“Yeah, mom, the moving went smoothly... Willow and I offered beer and pizza to a bunch of guys from the dorm, and they helped... No, the bastard... Fine, the jerk, Angel, wasn’t one of them... Well, things are going to be tight, but rent and expenses split three ways I think I can manage... Despite my poor status, the place is pretty nice...”

Buffy tucked the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she continued to unpack the small but personal space that was now her room. Due to lady luck, she won the largest and best room in the meager apartment, one with a view. Even though the window faced the brick of the next apartment complex, she still at least had a window, unlike her two roommates.

“Well, I have the best room… I have a window... No, the other two don’t... You’ve met Willow, my roommate from the dorms for the past last two and half years... The other girl, her name is Anya. She answered our ad; we placed in the middle of last semester... She is great, Mom. Not like some of the whackos that responded to the ad... The three of us have hung out a bunch of times... Mom, she’s a business major, she’s definitely good with money... Mom, speaking of money, this call is costing you an arm and leg... Yeah, I’ll take pictures of the room and e-mail them to you... It’s not my fault you’re computer illiterate! Fine, I’ll take regular pics and send them snail mail... I love you, too. Bye.”

As Buffy placed the cordless phone upon her end table, a heavy sigh seeped past her lips. Eyeing all the unpacking she had ahead of her, she decided that a small distraction might help. Food and some alcoholic beverages would do the trick.

Buffy rifled through the stack of take-out pamphlets that were her food life-line living on campus. No matter how creative someone can be, one can only do so much with a hot pot and Ramen Noodles. Quickly, she found her favorite fast food menu, The Dynasty.



“Willow, are you up to some Dynasty? Maybe the extra additives in our system can keep us going until this is done.”

Willow brought her head out of the box she was looking through and proceeded to wipe the wayward, fiery locks of hair from her brow.

“Yeah, get me moo-shu pork and spring rolls. Maybe we can split some crab rangoons?”

“Sounds good. I’m going to ask Anya what she wants then I’ll place the order. We have left over wine from Xander’s party, don’t we?” Buffy inquired.

“A bottle, I think. Hey, speaking of Xander, when did he leave? Hello? Rude much? He didn’t even say goodbye,” Willow declared as she pushed the box she was once in to the side, with the shove of her foot.
“I didn’t hear anything, but first with my tuneage and then my mom’s call, I’ve been auditorily challenged,” Buffy responded with a shrug.

With that comment, Buffy pulled herself from the threshold and headed towards Anya’s room. Once she reached the door, and after two quick knocks, Buffy proceeded to turn the knob and entered into Anya’s room.

“Anya, do you want…” The rest of the words froze upon her lips as she witnessed the sexual aerobics, which flashed before her eyes.

Upon the many unpacked boxes, Anya lay sprawled as a partially naked man resided between her splayed thighs. Moans and purrs of pleasure filled the air, as Anya’s red nails dug into the man’s flexing posterior muscles.

Once the shock cleared her mind, Buffy slapped the palm of her hand across her eyes as she clumsily backed out of the room. Despite the interruption, the lovers remained intertwined. Their relentless pace did not falter.

Buffy shut the door, and with a quick-clip, speed walked back towards Willow’s room. She leaned against the doorjamb as words spilled from her lips.

“Um, I don’t think Anya’s interested in Chinese food right now. Maybe later, after her… exercises, but not so much now,” Buffy stated as her gaze remained wide.

Willow popped her head out from her closet and looked upon her stunned friend.

“Buffy, why do you look like you did when you told me how your ex, Angel, asked for a threesome?” Willow inquired as a look of confusion marred her porcelain features.

Buffy blinked quickly as she attempted to clear her bulging stare that she continued to hold as she spoke.

“Our new roomie, Anya, um, I think she has a boyfriend, that’s not exactly helpful with the unpacking. But he definitely is helpful with the de-stressing process,” Buffy chuckled slightly.

“Huh?”

“Due to the sight now permanently burned upon my retinas, I am currently incapable of an explanation. Just let me say that Anya is busy right now, putting something away that is clearly not her clothes,” Buffy stated curtly.

After several beats, Willow’s eyes widened as she pieced together her friend’s cryptic explanation. She immediately hurtled several boxes as she passed Buffy at the threshold of her door. Within several strides, she was next to Anya’s closed door, her ear pressed firmly upon the wood. Willow’s jade eyes widened and filled with mirth, as she placed her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggles.
Buffy now faced her chuckling friend as she remained in the doorway to Willow’s room. With a hiss, she called out to her in an attempt to distract her from her eavesdropping state.

“Willow, get away from there!” Buffy whispered loudly.

Willow waved away her friend away as she continued her spying. After several beats, she announced with a loud whisper, “Boy, he’s pretty impressive! I’ve counted her climaxing at least twice since I’ve been standing here, and he doesn’t appear to be done yet!”

“Willow!”

Buffy yelped. Then with an audible snap, her mouth closed as her voice echoed through the slightly empty apartment. Willow rolled her eyes as she pulled away from the wooden obstruction.

As she passed Buffy to go back into her room, she commented, “Fine, take all my fun away. I haven’t had any in a bit. Speaking of which, neither have you. We could live vicariously through our sexed up roomie, but nooooo. Party pooper!” Willow huffed as she headed back to her previous location… in front of her closet.

Several beats later, Anya’s door started to open from the inside. Willow again hurtled several boxes as she hurried to stand beside Buffy. Eagerness filled her, since she desperately wanted to witness this sexually impressive man that Anya was with. As the door opened, a disheveled, obviously extremely ecstatic man, based on his whistling, left Anya’s room.

Willow and Buffy’s eyes widened comically as they witnessed who exited. In chorus, they yelled his name, which made him jump slightly.

“Xander!”

In a flash, he quickly turned, as his dark brown eyes gaped at the two women that stood before him. Xander ran the back of his hand across his mouth and then proceeded to run his now shaky fingers through his mussed hair, as he attempted to appear presentable.

With a slight squeak in his voice, followed by a throat clear, he spoke, “Hi guys. Um, I was just helping Anya with, um, with putting something away. It took awhile because she kept changing her mind where she wanted it. Which was fine by me, but yeah, that’s why I was in there for awhile.”

Xander continued to babble as Willow cocked her eyebrow at the man that stood before her.
“So, a man that despises moving his dirty underwear from his floor to a hamper was aiding Anya in moving all sorts of things?” Willow asked with a snicker.

“Yeah, that’s me. Mr. Helpful,” Xander remarked as he started to tuck in his shirt that hung out partially from the waist of his pants. Buffy stifled a laugh when she noticed that a piece of his shirt was trapped in the teeth of his pants zipper.

“Well, if I knew freshman year that you could move so efficiently, I wouldn’t of turned you down for that date,” Willow chuckled as she turned back to enter her room.

Xander looked to Buffy for further comment and/or explanation. With a slight shoulder shrug, Buffy quietly turned and walked back to her room. The equally baffled and jubilant Xander left the apartment with a bounce in his step and a whistle on his lips.

Hours later, bellies full and more boxes unpacked, the ladies decided to call it a night. During dinner, Buffy evaded and avoided all the comments and discussions that Anya craved in regard to Xander. When she became graphic on the size and shape of his penis, Buffy suddenly needed a refill on an already full plastic tumbler of wine.

Due to the move, Buffy felt grimy and was in a desperate need for a shower. After a lengthy, luxurious shower, in a real bathroom, Buffy entered into her almost settled room for the night. Hair dried, brush and braided to create soft waves in the morning, Buffy donned her favorite Yummy Sushi Pjs and slid into her plush, inviting bed.

Over the six months that Buffy dated Angel, he would complain the several times that they slept in the same bed together that she was ‘completely neurotic.’ This was due to her ‘before bed ritual’. In addition to the hair coiffing, Buffy needed everything to be just so before she could fall asleep. Bedroom door closed, curtains drawn. Then assuming the position of lying on her right side, one hand cradled her cheek, the other in a fist placed in the middle of her chest. Anything deviated from this, Hypnos would not visit her, giving her mind the kiss of blissful sleep.

Buffy placed her body into her ‘sleep’ position. As her eyelids slid closed, she had a distinct feeling that something was amiss. She tried all attempts to will this niggling feeling away, to no avail. Begrudgingly, her heavy eyelids flittered open as the necessity to find what was faulty overrode all other desires, even sleep. Her gaze scanned the room. After several visual sweeps, she located the culprit… curtains opened. The diffused moonlight of the chilly January night pooled into her room as it bathed the floor with a muted beam. Since the building next door was close by, Buffy only received dimmed versions of sun and moonlight.

Buffy’s slammed her lids shut as a chant filled her mind. “I’m not neurotic. I’m not neurotic. I’m not neurotic.”

