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Two Chapters which the lovely April got proofed for me this weekend, also thanks to her for trying to explain the difference between paash perfect and past tense. I think I got it, I'm doing alright so far and if I slip, I know she's there to catch me.

A/N I have sound Spuffy based reasons for the B/A and for Carlotta, have faith.
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He believes that Carlotta is an angel - a dark angel of night, but an angel nonetheless. He runs his pale fingers through her thick, silky hair, enjoying the contrast of his ashen skin against the ebony tresses. If he is right, and he always is, it is gone three. They have been asleep for hours, exhausted from the night’s long hunt and the passionate lovemaking that followed. Lovemaking. He ponders the word. He had believed he’d made love before. He had certainly poured waterfalls of love into the act. But Carlotta taught him, with all the guileless wisdom of youth, that he had not. He understands now that first you must be loved. He had never made love until she took him to her bed.

He considers waking her. She wouldn’t mind; she is always hungry for him. She loves him far more than he deserves. He feels it in every gentle brush of her full lips, every caress of her warm fingers or desperate rake of nails across his back. He has never been loved like this before. Her love is truly unconditional; she asks only that he be himself, and desires only his happiness. She shifts against him in her sleep, murmuring his name in a soft breath. She is dreaming of him again; she tells him that she always dreams of him.

The day is hot and sticky and a thin layer of sweat shimmers over her mocha skin. He likes it, just as he likes the burning warmth of her body as she presses against him. She is so alive, his Lotta, so vibrant and human. He can hear the air whispering in her lungs, hear her powerful blood rushing through her veins. He likes that she is so alive. She says she likes the cool stillness of him; she drapes her flushed body over his, maximising the contact of her skin on his. She says she likes that his skin cools hers even as it warms beneath her touch. But then Lotta likes everything about him, and that is still a little baffling.

It is not that she is besotted with him. He would hate it if that were the case, would hate if she were blinded by infatuation to his many flaws. She is not. She sees him more clearly than any other woman has; she knows his failings, his weaknesses, his faults, and yet she loves him. Despite that he is not perfect, maybe even because of it, she loves him. He used to tell her she should leave him, that she could do better, that he could never deserve her love. But she would laugh and tell him that love, like forgiveness, is not won on merit; it is a gift, and must be freely given. She is wise beyond her nineteen years.

She rolls onto her back, exposing her full breasts with their large dusky nipples. She is undeniably beautiful. He looks down her firm curvaceous body. He hates to compare her to the Buffy, but the contrast is so blinding that he finds he often does.

They are polar opposites in colouring: where Buffy was all honey and gold, Lotta has coffee-coloured skin and loose black curls. Both girls are slender and toned, an advantage of their twin callings he supposes, but Lotta carries a soft layer of fat over her frame that softens her hips and belly, making her appear full and ripe. Buffy was always too thin, but then that’s Californian girls for you: gotta be a size 4. It’s possible that Buffy has put on weight - don't they say that girls do that when they're content, when they've settled down?

He curses himself for thinking of her, but she is never far from his thoughts. Carlotta tells him often that he should contact her. She has offered more than once to return with him to California. He knows she worries for him, worries that he is not content, that her shadow follows them. Even here in their jungle retreat, Buffy is present.

He has told her all about the first slayer he loved. She is, after all, his friend and confidant. There are no lies or secrets between them. She knows every sordid detail of his egregious past. She knows his fears, his regrets, and most frighteningly of all, his hopes. She alone knows what sacrifice he made for Buffy, the true nature of his final gift to her. She doesn’t judge him for what he was, or for what he has now become.

Lotta has decided that she does not like Angel, whom she says was less worthy of that hallowed reward than he would have been. She calls him a coward for making his oath of silence. He finds himself defending his onetime mentor, repeating that even Angel did not know about his sacrifice, that it is out of loyalty that he holds his tongue. “Pah,” she spat the first time he said it. “What nonsense you talk.”

She turns on her side again and he finds himself looking into huge deep brown eyes, with their long, dark lashes and sparkling devotion. "Morning, luv," he greets her, affectionately pushing her tousled hair away from her face. She glances at her watch and gives him an amused smile. "Boa tarde, amado?"

And here she is, smiling sleepily at him, his own personal angel of salvation. His Carlotta, the girl who got him over Buffy. And he is over Buffy. Oh, he thinks of her, of course. There is not a day or night that goes by that she doesn’t pass through his mind. But this beautiful girl has gathered up the pieces of his shattered heart and in less than a year made it whole again, made it possible for him to love for the first time without fear.

It isn’t that he doesn’t still love Buffy; he loves her now perhaps more than he ever has. But Lotta has fixed his heart so well that he can love her without desire or expectation, love her as unconditionally as his angel loves him. It’s true that he gave Buffy up willingly, that he made a hard and selfless sacrifice so that she could have the happiness she deserves, but before Lotta it was a bitter gesture made in pain, hopelessness and fear. Now he looks back on what he did so that she could live her dreams with no regret, no aching sense of loss, of what might have been. He is happy here in the jungle with his dark and beautiful angel. He needs nothing more.

"I was thinking," he tells the bright-eyed girl at his side. "What say we head out early, get this bloody Turgora killed quick smart, and then head into town?" He rolls them over so she is lying beneath him, her radiant smile telling him she likes the idea. Still, he enjoys the unnecessary labour of cajoling her. He trails kisses over her neck. "Hmmm? A little dancing, a little Cachaca?" Propping himself up on his elbows, he grins down at her. "Fancy it, pet?"

"Umm." She mumbles her approval as his cool hands move over her hot skin, sending messages of tingling pleasure and erotic promise to her rapidly waking brain. He peppers her shoulder with soft, chaste kisses, and her heart aches with love for him even as her body heats with passion. It is in these moments that she knows he loves her.

"Um-hm," she agrees, her accented voice deep and husky with sleep and desire. "Early," she says with a coquettish look as he raises his eyes to hers, "but not yet."


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Thanks to Pin and CordyKitten for reviewing

Pin - Glad you like, hope nobody will hate Carlotta, she is necessary and I want her to be likeable

Hey CordyKitten - I'm certainly no B/A shipper (see me in Spuffy realm) but I always think that Buffy can't really be with Spike until she's over Angel, otherwise Spike will be second best. So heres my attempt to resolve the dilema





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