the answer?”

My eyes are sad. But no tears erupt from them, because I know there is too much to cry for, and too little time left. “Wasn't it enough that we loved each other?”

He smiles at me, and shakes his head. “You know the answer, my golden haired love. It is never enough.”

I glance up at the red soaked sky and feel the sand burning beneath my feet. “Never,” I say softly, and the word shakes me down to my bones.

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