Several moments later, the quilted cocoon that wrapped her form was flung to the side as she announced to the empty room.

“Who am I kidding? I’m so neurotic!”

Upon this declaration, Buffy’s form stomped over to the window as she harshly grabbed the fabric of the curtains. Her hands stilled as she noticed that across the alleyway a window was lit in her neighbor’s apartment, more specifically, her neighbor’s bedroom. Moments later, the door opened and in walked someone. A male someone, that had just obviously finished a shower. Wrapped around his slim hips, was a black terrycloth towel. Another wrapped around his head as his hands were briskly drying his hair.

Due to the dark towel that encased his head, Buffy was unable to see his features, but what she could see of his body was close to perfect. His alabaster skin appeared flawless against the blackness of the towel. Hairless, muscular chest, abs toned, without an ounce of flab to be seen. Biceps formed into perfectly sculptured mountains as he worked the water from his hair.

Buffy’s mouth held agape, as her gaze was transfixed on this Adonis that stood before her. Then, her world spun from its axis. Due to his movements, his towel slid from his slender hips. An impressive erection jutted from his body. At least 9 to 10 inches of pure man stood proudly from a thatch of wiry, brown hair. Unconsciously, Buffy licked her lips as she openly admired his form.

Unbeknownst to him, his movements were being studied and mentally cataloged in her mind. After several minutes, he turned and disclosed another magnificent asset, his picture perfect posterior. As he walked to destination unknown, the muscles housed under his marmoreal flesh flexed and relaxed as his leisurely strides dictated.

Within moments, his room filled with darkness. His action broke Buffy from her mindless ogling of her unaware neighbor. With several heavy flutters of her eyelids, she cleared her lingered stare. Buffy shook her head slightly to clear the arousal, which pulsed through her befuddled mind.

Buffy slowly closed the drapes as her gaze held firm upon the window across the way. Once the fabric covered the panes of glass, Buffy inwardly berated herself for her actions.

This was totally out of character for her. In the past, she has had only three sexual partners, in which included Angel. She was no blushing virgin. She did enjoy sex per se, but she was a little more reserved than her friends, especially Anya and Willow. If they had a say in labeling her sex life, it would be ‘vanilla’. Buffy wasn’t exactly adventurous when it comes to the bedroom.

“This could be one of many reasons why Angel only dated you for six months, before he left you for another woman. No, not a woman, that whore Darla!” Buffy inwardly announced. She quickly shoved away these thoughts as her mind again focused on what had just transpired.

For Buffy to have participated in voyeurism was a total and complete shock. It was just that she became absolutely frozen, as her eyes perused his form. Unable to look away even though she knew that she should have. In addition, her mind didn’t pipe up any objections until the curtains had created a fabric barrier. As Buffy shuffled back to her bed, she now noticed the arousal that had dampened her panties. Her soft murmur echoed in her mind.

“That will never happen again.”

Never. Never is such a powerful and definitive word in which most don’t adhere to. They declare they’ll never do this or that, to find themselves drawn like a moth to a flame regardless. Never is a brave word spoken usually by the weak.

Last night, her dreams were filled with the episode that had transpired. In each facet of her dreams, his Adonis like form was showcased, but his facial features always changed.

At times, his hair was raven black, while others it was chocolate brown. Others, his eyes were warm, sable brown. At times, they were green like hers. Nearly all, lips full and at the ready to bestow pleasure upon her mouth and heated form. Invariably, his expression was a mixture of passion, awe and pure animal-lust. No matter which dream it was, his appearance brought her to her knees every time.

The following morning, her body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, panties damp with arousal. Buffy needed a cold shower to quell her heated form.

As the cool water rained upon her sensitive skin, Buffy thought about meaning of her dreams and the feelings that ran rampant throughout her body and mind. The less than a ten-minute time period shattered her conceptions of what true desire was.



As the water became too icy for her to bear, Buffy pulled herself from the shower. Rubbing the towel over her still hypersensitive flesh, she determined last night wouldn’t happen again.

Never.

Never was a minuscule period of time in Buffy’s world. Less than twenty-four hours later, her form was engulfed by the shadows of her room. The curtains remained divided, her gaze fixed upon the darkened window across the way.

Her flesh prickled with anticipation as the clock ticked off the minutes to his arrival. Buffy hoped that he was a creature of habit, as she; so he would arrive in his room, freshly shower within moments. As the time passed, Buffy was slightly letdown, as time passed.

In the stillness of her room, her mind began to scream that she was sliding into unknown territory. She was becoming a stalker. With this thought eating at her conscience, she turned from the glass. Before she moved her now disgraced form, out of her peripheral vision, she saw the beacon of light spill forward. Her gaze shifted back towards the window, as she focused on the Adonis before her. All her past thoughts fled her now transfixed mind.

He moved gracefully into his room, a coal colored towel, slung low upon his slender hips. Strong hands worked at the water from his locks as, which to her disappointment, the fabric continued to shield his features. After several moments of Buffy willing the towel to fall, as if the gods heard her plea, it finally did. To her surprise, the towel that once concealed his features fell. Her breath caught in her throat as his exquisiteness was revealed.

He was a fallen angel, with a body made for pure sin. His hair was shocking platinum, obviously bleached, due to the contrast of the dark thatch of curls that surrounded his impressive cock. Regardless, it appeared to suit him. Sculpted cheekbones, lay under alabaster skin. Any woman would be envious of his bone structure. Buffy desired to sample his full lips.

Due to the distance, she couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, no matter. Her stare remained transfixed as she drank in his sublime form. As he turned to walk towards his obsidian-sheeted bed, he pulled the terry cloth from his slender hips. The last vision, which filled her sight, was his tantalizing backside, as he leisurely sauntered towards his bed. As the light extinguished, Buffy’s lust-filled mind slowly began to clear.

For several moments, Buffy’s stare remained fixed upon the darkened room. She waited for the room to fill with light again and the visions of this earth bound Greek mythical creature to make another appearance. Numerous beats passed -nothing. With a defeated sigh, she slowly closed her curtains.

Buffy walked toward her empty bed. She gave a final look over her shoulder, while she slid her inflamed body under the cool, quilted sheets. Buffy lays upon the welcoming pillow willing her mind to clear and her body to calm. Sleep evaded her for several hours, as the cravings for peace did nothing to soothe her body or mind.

**** ****

The daylight hours were only bits of time between the stolen moments of her indulgence. Over the next several days, Buffy muddled through the day by unpacking and spending time with her roommates. The evenings were devoted to him. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, her desire would ignite; skin would buzz, mind swirl with memories and the butterflies in her stomach would take flight with anticipation.

Each night Buffy would become more brazened. She would leave the security of the darkness and approach the transparent panes of glass separating them. Last night she’d needed to clear the panes, as the heat from her breath fogged the glass. Her eyes remained transfixed upon his muscular form.

Then came Saturday night. Buffy looked forward to her usual evening of I Spy naked goodness, until she was ambushed by her roommates. Both women insisted she spent far too many nights alone in her room. She just had to come to this new bar down the street. Despite Buffy’s protests, less than an hour later, they ushered her out of her room and hurried down the snowy streets of Boston.

Tonight was like any other bar night; insane taxi drivers, skillful avoidance of vomit and teetering girls on obscenely high heels, that no one should wear on the icy and snow filled cobblestone streets. That was outside the bar. Inside, one needed to avoid the shoves and strong ‘brush bys’ of chattering, high haired chicks, which were oblivious to anyone that didn’t possess a Y chromosome. In addition, the men that assumed that since you entered the bar, you were fair game to their ‘unintentional’ gropes, leers, and cheesy pick-up lines.

Buffy nursed her second Captain and coke as she leaned against the brick wall. Flanked on either side by her roommates. Both women used the dials on a clock, to announce where a ‘yummy piece of ass’ was located. As they spoke, Buffy nodded her head and with a few strategic ‘mmhms’, she tried to appear interested. Despite the somewhat attractive men that milled about, her mind, more specifically her body craved another.

Him

The night dragged on, Buffy's eyes held a silent vigil upon the clock. Uneasiness filled her when her time with him, came and passed. Disappointment marred her features for the rest of the evening, until the lights came on and all the partygoers were ushered out, with the bellows of the bouncers.

“Closing time…you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

Upon their departure, they were mashed among the throngs of people leaving. Once they could break free, Buffy flagged down a taxi. While her arm waved in the cold January air, Willow said a lengthy goodbye to a man she had met at the bar. Anya had left with Xander two hours before.

With booze and lust that surged through her veins, Willow didn’t notice the quietness that filled the cab on the ride home. Once the ladies entered into the silent apartment, Buffy bid her a quick goodnight and headed to her room.

