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Ch. 3: Under the Stars

The cool air felt delicious on her flushed skin, and Buffy briefly closed her eyes, letting the air lick her neck and face. She walked quietly next to William towards the car, wondering what they were going to do next, whether the night was over, whether she'd get the chance to have her wicked way with him before she burst. She sighed quietly.

"Something wrong? Tired? Did you want to go home?" William asked nervously. He knew he was probably being overly sensitive to every sound she was making, but his whole body seemed in overdrive, and every sound and touch and taste was quickly pushing him over the edge. It was difficult not completely giving in to the sensations.

"No, not at all. I don't want to go home yet," Buffy said, softly looking up at him. She smiled and then cast her eyes down, continuing towards the car.

William tried not to let his heart leap out too much at her soft voice, soft eyes, soft skin, soft hair...He shook himself and quickly opened the door for Buffy.

She grinned at his gentlemanly actions; she never got used to them--and it never got old--no matter how many times he did it.

He climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Where to, then?"

"The park. Let's go to the park," Buffy decided. She opened the window a little to let the night air in. William began to back out of the parking lot, and Buffy settled comfortably into her seat. Leaning back on the head rest, she let the wind caress her and felt her hair sweep around gently.

William glanced over at her and felt the stirrings of a poem inside, not to mention the lower stirrings of a different sort. He never tired of looking at her, of seeing how much she enjoyed the world and all of its delights. That lush living made him both envious and awed--and it was one of the things he loved about her. "The park it is," he stated.

When they reached their destination, all the lights were out, since technically the park was closed after sunset. "Are we going to get in trouble for being here?" William questioned, looking around at the dark meadows and unlit tennis courts.

"Depends on what we're doing," Buffy commented coyly, flashing him a grin before hopping out of the car.

William sat dazed for a moment, trying to quell the sudden possibilities that were flashing through his mind. He slowly followed after her.

"God, what a beautiful night," she breathed, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. "There's just something about night time, you know? Something dreamy and intoxicating and enthralling. Don't you think?" she asked as she turned to look at him.

William's breath caught as he saw Buffy staring at him, the moon full and bright behind her, casting a light glow on her hair. Her eyes waited expectantly for his answer, but he was unable to say anything. Her petite frame standing in the moonlight, looking at him, there with him--it swept through him like a buzzing bolt of electricity. Finally, he spoke. "It's beautiful," he murmured, his blue eyes intently gazing into hers.

Buffy felt her cheeks warm at his gaze, but she couldn't look away, couldn't resist staring back at the blue eyes that penetrated her skin and filled her with its passion. They stood, gazing at each other, the night backdrop paling in comparison to the fiery flames all around them.

Eventually, she broke their eye contact and looked at the moon. "Full moon. 'And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, cluster'd around by all her starry Fays,'" she quoted softly.

William stepped forward, unable to stop looking at her. "'But here there is no light, save what from heaven--'" he murmured as he tenderly pushed a stray hair away from her face--"'is with the breezes blown through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.'"

"You remembered," she said breathlessly.

"How could I not?" he murmured, his hand resting on her shoulder. "You were studying it in class, and you made me read it with you because you loved it so much. We read it together that night when we were snowed in at the library and the librarians wouldn't let us leave. Sat on the floor in the stacks, surrounded by shelves of books, reading it over and over again to make you feel better. And then you wrote it everywhere--on your profile, on your notebook, in your emails..." he teased. "That, and of course the man's a genius and worth memorizing."

"Gotta love Keats," Buffy commented laughingly, her laughter merely a pretense for the nerves that were skittering over her body. The lust had come and receded, lingering but not overpowering, but now in its place was a passionate and throbbing desire to be with him, to love him, to connect to him--because the magnetism, the pull between them seemed so strong that it was almost painful not to touch him, not to acknowledge how much they belonged to each other. Though Buffy had sometimes felt such moments with him, now it thundered over her, forcing her to recognize the attraction. She shivered in the delight of her emotions.

The moment slowly ebbed for William, and he tried to find his way out of the haze of moonlight and unspoken dreams. "I've got a blanket in the car, if you want," he spoke softly, rubbing her arms to warm her.

She melted into his touch and then responded, "A blanket would be perfect. We could spread it on the ground and lie under the stars. Wouldn't that be nice?" She turned to look at him, her sudden movement letting her breasts slightly brush against his hands, their bodies almost touching as she glanced up at him.

William tried not to make his harsh intake of breath be too obvious, her closeness thrilling him and tempting him. She looked so innocent, staring up at him with those large hazel eyes and asking him if he wanted to lie next to her, if he wouldn't mind having her body next to his, the starry sky their blanket. "I'll go get it," he said quickly, almost breathlessly, and he quickly moved towards the car.

