Very short PWPish fic to motivate a stuck muse. It’s unbeta’d. Apologies in advance
He slept. He didn’t think he would manage to do so that night but he had. Sheer exhaustion had overcome the turmoil in his heart and soul. His last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep had been of her.
Did she know that he had lost his soul? Had Willow told her about her trip to LA?
He was dreaming, or so he thought, a short while later when the first touch of her fingertips grazed the dark ink of the Gryphon tattoo on his back. Her lips, soft and warm, followed her fingers, brushing the almost smirking winged creature with a kiss. He stirred slightly, resisting the urge to wake. He had imagined or dreamt of her touch more often than he could remember.
Her fingertips moved along his neck, stopping to toy with the short, dark hairs at his nape before drifting along his shoulders then down his spine. The sweeping touch was as light and delicate as a butterfly’s wings, yet it swept through him with a forceful urgency.
Her lips again followed her fingers, leaving warm, wet kisses along his back, his nape, and his shoulders before moving lower. Her mouth was hot against his cool skin, almost feverishly so. Her touch was erotic, sensual as she lingeringly kissed each vertebra down to the very base of his back, drawing the satin sheets down with her to pool at his hips.
The tip of her tongue laved his bare flesh, stroking with delicate laps that teased and aroused his every nerve. She moved slowly up and down the broad expanse of his back, her hands and lips and tongue caressing, leaving a trail of heat that burned across his flesh straight to the growing erection between his legs. She lingered again on his tattoo, tracing it with slow, wicked licks before biting down with blunted teeth.
Angel lay still, afraid to move, afraid that the dream would prove to be just that, a dream. He waited anxiously, hungering for more as she moved away from him for what seemed like several long minutes.
Then he felt the silky, supple length of her naked body press against his back, his bare hip where the sheets had slipped away. Her pebbled nipples scraped along his skin as her sultry kisses once more grazed his neck. Her hands moved over his shoulders and down his arms, her fingers digging in to the muscles of his biceps as she clutched him closer.
At her urging, he rolled over on to his back. He again fought the urge to waken fully, unwilling to risk that this erotic fantasy was nothing more than a dream.
Her hands roved over his chest and down his stomach, stroking, caressing, moving lower but not quite low enough. He groaned softly, his cock aching for her touch as she teased, her hands drifting away to return to his shoulders.
When soft lips nibbled at his, he finally opened his eyes. Clear green met dark brown for the briefest second before they both closed their eyes again, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. He cradled the back of her head with his hand, pulling her closer and slanting his head to deepen the kiss. She nibbled at his lips and sucked his tongue in her mouth before pulling away, breathless and panting, to kiss a path down his neck.
She nibbled and licked and sucked as she moved lower, stopping to taste each taut nipple. His fingers curled into the silky curtain of her hair when she moved lower, finally taking his hard cock into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around him in loving caress as she sucked him deeply into her throat.
Angel groaned hoarsely and wrenched away from her after several long moments of such exquisite pleasure. Catching her by the waist, he rolled her on her back pinning her beneath him.
He guided his rampant erection to her slick honeyed sweetness, grateful that she was ready for him. He tried to be gentle when he slid inside her, but his need was too urgent, too strong. She clung to him tightly and welcomed him into her body with a small rapturous sob that was an echo of his own fevered longing.
If he had been able to speak at that moment, he would have told her that there could be no other woman for him, ever. If she could have been able to speak, she would have told him that she could not live without him. Yet the only sounds in the room were the soft swish of the sheets and the harsh panting of her breath.
He moved with swift, searing force, desperate to feel her again. He was unable to control himself, driving forward with hard strokes until he felt her shudder beneath him. Only then did he allow himself to soar to his own explosive release.
The next time was slower, both taking time to explore the body of the other, remembering sensual places. The next, slower still as they savored each touch, each taste.
Long hours later, he lay still as she curled against him. Exhaustion, satiation, contentment, all hummed through him. He was more than happy that she was there, amazed and grateful that she had come to him.
In the dark bedroom, Buffy whispered softly, “Welcome back.”