1:38 a.m. the greenish hue, from the clock announced the time. With a heavy sigh, Buffy made her way over to her bed. As she started to disrobe, she noticed a dim light that spilled across her bedroom floor.

Her heart skipped a beat as she hurried toward her window. There across the way, was her fascination. After the second night, Buffy felt compelled to label these nightly liaisons as such. There was no other title that was fitting.

Basking in the heavenly image, Buffy stood transfixed at the sight before her. The man of her countless dreams laid upon his bed, naked, as the day he was born. His flawless, alabaster lower half sprawled across the onyx sheets. His muscular back supported his upper section, as he leaned against ebony pillows braced against the wall. The length of his throat was exposed. His head was thrown to the side, in passion. His fist slowly worked at the length of his steel encased flesh.

His lips were parted, as he bestowed pleasure upon himself. His grasp worked in semi-circular motions, ascending and descending his cock. After several leisurely movements, his pace increased. His jaw clenched with his impending climax. His chest rose and fell with quickened pants. Ecstasy filled his features. Buffy’s breaths mirrored his, as arousal filled her completely.

Several moments passed, his pace increased. His head lolled forward, as he continued to tantalize his flesh with feverish pulls. With two more tugs, a silent yell escaped his parted lips. His cock spewed forward his seed. His movements slowed, the belled head sustained its fusillade of salty fluid. Buffy felt her womb clench. Her own climax rushed forward and dampened her panties.

Buffy’s breaths echoed his, as the residuals of her overwhelming peak radiated across her flesh. Upon shaky legs, her body shifted backward several paces, until the back of her legs met with the mattress. In a boneless heap, she fell upon her bed, enjoying the aftermath of her orgasm.

This was her first orgasm. Either due to her trepidation towards sex or the lack of skill on the part of her lovers, she had never experienced this remarkable flood of pleasure before. Only once in the past, she believed that she had reached this pinnacle of ecstasy.

One instance, Buffy had felt a slight tingle within the walls of her womb, following a ten-minute period of time, which Angel had fumbled between her thighs. While he slobbered on her nether regions, he once or twice struck her sensitive distended nub. Clearly done accidentally, she became quickly exasperated and was filled with utter disappointment. Buffy then had to fake her climax, to remove his mouth from her core. Angel being who he was never noticed. The small pulses of what she had experienced then, was a mere shadow of tonight.

Without hands, mouth, nor cock, Buffy reached her climax based on pure sight alone. The visions of him pleasuring himself had brought her to the cusp of bliss, and shoved her over, headfirst. After tonight, there was no going back. He had awakened her sleeping libido, and she craved more.

Once a fascination had morphed into obsession, with one powerful and beautiful act.

Obsession. Buffy’s nightly episodes had transformed from a simple appreciation, to an obsession with one monumental act. Once her sexuality had been awakened, she craved more. Always more.

Like heroin racing through a junkie’s collapsing veins, Buffy craved her nightly fixes. His form was the mystical, untouchable dragon that she had no will nor desire to slay.

Bathed in moonlight, Buffy’s immobilized body hovered in front of the barrier of transparent panes of glass, her hands slowly running over her fevered flesh. Nimble fingers agilely, plucked her now pebbled nipples now straining against the sheerness of her satin, crimson camisole.

Arousal blossomed and began leisurely to trickle upon the thin fabric that pressed against her throbbing core. Her toned legs shifted slightly, to encourage the delicate material to titillate and tediously caress her descended clit. Her full lips parted in sheer bliss, as she continued to gaze upon him.

Deft, eager fingers followed a path to the swatch of silky, crimson fabric. She pushed aside the delicate material, to expose her dampened core. Buffy could hear the soft roll of distant thunder, as she reached her first orgasm of the evening, tantalizing her flesh with its presence.

Her eyes continued to feast upon his flawless form. Memories from that night spilled forward. Since the awe-inspiring moment several nights ago transpired, Buffy had not been able to shake the astounding desire to recapture the ecstasy that had surged from her body. Her witnessing him bestowing pleasure upon himself. The memories of that night flowed into the memories of the morning following her first orgasm.

Among the steam and water, Buffy had her first climax, brought about by her own hand. Her fingertips traced the path of the searing water Buffy brought herself to the brink of bliss. One set of skillfully fingers placing harsh yet pleasurable tugs upon her rosy erect tips, while her other hand tweaked her pulsating distended clit. Pelts of water beaded off the porcelain tiles, the sound stifled her cries, while sheer bliss tore through the fabric of her once passionless life.

Memories of that morning merged with the present. Her resolve teetered. Ecstasy clamped its serrated teeth into her responsive flesh and bit hard. She slid down the throat of a pleasurable abyss. She continued to work at herself with eager digits. Her breaths ragged, as a second orgasm rolled deep within her womb. Riding upon her skillful fingers. Her slick internal muscles squeezed once more and released her digits. She succumbed to pure bliss.

Buffy’s hazy gaze remained fixed upon the smooth planes of his flesh that housed a slight sheen of perspiration. In addition to his routine of showers in the evening, he would at times, push his glorious muscles to the limit, slowly lowering and raising his form. All the while maintaining himself in a full plank position.
Throughout the duration of his exercise regimen, Buffy’s gaze held firm. Wandering hands continuing to slide within her core. She envisioned her body enveloped by his. Together they moved in unison to create earth-shattering friction. For the third time, Buffy’s climax bubbled forth, her dexterous digits reached deep within the heart of her desire, and her eager thumb swirled upon her distended pearl.

Her neck arched, the liquid fire of her arousal coated her fingers further. Buffy stifled her cry, while the white tips of her teeth burrowed into her bottom lip. Once her hazy mind cleared slightly, Buffy’s shaky legs stumbled forward. Her hands sought purchase from the window that was before her. Her breath ragged, her gaze upon the panes of glass that lingered beyond her own. With a deep cleansing breath, Buffy pulled herself from the transparent panes and begrudgingly carried herself to her empty bed.

Her breaths began to stabilize, her mind started to analyze how quickly her life had changed. Once the dam of her previously unknown and inexperienced desires and demands had been breached, the fire that was housed in her womb had yet to be quelled. On the contrary, once the precipice of completion was on the horizon, she would envision her own touch to be his. His hands. His mouth. His cock. Each act had further blurred the lines between reality and fantasy.

For the next several weeks, her time continued as such. Her life outside of her room was only small clips of time, as she awaited heaven. Buffy bestowed pleasure upon herself at least twice daily. Once during her nightly rendezvous, the other as her memories pulled forward visions of her earth bound Greek mystical being, while the deluge of water poured upon her inflamed flesh.

Among the droplets and steam, Buffy imagined his rugged and dexterous hands upon her yearning flesh. His talented mouth upon her lips, throat and breasts, all the while his ridged cock satiating the fire that rampaged in her womb. His hips, setting an intense pace that would curl her toes and cause her voice to permeate the air with screams that announced her pleasure and completion time and time again. No two visions were the same.

One entailed his hot breath upon the nape of her neck, as she sat astride his lap. His muscular chest molded to her back, his hips rocked to and fro. Talented lengthy fingers strumming a steady tattoo upon her clit.

Another, her palms and knees rooted upon the soft mattress of her bed. His slender hips piston into her welcoming heat. One firm hand grasped her hip, the other cupped firmly upon her slender shoulder. He roughly pulled her back upon his eager cock. Each harsh entrance, her teeth would chatter and hazy eyes rolled.

Each intense vision aided her body to fall weightlessly into the abyss of sheer rapture. Each time, the green and amber scales of the dragon curled tighter around her form. Soon, with reality, he would take flight with her clasped in his sharpened talons.

During the night, as he would enter his lair, Buffy would bestow tedious gratification on herself. She envisioned, they were his hands that teased her aching peaks and harvesting the glistening pearl between her splayed thighs.

Tonight, Buffy stood in the moonlight the muted beams bathed her nude form. With bated breath, she awaited his entrance. Within moments, his newly cleansed form entered into the brightly lit room. Onyx stained towel slung low upon his slender hips, hands working another towel briskly through his bleached locks. As clockwork, both towels fell to the floor.

His fully engorged cock pulsed. It appeared to beg for attention. Attention that her mouth salivated to give. As if he could read her mind, his fist surrounded the turgid flesh. He slowly worked at his member with long, attentive strokes. Without breaking his grasp, his feet shuffled backwards until his legs sought purchase on his ebony sheeted bed. He slowly lowered himself. His tortuous pace continued.

Due to the steady stream of snow that fell from the dark sky, the white flakes caused her visibility to decline. Buffy stepped closer, within an instant, a moan spilled from her lips. Her rosy peaks brushed slightly against the cold panes. The beautiful sight before her, in addition to the icy glass caused her heated breath to catch in her throat. Her nipples puckered further, almost painfully so.