Buffy gasped, the sudden loss of his nearness almost causing her to ache with its absence. She moved down into the meadow to a patch of level grass, charting this area to be the spot. William returned, blanket in tow, and they spread it on the ground between them. He looked nervous for a moment, unsure of his next actions. Buffy sympathized with his uneasiness and decided to move first. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the ground. "Come. Lie down." She patted the area next to her and watched as he nudged his shoes off. Once he was seated next to her, she leaned back and lay down completely, her knees still bent as she gazed up into the sky. "So nice."

William hesitating before awkwardly falling onto his back next to her. His neck was still tense, not completely on the ground, and he wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Should he put them behind his head? Too casual? Should he cross them on his chest? Too formal? Should he leave them on his sides? He had no idea, and they were still rigidly pressed against his sides when he felt Buffy's body brush against them. He froze, head an inch above the blanket, knees bent and open, arms completely still.

"You don't mind, do you? It's a little cold." Buffy lightly pressed herself against his body, attempting to use his body to warm herself. She knew it seemed a little cliché, but her plan wasn't quite unfolding the way she wanted, and the night was making her brain all addled and incoherent. William wasn't saying much, and she wondered if she was being too obvious, if she was making him uncomfortable. Should she say something? Or do something? "Um, so, Keats. You like Keats, right?"

William slowly lowered his head to the blanket and forced himself to relax his limbs. She wanted to talk about poetry. Perhaps she was moved by the poetic beauty of the night and not the attraction that he felt was electrifying the air. Yes, that was probably it. He sighed lightly and felt his body slump a little. "Keats is wonderful." He cleared his throat, trying to shift into a more dogmatic, less emotional mood. "He was so prolific in his mere 25 years of age. He lived his passion through his words, since he couldn't through his body."

Buffy smiled at the change in his tone, as if he were trying to move them into more neutral territory. She would have none of that. "Do you know a lot of his stuff by heart?" she asked as she settled even closer to him.

William tensed up again, and soon her closeness began affecting him physically. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about her smooth skin rubbing against his arm. "Actually, I know much of his poetry. I went through a time when he was all I read."

"Yeah, I went through a phase when all I read was Pablo Neruda. Have you read any of his work?"

"Yes. I even tried reading his work in the Spanish, but I'm not that fluent. The translators are pretty amazing as it is." His spirit flagged a little as their conversation began turning bookish.

"I know. Do you have a favorite?" she asked, her face nuzzling his arm slowly.

He knew which one always called to him, always comforted and pained him. He tried not to tense up at her tickling breath on his arm, and with closed eyes he began reciting, his voice soft yet sensuous.

"We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues."

Buffy's body trembled as his voice began to slide over her body, but the sadness of his tone, the quiet resignation that ran through it began to hurt her, grasp at her with desperation. "'Clenched Soul.' But such a sad poem," she noted.

"Life doesn't always bring satisfaction. Sometimes the dreams just recede into the twilight, so elusive," he murmured, the feelings of unfulfilled hunger so usual for him.

"But it can." Buffy propped up on an elbow to look at him and quietly began to recite her own, fluttering her fingers up and down his arm.

"If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking -- continued about 26
hours later ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,

not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs up through the vines;
if you were not that bread the fragrant moon
kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,

oh, my dearest, I could not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that is --
sand, time, the tree of the rain,

everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all:
in your life I see everything that lives."

Abruptly, William shifted his arm and scoffed at her words. "Stuff of dreams. Intangible, unattainable dreams."

At that moment, Buffy decided it was time. The poetry, the night air, the pessimistic look on William's face--all these things together were pushing her to action, and the entire night had been screaming for some sort of change, some sort of decision to push them one way or another. She was ready to dive in, taste him, stir to motion that irrepressible desire that pulsed against her heart every time she saw him. She swiftly turned and straddled him, her hands pressed on his chest. "What dreams? What intangible dreams?" she asked, seated atop his waist.

William was so stunned he was speechless. Her sudden actions were completely unexpected--he had been ready to finish their discussion of poetry, drive her home, and then spend another night with his hand, the only tangible thing he'd had when it came to Buffy. And now? Was it possible she felt something? He prayed she didn't feel that something starting to stir beneath her. Still bowled over by her position on top of him, he stared back at her wordlessly.

"Well? I mean, do you--I mean, do you feel this?" She waved her hand for effect. "Not just the poetry, not just the night air--but this? Between us?" she asked.

William was still unable to say anything; her face in the moonlight and her body surrounding his effectively rendered him speechless.

