Pure Fantasy
By
JBG

Timeline: Summer after Season 4
Premise: Romantic smoochieville. Whaddaya expect from me?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination. Joss Whedon, WB, Mutant Enemy and/or a bunch of other people own everything else in the Buffyverse.
B/G - PG-13
Author’s Note: I have no explanation for this. It just happened.


Cashmere is just about the softest stuff on earth. I love touching him through this sweater almost as much as I love touching him without it. It’s so soft you’d expect it to be light as a feather, but it’s not. There’s real weight and substance there, a solid, well-made texture, durable, yet beautiful... sorta like the guy underneath. I was with him when he bought it, and I remember looking at the soft blue material and thinking, ‘I’ll never be able to keep my hands off him in that.’ I was right.

My fingertips are just gliding along his arm now, riding over the wrinkles of the material and the solid bulk of his muscles, just tracing, feeling his subtle strength. He doesn’t look all that strong, but I know better... even after being forced into inactivity by his recalcitrant Slayer (ooo, look! A Giles word!) he’s managed to stay in great shape. Not as good as he’s gonna be by the time the summer’s over, if I have anything to do with it... but good, nevertheless. My other hand is busy messing up his hair, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Fingertips aren’t enough anymore, so I slide my palm across his chest, almost moaning at the slick, cool surface. Soft on the outside, firm and warm on the inside... hardness encased in softness... I giggle softly to myself at my involuntary double entendre. I’ll have to share that with him later... he laughs at my jokes, whether he gets them or not. I think he’d probably get that one.

Apparently my giggling doesn’t disturb him, because he’s smiling against my mouth. He’s used to me being weird. One night he was nibbling on my neck, which I usually love, and he lightly grazed the scars from Angel’s fangs. I had a sudden flashback, or something, because I freaked out for just a second. For a second, I could feel my life draining away, and the helpless feeling I had when I realized things had gone too far... again.

Instead of being insulted or hurt, he just held me loosely and whispered soft, sweet things in my ear until I calmed down. He knows what it’s like to have little things freak you out. I’ve heard the things he says when he’s having a nightmare... sometimes I want to cry because of the things he endured for me. I have to wake him up quickly, because I can’t stand hearing him scream.

He went through all that because of me.

I know, I know, some of the stuff involved saving the world, too, but he wouldn’t be doing that, here and now, if it wasn’t for me. He came here for me. He stays here for me. I’m his everything. He says he trained most of his life for the express purpose of being whatever I need. Not for ‘the Slayer’, because I ceased to be just ‘The Slayer’ the moment he laid eyes on me, but for me alone. It’s just so... awesome. Usually, after he says something profound and moving like that, he’ll smile that crooked little smile of his and I’ll just melt into his arms and attempt to kiss him senseless.

His kisses are hard to describe. Just when I think I’ve gotten used to them, he does something different, and my brain and body both go into overload. There’s something to be said for experience, I guess, although he seems just as moved by my kisses as I am by his. To use colloquial terms, he’s a radical kisser. (See, he’s done wonders for my vocabulary.) I can’t get enough of his kisses. I think it’ll take a lifetime to get enough.

Once again, my hand develops a mind of its own, snaking under his sweater and tight T-shirt to warm itself, pressing firmly against his skin. Oh, that feels good, but I’m in no big hurry. I asked him earlier today to leave off the T-shirt, but looks like he put one on anyway. I think he just wants to make me work a little harder tonight. I’ll get him back later... I have one outfit that has five layers. That’ll fix him.

The breeze from the ocean is getting a little stronger. It causes the drapes on the balcony doors behind us to make heavy, rustling sounds. We left the doors open so the sounds and smells of the Pacific could fill the room. That’s another thing we agree on. I’m finding out we agree a whole lot more than we disagree. That constantly surprises me. In a little while, we’ll go back inside. Anticipation causes goosebumps to rise all over me, thinking about what we’ll be doing inside...

This lounge chair we’re in certainly wasn’t made for two. I don’t know why they didn’t put a two-person lounge chair out here. Surely they know it would probably be used for more than just lounging. I mean, really! I’m practically in his lap... come to think of it, maybe they did know, and maybe that’s why there’s only one out here. Two chairs, one lounge... yeah, it occurs to me the hotel people did give it some thought.

He shifts, causing our lips to break contact. He sits up slightly, reaches back for the lever on the lounge and reclines it all the way back. Oh, yeah, this is nicer. I’m practically lying on top of him. Definitely nicer. We go back to kissing again. He has both hands free, now, and he’s putting them to good use. I love his hands. They’re warm and talented, but not soft. He has calluses and scars, and some of the bones are lumpier than they should be, because after Angel broke them they didn’t heal properly. His hands tell a story... about a strong, brave, gentle man who always tries to do the right thing, even if it hurts. Even if means dying. He’d die to save the world, if he had to. He’d die for me.

I have no idea where all this philosophizing is coming from. I should be thinking about how his hands feel on my skin. Ah... they feel perfect, so good, and I turn my head to whisper in his ear, telling him so. He whispers back that I’m perfect, too... he’s such a sweet talker. If it wasn’t nearly dark, I would probably see him smiling, his eyes soft and gray-green, like the ocean. One eye is gray-green with a big patch of brown, actually. See, I notice more details now.

I love his eyes. They’re so expressive. He doesn’t even have to say anything sometimes. I can read entire sentences in his eyes. Right now, it’s too dark for eye-reading, so I’ll have to make do with touches, sounds and words. I can do that.

It’s dark now, and we’re just about ready to go back inside. I’m so turned on I can barely stand it... I don’t know how he can stay so calm. I just want to rip his clothes off right here and now, out in the open, with the ocean so close we can feel the spray in the air.

Willow gave us a shopping bag full of special candles for a honeymoon present, most of them the romantic aromatherapy kind. I don’t think we’ll need them, but it’ll be fun lighting them together. Xander’s gift was typically Xander... tickets to Big Splash Water Park. He said any man worth his salt would kill to see me in a bikini, since he knew Cordelia had given me a nice skimpy one at my shower. Rupert just laughed and put the tickets in his pocket. Maybe we’ll go tomorrow. I don’t think I can persuade him to wear the Speedo bathing suit Xander gave him to go with the tickets, but I’m gonna try.

My love holds me close and sighs... it sounds like a happy sigh. I ask if he’s ready to light some fires. He laughs softly and says yes.

END