Her heated gaze remained fixed upon his features. They were contorted with bliss his fist continued its fierce tempo. Instantly, Buffy’s hands started to explore her willing flesh. She slowly licked her parched lips. Mirrored movements, both continued with the purpose, as each sought completion. Despite the same path, they remained worlds apart. Separated by glass. Separated by knowledge. Separated by awareness.

Needing further contact with her aching core, Buffy placed one shaky foot upon the sill of her window. Thighs splayed open to grant a greater access to her womb. The chilly air licked upon her dampened folds in which caused her head to fall back. The convergence of her movements, fervent digits within her heat, puckered nipples that teased the frosty glass, and once hardened gaze, hovered her body upon the pinnacle of rapture.


**** ****


Across the glass, snow and the darkened alleyway, hazy lust-filled eyes opened as he continued to work at his cock with bruising, yet pleasurable tugs. After several long, clearing blinks, his stare focused upon the heavenly vision that hovered outside his window.

He released his cock, and he slowly stalked across his bedroom. A newfound desire called to him. His impressive erection bobbed upon each step, as he approached the translucent panes of glass.

His eyes widened, beholding the glorious sight before him. A woman. Aphrodite incarnate. Bronze flesh encased a petite, yet womanly form. Shapely legs splayed as her magnificent quim was showcased. Eager fingers delved deep within her core. Her tender, column of her throat was exposed. Pert breasts caressed the windows as a welcomed lover’s touch. Full bee-stung lips parted, a silent cry of pleasure flowed forward.

Like a man possessed, he was drawn closer still. His hand rested upon the transparent barrier. Mindlessly, his covetous fist returned to his pulsating steel-encased flesh. Tendrils of his desire encircled his flesh. He slowly reached for the golden goddess before him.


**** ****


Buffy’s orgasm built gradually, as she stoked the small flame that burned deep within the recesses of her womb. After several deep strokes, her climax erupted forward. Her essence coated her fingers in liquid fire.



The reality of the situation set in, Buffy’s eyes widened, her once parted lips, fell agape with understanding. Upon realization, instantly Buffy’s nude form fell upon the hardness of her bedroom floor in a graceless heap. The bristled fibers of the carpet bit into her hypersensitive flesh. Her heart thudded a thunderous tempo in her chest.


**** ****


His golden goddess made flesh, disappeared suddenly from sight, his movements stilled. The look of utter confusion marred his handsome features. His fist, which grasped his fevered flesh, unclenched. Both of his hands now cupped either side of his eyes, attempting to see further into her apartment. Attempting to locate her again.


********


With awkward, but purposeful movements, Buffy pulled herself across the floor, in military style. Several moments later, she reached above her head to obtain the knob, the metal barrier between her and escape. After several unsuccessful attempts the lock released and granted her reprieve.


**** ****


Moments later, he noticed a slight stream of light spill into her room from a slightly opened door. A door, that appeared to have opened with a ghost-like eeriness, he could not see her form. Several beats later, only her hand pulling the door closed was the last glimpse he captured.

Many questions plagued his mind; “Was this the first time?” “If not, how long has she been watching me?” But of all the queries that burned his mind, one scorched the most, “Who is she?” His gaze remained fixated, he longingly willed his goddess to return. For her majestic golden form to fill the now empty panes of glass.


**** ****


In the apartment across the way, a deep sigh tumbled from Buffy’s lips, once she stumbled into her windowless bathroom. When the door closed to announce the emptiness of the sterile room, Buffy was relieved. She was now able to wallow in complete and utter embarrassment...alone.

“So wet...so tight! That’s it baby...mmmm…” Spike growled as the woman upon his slender hips rose and fell with relentless and extraordinary cadence.

Through a half-mast, heated gaze, he beheld her in all her exquisite glory. Flawless, golden skin adorned her petite, comely figure. Toned legs splayed, her glistening, magnificent quim sought bliss. Taut abdomen clenched upon each down stroke. Firm, pert, rose tipped breasts, shuddered upon each movement. Slender neck exposed, her head thrown back in sheer ecstasy.

He eagerly caressed her lithe body as she continued her pace. His deep, baritone voice praising her every move.

“Luv, gah...squeeze my cock...argh...just like that!”

Like a python constricting its prey, her vaginal walls clutched his cock with deadly accuracy. Spike’s neck bowed, waves of intense pleasure radiating throughout his body. Harmonious coos and moans pervaded the room and his lust-filled mind. He attempted to stave off his orgasm until he could once more hear the squeals of delight heralding her monumental climax.

He positioned his head forward, attempting to focus on the golden goddess astride his lap. Black pupils, wide and dilated, consumed his cerulean irises, until only cusps of blue remained. Womanly inner muscles gently quivered, announcing her impending climax. Her head lolled forward to catch his gaze, as her orgasm crested.

Flaxen hair spilled over her slender shoulders and caressed her breasts as she sustained her rhythm. Full, bee-stung lips pursed, eyes closed. Sheer ecstasy adorned her angelic features.

Gazing upon her ethereal beauty, instantly he was thrown into the fathomless abyss of ecstasy. Thick ropes of semen erupted forth, drenching her insides with his warm seed. His hips continued to piston, as her lips parted. Spike waited to hear her voice as he filled her womb.

“Beep…beep…beep…”

The alarm clock shrilled, in an announcement of a new day. Spike’s eyes burst open. His gaze sought the woman that was once astride his hips.

Disappointment marred his handsome features at the realization this was a dream, again. He slowly raised himself to a seated position, his palms scrubbed in frustration across his face.

Erotic dreams were not uncharted waters for him. An intensely sexual creature by nature, his mind was endlessly consumed with sensual images of women. During the daylight hours, his fantasies consisted of women he met, either in passing or in person. Nights, his dreams were comprised of nameless and sometimes faceless forms, in a plethora of compromising positions.

Each morn his cock would be granite hard and a decent wank would resolve his erection. When a wank didn’t quite quell his raging libido, one of his numerous ‘friends with benefits’ would provide a pleasant distraction. Not since his early teenage years, had he been faced with a dilemma such as this. Nocturnal Emissions. A wetty. Wet dreams.

With an ever-increasing saturated stain gracing his lap, Spike recalled the night more than two weeks ago, which had permanently and irrevocably altered his world.

Shapely legs splayed, her magnificent quim showcased. Eager fingers delving deep within her core, the tender column of her throat exposed. Pert breasts caressed the windows as a welcomed lover’s touch. Full, bee-stung lips parted as a silent cry of pleasure flowed forward

His lids fluttered, as his memories ceased. A newly formed erection pressed against the sodden sheets.

“Bollocks!”

Following several careful swipes, Spike cleared away the evidence of his dream. With a clenched fist, he roughly pulled the damp fabric away from his tense body.

Spike pulled his nude form from the confines of his bed, and stalked towards the window. The warm rays of the late winter’s sun bathed his alabaster flesh with tepid kisses. His longing gaze beheld the empty window that lay outside his reach. Fingertips gingerly touched upon the cool panes of glass. Heavy lids fluttered closed as he imagined her heavenly form before him.

Shallow pants of breath filled her lungs and fogged the glass before her, her head lolled forward. Her heavy lids fluttered, while her tongue snaked out from the confines of her parched mouth. She leisurely licked her lips.

As he stroked the smooth windowpane, he envisioned her flawless flesh under his heated touch. Mindlessly, his fist encircled his throbbing cock. With definite, potent tugs, Spike bestowed himself the pleasure his entire being screamed for.

His eager tongue snaked from the confines of his mouth, leisurely stroking the swell of his full lips. The talented muscle curled, pulling, his lower lip into the heated cavern of his mouth. Teeth bit purposefully, his cock continued to swell from his erotic thoughts and ministrations. Sharp incisors scored flesh, drawing blood. Warm trickles grazed his chin. He imagined she hovered above him, her climax tearing through her body, her essence coating him.

On the threshold of his release, her heated gaze bore into his. Once her fiery, emotion-filled eyes beheld his, his climax burst forward. Spike gasped, his hot seed covered his fist and coated the glass in thick spurts. Upon completion, he released his cock, needing to stabilize himself. He braced both hands against the panes, sharp intakes of breath burning his throat and lungs as he gasped for air.

Never. Never before had one woman consumed him, as she. She permeated his mind, his dreams, and his soul. He was drowning under the swelling sea of her.

Two weeks. Two weeks since he had seen her heavenly form. As the days passed, he not only questioned, “Who was she?” but queries of his sanity were raised. Spike’s uncertainty of what was reality and what was fantasy blurred the lines within his mind.

“Maybe my brain is fed up with being led around by my willie! Now, I’m haunted by this majestic creature, and she’s is bloody unobtainable! This is going to drive me barmy!” Spike inwardly berated himself.