Buffy blushed and wondered if she hadn't made a mistake. She took one last try. "Do you want me? I mean, do you like me? Like--" She paused, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Do you like-like me?" she asked, perched atop his body, her face staring down at him in question.

Finally, William found his voice, as well as the ability to move his body. "Buffy, I don't know how to react. I--"

"Oh my god," Buffy breathed, her head falling in shame. She started to move off of him. "I can't believe I--"

"No, don't." He held her still, his hands firmly keeping her thighs around him. "I do," he answered, his voice shaky with nerves. "I do, Buffy. God, like you? I can't believe you didn't know, couldn't see how much." He began caressing her legs, trying to calm himself. "And want you? Always."

Buffy bit her lip, trying not to jump in excitement. Her own attraction was finally reciprocated in a way that couldn't be doubted, couldn't be analyzed away. "Really?" she responded softly. She licked her lips and leaned in a little. "So it's not just me? I'm not crazy for sensing something?"

William breathed in deeply, as if preparing to bare his soul and hope that it wouldn't be whipped. He propped himself on his elbows and narrowed the distance between them. "For so long I thought it was just me, that you'd never see me as anything but a friend, a young friend with a silly crush." He looked away in embarrassment.

"I just couldn't keep pretending that, and especially when I went away. I thought about you so much, but you didn't seem to miss me," she mumbled.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, his forehead touching hers gently. "I didn't want you to think I was obsessed, but I felt at a loss without you, like something was missing."

"Me, too!" Buffy agreed, rubbing her hands along his shoulders. "So when I came back, I thought I'd see you, see if maybe you felt it. But you seemed the same, always so polite and gentlemanly. And all I wanted to do was kiss you silly." Her eyes widened with embarrassment at her confession, and his widened with surprise--and then they darkened with desire.

He swiftly changed their positions, and Buffy found herself beneath him. "Did you?" he murmured as he came closer. "If I'd known, I'd have done it years ago."

Her heart pounded with anticipation as his face neared. "I wish you would have. You never did anything, so I assumed you didn't want to," she whispered.

"You were always with someone else, or talking about someone else. Didn't think you were interested," he said, his insecurity creeping back into his voice, and he moved back slightly.

She reached up to keep him from moving away, loving the feel of his hair in her fingers. "Well, they did--I mean, they made the first move. I assumed that was the guy's job, so I waited for you. And you didn't, so I figured you didn't want to. But I always did--always hoped you would. That you'd break out of that shyness and come after me," she said lightly, playing with his hair.

"Did you, now? Like me to come after you? Not be a gentleman?" William teased as he started towards her again.

"No, just want me enough that it'd make you forget to be one--if just for a while," she teased back, glancing at his lips that were so close.

William gazed at Buffy, her face slightly flushed and her eyes fluttering all over his face. He could barely understand how they had come to this, how she'd ended up beneath him. He was afraid it was all a dream, weaved by the queen-moon in the sky. But if it were a dream, he was going to make it a good one. Slowly, he lowered his head to kiss her.

Buffy held her breath and waited to feel his lips.

And finally, they touched--and the night burst into stars.

She tasted so sweet, her lips easily fitting his and making his whole body come alive. He felt her tongue flutter out and suck his lower lip, and he met it with his own. He kissed her deeply, feeling their tongues melt together and dance in the heat. He felt her fingers running through her hair, and his hand began moving down her body, feeling her supple skin jump at his touch. She moaned, shifting her body to press even more intimately against his. Her sounds made him harden even more, and he couldn't help but rub himself against her. She moaned again, and he plundered her mouth again, aching to taste her warmth. Then he began to kiss her neck, exposed by their movements. He licked at her skin and felt his whole body become heated at the touch. He continued his movement to her shoulder, encouraged by her hands guiding his head.

Buffy was quickly dissolving into a puddle of wetness. His hands, his tongue, his lips--they were so hot against her. She nudged her leg against his so that she could wrap it around him, and her movement pushed them even closer. She felt his hard length pressed against her thigh, and it drove her further into desire. She began kissing his face ardently, running her hands up and down his back, sneaking her hands under his shirt to touch his skin. They both moaned when her hands stroked his back, the direct contact electrifying. William came back to kiss her lips, and they began tangling into each other once more.

Their cries were heady and desperate, and they were unaware of everything around them. It was only skin, heat, touch, desire--nothing else mattered...

...until a beam of light broke the darkness, and a deep voice broke into the noises. Buffy and William turned their eyes towards their intruder, and both froze at the sight of the older policeman peering at them.

"What are you kids doing here? The park is closed."





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