Her skin was as soft as he remembered, although this time it smelled of lavender instead of vanilla.  She rarely wore vanilla anymore, knowing how painful the old memories could be.  Her hair was longer, finer, losing the bounce of innocent youth, but still luxuriously beautiful.  Still Buffy.

“Hey.  No brooding in bed with me.”

Angel smiled, sliding a fraction deeper his next down-stroke.  Time had brought a languid affection to their bed, without the haste of youth or the fear of reprisal to hurry their need.  More often they preferred gentle love-making, long and slow and sweet.  They had the time, now.  Years.

“You’re brooding again.”

“I brooded before I was souled, you know.”

“You’re not allowed to brood when you’re inside me!”  She squeezed and shimmied, making him gasp and grab tight to the bed-clothes.  Age was just barely starting to slow her down, but she was still strong and lithe.  Still so beautiful.

“Would you rather I got the chains out?”

“Only if I can chain you.”

It’d taken too long for the mischievousness to return to her grin, but it was there again.  And nothing made Angel more grateful than to see Buffy looking the girl she had, so long ago.  Before being a Slayer, before he’d come and—

“Bloody hell, does he ever stop brooding?”

Buffy waved a hello, tugging the sheets back.  “Nope.  So we’re gonna chain him up later.”  Spike kissed her, then Angel, before shucking off his clothes and joining them.  She grinned, adding, “And you’re gonna tickle him.”

“What?  No!  Buffy—ahhhh!”

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