He extracted his hands from the glass, with a final look toward the window across the way. With a deep sigh, he forlornly turned and headed toward the cleansing water of his shower.

Once the searing deluge of water rained upon his marmoreal flesh all remnants of last night and this morning swirled down the drain. Spike stood beneath the scalding spray until his normally alabaster flesh was tinged with a pinkish hue. Despite all attempts, to think of anything else beyond her was fruitless. His thoughts always circumnavigated back to her.

The icy droplets broke him from his reverie. He pulled his now shuddering form from beneath the spray. With a heavy hand, he cleared his muscular form from all water. Beads of water dripped upon his recently dried shoulders, his bleached locks still soaked from the shower. Soft ebony cotton caressed his slender hips, abdomen and cock, as he wrapped a fluffy towel around his form. After a momentary glimpse of his features through the partially obscured mirror, Spike continued toward his room.

A deep sigh left his lips, as he passed over the threshold of his room. With sudden and clipped movements, he cleared the remainder of water from his hair and body. He donned well-worn black denims, a black, long sleeved shirt with a silver dragon embroidered across the chest. The shirt hugged his muscular form in all the right places- heavy Doc Marten boots completed the outfit.

With a stalking gait, he pulled his long, black leather trench from the onyx, velvet chaise cater corner to his wall, and in a swirl of leather exited his room than his flat.

Despite the images of his earth-bound Aphrodite, life needed to continue. First classes than a side job to help pay the rent.

Buffy cinched the fabric of her coat closer to her throat, while she ascended the stairs into the night. Leaving the belly of the underground subway, always gave her goose bumps, regardless of the season. She inhaled deeply, before heading towards her destination, Massachusetts College of Arts and Design..

Each time she arrived on campus, she felt like another individual. Completely separate from the person she was, on her own campus, of Suffolk University. At Suffolk, she was a marketing major, no nonsense, practical and assiduous. At MassArt, she felt free of all these constraints. Thoughts were traded for feelings.

For an eternity, her passion was Art. As far back as she could recall - sitting upon crates of artwork, feet suspended off the floor, as her mother cataloged shipments. Despite years of owning a gallery, her mother’s eyes danced with delight at each delivery. Astonishment and awe were bestowed upon every piece revealed.

Unfortunately, passion and reality don’t always mix. Money makes the world go round, feelings and devotion need not apply. When Buffy was in High School, her mother lost her gallery, due to ‘lack of funds’. Her mother now worked in a national chain store that sold high-priced, low quality, art supplies. She still tutors children in art, but her dream was crushed. Buffy planned to change all this, once she received her degree.

An overwhelming feeling of bliss pervaded her thoughts, once she arrived on campus. Surrounding her, were dozens of students, each consumed in their own artistic world. Anatomy of Life Drawing was her destination. She walked toward the center of this bohemian world.

Two weeks. Two weeks since she had seen her greatest inspiration. The sharp angles and flawless lines of his magnificent form, not only beseeched the artist that lay deep within, but another, more foreign part of her being as well.

Thousands of times her mind created his likeness; her inner artist chose charcoal, acrylics, and pencils. Not one vision ever came to fruition, since no materials, except the flesh of her hands, and her mind, seemed to capture his true essence. Buffy experienced that familiar clenching of her womb, as her mind opened to thoughts of him. Instantly her panties dampened, his form pervaded her mind.

Alabaster flesh bathed in moonlight, he stood before her. Only panes of glass and the winter night separated them. Tender, yet fierce grip upon his manhood, he sought bliss he had, unbeknownst to him, shared with her.

All the moments before this, Buffy was merely a spectator on the perimeters his ecstasy. Within that instant, his acknowledgment engulfed her completely. The waves of passion lapped at her form, she felt herself being consumed. Fear overrode all other emotions and desires. She fled, escaping into the night and had yet to face, him nor herself again.

Upon reaching the barrier that separated her from mindless creation, Buffy inhaled deeply to clear her mind. She crossed the threshold of the studio, walking instinctively toward her seat. Placed in the center of the room was plush, velvet chaise, which was of the deepest purple, almost ebony in hue. Eight chairs, with easels placed before them, surrounded the currently empty divan.

Buffy took her place next to another student name Tara, whom she had met several semesters ago. As the women chatted, the room filled with the other students, two males and four other females. Each spoke excitedly about what was planned for the evening.

They had spent several weeks discussing the human form. How muscles and tendons play under the flesh, how each feature is unique in shape, size and structure. In addition to the exterior of the human form, they discussed in depth how emotions play across one’s body. This holds true for facial features, especially the eyes. The professor declared, and the class unanimously agreed, that the eyes are the windows into one’s soul.

Tonight, after all discussions and studies, the class would have their first live model. Each gender secretly wished that it were the opposite sex that would be nude, draped across the velveteen. Well, except Tara, who wished a shapely woman would adorn the plush fabric.

Promptly, at six, the professor entered the classroom. Anticipation blazed within the depths of her chocolate brown eyes. With a clap of her hands, all eyes focused upon her.

“Class, tonight we have the greatest pleasure of a live model. He’s a senior at Boston University, School of Theatre. Tonight, I would like all of you to capture, not only his form, but attempt to capture his essence as well. Remember, look past the exterior of flesh and bone, and look into his soul. With that said, William, if you please?”

Once the teacher’s voice subsided, silently, a man entered into the room, dressed only in an onyx, terry cloth robe. His back was toward Buffy, but instantly, she felt an overwhelming buzz fill her mind. These currents radiated throughout her entire form, and settled within her core.

Her gaze traveled across the length of his clad form and came to rest upon the halo of bleached locks that adorned his head. Buffy’s eyes widened. Her fierce heartbeat pounded within the confines of her chest, was the only sound she could hear.

Widen gaze, remained latched upon his form, he entered within the circle of chairs and students. Without hesitation, he removed the final barrier encasing his physique from the room filled with prying eyes.

He remained faced away from her, but Buffy knew. Her mind had studied and memorized each curve of his form. Her eyes had caressed his alabaster flesh thousands of times. Both in her dreams, and while she sought bliss, fingers deep within her core as a silent plea hovered upon her lips. Adonis, made flesh and bone…him.

Mind spinning, eyes wide and fixed, Buffy’s breath puffed past her full lips in heavy pants. A gentle caress upon her shoulder halted all the befuddled feelings encompassing her.

“Buffy, are you alright?” Tara’s soft, soothing voice slightly quelled the disarray inside.

Lids fluttered, she attempted to focus on the woman beside her. With a slight nod, Buffy whispered a small ‘yes’, and then her gaze returned to the man before her.

He had moved from his prior upright position. Now resembling, Bryson Burroughs’ painting of the Etruscan Box(1), which held Adonis’ fallen form, the man of many dreams and fantasies was fully displayed, within arm’s reach.

He was splayed upon the plush divan, back against the velvet, drawing contrast to his alabaster flesh with adorning kisses of darkness. One arm draped off one side of the cushion, knuckles brushing upon the floor, his other muscular limb, raised above his head, framing his bleached locks. One muscular leg was straight, the other bent, foot resting by his outstretched knee. Across his slender hips, ebony fabric clung, concealing his manhood to all.

Head lifted slightly heavenward, upon the cushion. While the flawless column of his neck, was exposed to the bright lights that permeated the room. Full lips relaxed, but still held a slight ampleness of a knowing smile. Lids drawn, concealing his soul, inky lashes befell upon his marmoreal, sculpted cheeks. His features held an ethereal beauty that captured her gaze, her mind, and her soul.

Buffy’s hands moved of their own volition. Her deft fingers grasped charcoal located in the tray below the parchment secured to her easel. Her intense gaze remained steady. Flowing strokes transpired upon the page.

Moments bled together, her mind remained transfixed. Her hands their own entity. Almost as in a trance, she continued to feed her visions upon the parchment. After, what seemed as an eternity, but a moment at the same time, her professor instructed ‘William’ to extract his form from the position he maintained.

His lashes fluttered against his sculpted cheeks, as her voice coaxed him from his position. The movements of the other students filled the room with noises, not pervading the silence of her inner sanctum.

Once he rose from his position upon the chaise lounge, the onyx robe once again, encased his body, as he gradually concealed his nude form. His head slowly rolled upon his taunt shoulders, he stretched the muscles that had remained dormant under his skin for so long. Buffy was in sheer awe, she studied the ripples that were showcased beneath his flesh.

‘William’ leisurely raised his head as his exquisite features were exposed to the room. It was at that moment, unadulterated passion, consumed her completely. Concealed under his lids, was the epitome of a soul. Fathomless, Caribbean, indigo gaze beheld all those before him. Buffy’s breath caught within her throat, his gaze finally met hers.

Recognition bloomed within his eyes. The once tranquil sea blue became stormy and turbulent. Buffy became transfixed as she was drawn within the confines of his unyielding stare.

The professor’s voice rang through the room. She announced that their break was over. Her speech immediately severed their tangible connection. Buffy’s eyes widened, as reality crashed upon her. He was no longer a dream or a fantasy. He was flesh and bone and fully aware of her presence. No longer, panes of glass or darkness separated them. She was entirely bare to his gaze, as he had been to the artists that surrounded them.

Hyper-arousal consumed her. She continued to behold this man before her. Her entire being was coiled; muscles tense, mind focused on only one thing…escape. As if the hounds of hell were pursuing her soul, in a flurry of motion, Buffy extracted her body from her seat, from the room, from the campus, before her mind had comprehended what had transpired.

Left in her wake, ten pairs of eyes filled with bewilderment and queries. Only one maintained a stormy hue of marine cerulean, harbored swirls of lust and desire within its depths.



(1) https://pantherfile.uwm.edu/prec/www/course/mythology/0700/dionysus.htm

Determination. Determination penetrated every fiber of his being as he stalked through the icy streets of Boston, toward his flat. For the last two hours, his mind and body had been coiled tight, like a cobra prepared to strike. Upon the realization, that his earth-bound goddess was within an arm's length, every fiber of his being was on the edge. His heavy boots fell upon the frozen sidewalks. His mind wandered back to earlier in the evening.


**** ****


With anticipation and reservations, Spike entered the studio. Despite the confidence that he exuded, he was everything but. When a flyer was placed on the Boston University’s bulletin board seeking a nude model, without hesitation, he had contacted the number listed. The combination of money, which was desperately needed, and his unabashed notion of nudity, the opportunity appeared ideal. That was until he entered into the studio. Bright lights and numerous gazes upon his scantily clad form caused minuscule butterflies to take flight, within the recesses of his gut. His bare flesh, which was encased by only soft, ebony terrycloth, prickled with uneasiness, as these feelings combined with tendrils of exhilaration.

Upon entering, he felt a singular gaze, which burned his very soul. With a slight mental shake, he pushed past this feeling, and disrobed. The cool air placed kisses upon his flesh, as it was exposed to the studio. Situating himself upon the plush velvet, Spike continued to feel these eyes upon him, with the intensity of a lover’s touch. With low murmured instructions from the professor, Spike molded his body upon her words. Upon the professor draping an onyx sheet across his lap, shielding his manhood, his lids covered his gaze.

Within the darkness of his own mind, Spike’s thoughts wandered. The time he laid upon the divan, the constant feeling of this gaze, stroked his form with desire and fervor. When these thoughts were intertwined with visions of his golden goddess, his cock swelled with anticipation. He was tremendously grateful, for the sheath and the position of his legs, shielding his erection from the scrutinizing gazes of those within the studio.

Spike envisioned it was she that adorned his body, not the fabric splayed across his hips, nor the velvet that caressed his exposed flesh. She writhed upon him, her searing, bare flesh, tantalizing his skin with soft touches and whispered promises of immense pleasure. With all his strength, he maintained the position the professor had molded his body into, only barely. Desire licked his insides, as these torrid feelings searched for a release. His cock throbbed within its textile encasement; his palm itched to gather his member within the confines of his fist.

Trapped in the midst of his own personal blissful heaven and fiery hell, Spike’s reprieve arrived, the blithe voice of the professor announced a well-deserved break was upon them. With an inward sigh, he extracted his ever increasingly, sensitive form from the velveteen. Spike’s cock jumped, as he dragged the fabric from his hips. Quickly, he placed the terry cloth barrier. Once the robe was drawn tight, and the sash cinched, he slowly rotated his taut muscles, which screamed due to his long stretch of immobility. After several elongated stretches, Spike’s gaze examined the room and its members within.

A total of eight people, excluding the professor, animatedly chattered as they showcased their work to one another. All but one, her, she remained fastened to her seat. It was as though she intended to remain anonymous to all those around her. Like a moth to a brightly burning flame, Spike’s eyes were instinctually drawn to her. Realization flooded his mind. He drank in her presence. Before him was his golden goddess, the woman that haunted every dream since that fateful night - his earth-bound Aphrodite.

Desire flared within his gaze. Flesh rippled, cock elongated and hardened further, within the confines of its cloth prison. His heart pounded within the confines of his chest, as the organ sought to escape the house of flesh and bone.

Each of her attributes was delicate and stunning. Her body was petite, fairy-like, which was a fierce contradiction to her essence, which pervaded the entire room. Her golden tresses flowed freely. They rested upon her slender shoulders, pert breasts and spilled down her back. Her flaxen locks, framed her breath-taking features. Her full bee-stung lips, with a pouty contour, begged for him to sample and savor. Her nose was perfect, yet imperfect, as the tip slightly flared upwards. Her large, expressive green eyes, which were speckled with brilliant gold, studied him intently. She was simply breathtaking.

Their eyes met, the entire world outside their gaze, dispersed and vanished. Before his body shifted, or a sound could be uttered, with a flurry of movements, she fled into the night. All sound ceased, as each witnessed her flight. Once the wooden barrier, that separated the studio from the outside world, closed, the endless prattle erupted anew.

Spike remained rooted in his position before the divan, his mind attempting to untangle and process what had just transpired. Only the swift and hammering tempo of his heart, accompanied his wayward thoughts. That was until he was jostled from his emotion-filled stupor, by the professor’s voice and subtle touch upon his clothed shoulder.

“I think we are done here for the evening, William. Same time, next week?”

Her voice echoed within the walls of his daze, Spike offered a slight nod and a whispered ‘yeah’. Within moments, the studio cleared of its previous inhabitants. All that seemed to remain, was Spike and her essence. With gradual, meticulous steps, he approached the area that once held her heavenly form.

His gaze lingered upon her area briefly. With a deep breath, his gaze lifted towards her artwork. There upon the canvas, was his form, created from passionate, flowing strokes of charcoal. She appeared to capture his body flawlessly. Every sharp line she replicated, from his slender hips, to his sculpted cheekbones. Every swell of his body, his full lips to the contours of his muscles, as they remained at rest beneath his flesh. With one glance, Spike fully understood, this was not only drawn from today’s session, but countless memories she housed within the deep recesses of her mind.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed one thing that appeared to be added, an improvisation. Folded beneath his supine form, were…wings. As he studied her depiction of him, only two words were scribed upon the canvas, Fallen Angel.

Spike was overwhelmed with a myriad of feelings that coursed through him; yearning, admiration, lust, determination and utter bewilderment. While they pulsated through his mind, Spike didn’t hear anyone approach. Until a gentle touch was placed upon his forearm, breaking him from his reverie.

Standing before him, was a shapely woman, with soft features and even softer demeanor. With gentle words, she introduced herself as the friend of the woman who had created this portrait. Spike’s gaze widened, as he realized this one creature, could bring to life his dreams, with only a name. Her name.

Tara, which she introduced herself as, appeared to be studying him, their minimal conversation revolved around the portrayal that lay before them. Spike felt naked, at her gaze. It appeared, she was trying to reach deep within his mind and soul, with a mere glance. A kindhearted smile graced her lips. Her baby-blues finished their assessment. Without another word, she handed him a crimson messenger bag with a silver dragon painted upon the front and disappeared from the studio.

Spike’s gaze moved from the bag to the portrait several times before the realization hit, this was the key to finally meeting his golden goddess. A large grin graced his lips, as he gradually opened the bag.

Among the standard collection of art supplies, snacks and the like, was a small leather wallet. With bated breath, Spike opened the holder. There, among pictures of family and friends, lay her school ID. His gaze fixed upon her photo briefly before his eyes moved to his Holy Grail, her name. As if he was divulging a holy utterance, her name fell from his lips as in prayer. Buffy.


**** ****

Spike’s heavy boots echoed upon the vacant hallways of his apartment building. Determination continued to fuel his motives. He entered into his flat. With a brief nod to his roommate, who was splayed across the couch in the living room, Spike headed towards his room.

Upon passing the threshold, he immediately stalked to his bedroom window. Darkness met his determined gaze. The muscle in his jaw twitched slightly, as disappointment filled him to the core. His fist released slightly as he worked at the material of her satchel, between his fingers. Revealing her ID again, an almost feral grin graced his full lips. If she wouldn’t seek him, then he would go to her.

Upon the completion of his shower, to wash away all the other’s gazes, he would breech his goddess’ Mount Olympus, and bestow upon her glorious flesh, all the pleasures of man. Quickly disrobing, Spike headed off to cleanse his flesh.

Shadows danced outside the window as Buffy studied the room across the way. Her fingertips lingered upon the cold windowpanes while memories swirled in her mind. How quickly her life and meaning of self had changed.

Once she was a caterpillar, sluggishly moving from leaf to leaf. Existing. Never seeing anything beyond the greens of her world. In a single moment, silky threads spun around her, cocooning her in a new reality. Suddenly, she broke free of all confines set forth by society and self. Now a butterfly, transformed, she floated freely upon the wings of desire. The heavy constraints of her past no longer weighed her down. She flittered upon each flower of passion. Upon each landing, she drank deep of all life’s heady nectars.

“William.” His name slipped from her lips. A breathy whisper puffed warm air upon the frigid panes.

Earlier tonight once she sought her escape, the evening continued to replay through her mind. Buffy’s feet continued upon the icy pavement, as she found her way towards home.

Upon his entrance, a moment of uncertainty and certainty intertwined. Her body knew what her mind rebuffed. Once his features were revealed, he transformed from a vision, a mere glimpse, to reality. Despite this reality, he remained surreal. Knowledge was still only hers. Before this moment, she had witnessed him in shadows, never in the light of day.

While sprawled upon the divan, he was still completely unaware of her presence. Instantly, he became a new visual feast set before her. No longer separated by glass and night, he was now within arm’s reach, so close, yet so far away.

Upon instruction, his majestic form mimicked the position of the fallen Adonis upon his burial shrine. Buffy became Aphrodite. She preserved his form upon papyrus and within her memories. She immortalized him.



**** ****


A deluge of water caressed Spike’s taut form. The steady cadence of his pulse dictated how his proud erection stirred. He cleared his skin of the day’s grime. While Spike ran the bar across himself, leaving streaks of foam in its wake, he devised a plan of action.

Buffy. His earthbound goddess had a name, Buffy. Each letter caressed his tongue and mind with gentle strokes. Spike envisioned how her skilled hands had captured his essence upon paper. Even the title, Fallen Angel, had described him perfectly. How many times had his striking looks brought even the strongest of virtue to their knees, and to his bed? How many women had fallen prey to his cunning words? Fallen Angel was his crimson A that should adorn his chest.

Now the man that once beheld women as creatures for his pleasure became the creature that yearned for pleasures unfulfilled. Since that night he had witnessed her form at her window, he had not bedded another. He would not…could not. He must remain pure for her…for Buffy. Fleeting pleasure of the flesh was no longer his goal. He wanted to share his body, mind and soul with only one woman…Buffy. Each time her voice rang through his mind, his pulse and cock jumped in sync.

The water began to cool, causing his body to respond with slight shivers. His plan was very simple; find Buffy and make her, his. When his mind declared Buffy as his, his cock responded yet again with a slight bob, almost in mock agreement. Spike ignored his arrogant, wayward limb as he dried himself. Spike announced inwardly, loud enough for the predominant head to hear, this was not about sex…only connection.

Spike desired to know Buffy. Know her likes and dislikes. Know what foods tickled her palate or roiled her stomach with disdain. Know how she sleeps and what fills her dreams. Every single aspect of this majestic creature was a lesson he craved to memorize. Once each lesson burned in his mind, then and only then, would he focus on knowing her body. His hands, mouth, tongue and cock would explore each womanly swell, each heated orifice, every inch of her tantalizing flesh.

Spike wrapped an ebony towel around his slim hips. Another lay across his shoulders to capture any wayward droplets from his platinum locks. He stepped from the steamy room and headed toward his bedroom. First he would dress, and then seek his woman…his Buffy.


**** ****



Buffy shivered slightly, the cool air caressed her naked form. Pictures of butterflies danced in her mind and stomach, as she disrobed. She needed to be free of all constraints. Tonight she would face her fears and reservations and seek pleasure for her mind, body and soul again. No longer would she resist the fervent tugs of desire pulling within. She would embrace all which her being craved.

Once she decided she would no longer remain in the shadows; leaving her apartment, she made her way to his building. Her determination remained, as she searched the names of those that lived within. When she found the only William, she nervously pressed the buzzer to announce her presence. A man, who she assumed was his roommate answered, buzzing her in. Now, she stood in his room, devoid of all barriers, her resolve held strong.



**** ****



Spike passed over the threshold of his room, rapidly rubbing the towel through his hair. Once the fabric had served its purpose, he released the sides. The used fabric fell upon the floor. His eyelids fluttered open, while reaching for his lamp. Before his hand reached its destination his movements stilled. With a widened gaze, he studied the sight before him. Numerous flickers of soft candlelight flooded the room. Each light danced toward his window.

Bathed in moonlight was his earthbound goddess. His Aphrodite. His Buffy. Pale rays caressed her naked flesh. She slowly turned toward him. Golden tresses spilled over her shoulders and rested upon the tops of her perfect mounds, tipped with rose-colored peaks. Taut abdomen flowed into the crux of heaven, the soft curls adorning her mound. Her petite ethereal frame remained motionless except for the steady rise and fall of her chest. Time ceased to exist as drank her in. Her full lips pursed as only one word was spoken,

“William.”

Spike was entranced by the sound of her voice. His flesh tingled, as if millions of fingers were caressing him. His cock jutted almost painfully from his body, seeking her touch. Cinched fabric around his waist slipped away. His body, seemingly wanting to remove any barriers from her gaze or touch.

Wide, green eyes perused his naked flesh. Each moved forward, within arm’s length. Spike didn’t press forward. He remained motionless, granting her time to memorize his form. Her gaze swirled with different intents.

Eyes of an artist studied him. She took in his features, memorized all the details that from a far, she could not be capture; the true color of his eyes, the scar that marred his brow, each imperfection, which made him, perfect.

Intertwined with the artist, was the gaze of a lover. Eyes filled with desire and passion. Spike could taste her yearning. The bitter taste of his own still resided upon his tongue. His body screamed to capture the woman before him in a heated embrace and a passionate kiss, but he held firm. Twice before, she had flittered away as a butterfly dining upon flowers. A third time would not occur because of his impatience.

Her petite hand lifted from her side. Deft fingertips shadowed over his features. Never touching, but the scorch of her simulated caresses remained in their wake. Framing his brow, her fingers lingered upon the scar that was scored through flesh and hair. Fingertips outlined the sharp cheekbones that rose from his flesh. She followed the slope of bone, tracing his parted, full lips tenderly.

In sync with her ghostly-like touches, her gaze memorized his features. Spike’s chest expanded with fierce, quick pants. His hazy gaze fluttered with sheer bliss, for the increasingly erotic sweeps of her eyes and faux caresses.


**** ****


Buffy’s hand continued to descend. Over the jut of his prominent chin, towards the swell of his Adam’s apple which bobbed beneath his flesh. Her being was torn. Her mind wanted to burn his features deep within her brain. Her body yearned for his flesh upon hers. Her soul craved for all her mind and body demanded. Her soul cried out for a connection, beyond mind and body, a cosmic connection between their two souls. Only souls that are destined to be together for all eternity possess.

The man that stood before her, was he what her soul cried out for? Or was this just a union between two bodies, which craved touch, lust, and pleasure? Buffy’s hand continued its trek downward, over the slopes of his chest. Her hand hovered over the area that housed his heart. Her palm floated over the heated flesh without contact. Despite this, she could feel his pulse pounding within the cage of bone and flesh. Buffy’s eyes rose to meet his gaze, her hand remained.

Gazes collided and became fixed. Buffy lifted slightly upon her toes, her mouth seeking his. With a gentle touch, her lips caressed his. Pulses of electricity flowed from the smallest contact. Buffy’s lids fluttered closed, her tongue snaked out from her parted lips and danced across the seam of his lips seeking entrance.



**** ****


Spike’s lids slammed shut, as her essence and touch scorched him. With a small gasp, his mouth opened granting entrance to her eager tongue. Desire swept through them as a raging, torrid fire. His once idle hands, sought her flesh. One hand rested upon the base of her spine, hovering above the swell of her backside. The other, threaded through her golden mane, cradling her head, his mouth devoured hers.

The mere contact of lips and hands were not enough. His flesh screamed for more. Hand that once resided upon her back, slid toward her side, he gathered her body to his. Upon her breasts meeting his chest, dual moans reverberated throughout the once quiet room. Her quivering lips continued her own brutal, sweet assault, as he swallowed her mews.

Without breaking contact, Spike slowly stalked forward toward his window. Her mouth released his. The cool panes caressed her pert backside. His desired filled gaze, held her hazy one, as he slowly turned her body around. An equal gasp filled the room as the icy glass danced across her hardened rosy buds.



**** ****


Buffy wound her hands into his damp locks, as his mouth teased the flesh upon the column of her throat. Spike’s hands joined the window in teasing her nipples into sharp peaks. His talented mouth ascended toward the shell of her ear. With a slight nip and tug, his deep baritone voice filled Buffy’s mind.

“See what I see, Buffy.”

With this request, one hand sought her chin and faced her forward. Within the glass, Buffy could see herself. Face flushed, eyes wild, chest heaving. Only the outline of her lover behind her, shone within the reflection of the glass. Talented hands teased the sensitive flesh of her mounds. His mouth continued its assault upon her throat. Spike’s increasing hardening cock lay across the swell of Buffy’s backside.

One hand left her breast, traveling tediously towards her core. Buffy’s lips mouthed a silent chant of “Yes” as his hand descended. Prior to reaching her desired destination, his skilled hand trekked toward her left hip. Spike’s hungry mouth moved to her the crux between her shoulder and neck. His hand molded to the front of her thigh.

Simultaneously, the hand that teased her breast moved, as his arm encased her body. His other skilled hand sought her inner thigh. In an instant, Buffy’s foot was upon the window’s ledge. Her glistening core was exposed.

“Touch yourself.” His growled words only served to heighten her arousal.

Mesmerized by his words, his mouth, his hands; one of Buffy’s trembling hands released the bleached locks that were fisted in her hand, as it slowly raked over her form. Upon descent, her fingers caressed Spike’s arm, causing his flesh to ripple in its wake. A breathy moan tumbled from her lips, as her eager fingers found her core. Nimble fingers teased her folds. One word spilled forward, as her fingers entered within her core.

“William.”

Spike’s eyes closed from her whispered call. Normally, he would never let a woman other than his mum use his birth name. He was Spike. Spike was the man that fucks them and leaves them. Spike was all about pleasure, no consequences. This tiny woman in his arms stripped that all that away. Her words, mouth and hands cleansed him. He was reborn, from a Fallen Angel to a man of worth.

Buffy’s mind burst with a myriad of pleasures. Pleasure of her once dreams, once an obsession, was now offering her body, the ecstasy that even her sharp mind could not duplicate.

Within this pleasure, he knew her mind. He understood her hesitations and dismays. He knew barriers still remained on the outside, even though she had dismantled her inner ones. Pleasure, despite the swells of lust pulsated through him, this moment remained about her.

One finger became two. Two became three, as she sought her climax. William’s mouth continued to feast upon all exposed flesh to his hungry mouth. Eager fingers bit into the flesh of her inner thigh, while she continued to piston her fingers within her core. With a sharp cry, Buffy’s orgasm crested and crashed upon the shores of her lust-filled mind.

Her hips continued to roll slightly. Her fingers became slick with her essence. William’s hand snaked forward and captured her wrist. He slowly extracted her fingers from her heated core. He lifted her arm, and then encircled her wrist with his fingers. Her spendings cooled upon her fingers slightly, before again they were sheathed in warmth. William’s mouth encased her fingers. His tongue plundered between the digits, collecting it prize.

“Delectable honeyed, sweet cream,” William’s mind purred as he continued to feast upon Buffy’s spendings. Her lids fluttered with the overwhelming pleasure that he bestowed upon her fingers.

In a flurry of motion, Buffy spun in his arms. Fingers remained captured in the depths of his mouth. Her heated gaze witnessed William erotically lavishing attention upon her once coated digits. Extracting them from his mouth with a slight ‘pop’, Buffy replaced them with her hungry mouth. Tasting herself upon his lips and tongue caused her mind to short circuit. One set of deft fingers grasped his locks, as the others descended his muscular chest seeking his manhood.

Finding her prize, Buffy’s hand encircled the flesh-encased steel. William’s mouth broke from hers, gasping from her touch. After several skillful pulls, she then released him. Her heated gaze bore into his, as Buffy lowered herself to her knees. Kneeling before him as in prayer, Buffy reached for his hand. Without resistance, William obliged her movements. By movement only, she instructed for him to grip his cock within his palm.

“See what I see, William.”

At her throaty instruction, William’s cock jumped within the confines of his fist. Lust-filled blues remained transfixed upon Buffy’s gaze, which remained trained upon his ministrations. Her pointed, pink tongue danced across her sweetly battered lips, while she continued to watch.

William’s hand bestowed circular caresses, which quickly turned into pleasurable, brusque tugs. Buffy watched in awe as the purplish, belled head trickled some of his seed. Without warning, her tongue lapped the droplet from the slit, upon his down stroke. His head lolled backwards from her ministration. His heavy sac, contracted slightly, heralding his building climax.

Before he was too far-gone, William released himself. Deep, steadying breaths filled his lungs. Buffy’s lids fluttered from the unexpected interruption. Without words, he pulled her to a full height, placing his arms under her shaky legs and carried her toward his bed. Gently, he placed her upon the mattress, while he hovered above her momentarily. With outstretched arms, she beckoned to him.

Buffy’s lay before him, offering herself completely. Joined from sternums to hips, their mouths became infused in a timeless battle. Buffy’s eager hands roamed over his back and sculpted posterior. William, braced one hand upon the mattress, the other sought any part of her heated flesh.

He slowly lowered himself, his mouth craving more. Teeth and tongue lavished attention upon her throat and breasts. He placed small nips upon her nipples, Buffy’s back bowed as she sought more. Always more.

Hungry bites were bestowed upon her quivering abdomen. Eager lips continued downward, reaching her mound. Heaving, hot breath tickled her folds, as William hovered over his heaven. Buffy’s glazed eyes sought his. Immediately, gazes met, his mouth devoured her core. He began to feast upon her feminine folds, like a man starved.

Her nails scored his scalp, while Buffy held him to her, her hips shifting slightly. His talented tongue lavished long strokes upon her sodden entrance. After several tedious swipes, the pointed tip tapped upon her swollen pearl. An orgasm that was only slightly simmering, boiled forward covering his mouth and chin with her spendings. William continued to clear her core from all her sweetened release. Mews and incoherent words spilled from Buffy’s slack lips, his ministrations continued.

William pulled away from her core, his gaze lingering upon her. Lust-filled eyes hidden slightly by half-mast lids, golden tresses wildly splayed upon his onyx sheets, a ghost of a small smile on her full, bee-stung lips. She was a vision of pure beauty. Her arms stretched forward reaching for him, William knew what she needed, what she desired.

Extracting a condom from his end table, he slowly worked the latex over his hypersensitive cock. Once in place, he slowly lowered himself to the center of her splayed thighs. His gaze met hers. Several moments passed, as words unspoken lingered between them. With the next two words whispered from her lips, William knew she granted him access into heaven itself.

“William, please.”

He entered her womb, with a slow, tender plunge. His eyes slammed closed once the head breached her depths. She was extremely wet, tight and perfect. Inch upon inch, Buffy’s nails dug further into his back. He filled her completely, yet his hips continued their forward motion. Once he was fully seated, William slowly opened his eyes. Buffy’s features were filled with utter bliss. Biting her lower lip, eyes blazing, she urged him to move.

His hips retracted gradually, pulling from her fiery depths. Almost completely unsheathed, the belled head was all that remained within. With equal gradualness, he reentered. After several graceful motions, his pace increased. Buffy’s mews and grasps of fevered hands, spurred the tempo of his hips. Within moments, the once gentle entries became frantic, deep and demanding.

William’s hand plunged within her tresses. His mouth sought hers. Each desired to devour their lover completely. Buffy’s hands moved from his back to his chest. Nails scored across his nipples, causing William to cry out in pleasure. Once their lips disengaged Buffy used all her strength to push William from her body. Splayed across the sheets, Buffy moved with urgency to sit astride his hips. In one fluid movement, she impaled herself upon his cock with a cry of sheer ecstasy.

Buffy rode him with all her strength. William’s fingers dug into her hips. His neck bowed backward into the soft mattress. Chants of pleasure filled the air, as each demanded the other to fall into the abyss of their climax first. His head shot forward, eyes trained upon the golden goddess before him. Extracting one hand from her hips, his deft fingers clasped the swollen pearl that pulsated at the apex of her folds.

Her ministrations ceased, while her inner walls clenched his cock deep within her womb. Buffy’s scorching core blissfully tortured him with rapid squeezes, instantly triggering his climax. As his seed filled the only barrier between them, Buffy spent form collapsed forward, upon his chest. Strong arms ensconced her. Their chests rose and fell in mirrored pants.

William placed soft, chaste kisses upon her crown, while Buffy slowly traced patterns upon his chest. Without any words, each of them had the same thoughts. Never before had either of them felt such utter perfection.

Once their breaths slowed, Buffy gingerly extracted herself from her lover. She pulled her spent body within the confines of his sheets, while he sat on the edge of the bed to remove the condom. Once it had been taken care of, William climbed under the sheets next to Buffy. Silently, he opened his arms, and she molded to his side. Her head pillowed upon his chest, her eyes searched his.

After several moments of their gazes drinking one another in, Buffy spoke, “Hi.”

“Hi,” William whispered, pulling Buffy into another mind-altering kiss.