The Penny Series

Ficlet 21) Penny Readings
Summary: She's moving in!

The door opened quietly, letting in a sliver of light as a dark shape slipped inside the room before closing it just as quietly, enclosing them in blackness. Two footfalls echoed loudly in his ears, but he feigned sleep, and suddenly the bed sank as Buffy jumped onto the mattress and crawled across to where he lay. Her body cloaked him as she wrapped herself around him. A groan escaped his parted lips as her delicious curves pressed into him.

“Buffy?” he asked thickly.

“Angel, I’m sorry,” she snuffled, burrowing into his cool frame. “I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me, but when you finally said yes to me moving in- I thought you meant as I meant it to become, where we’d live together as a couple. The things I said to you,” she choked, a soft sob escaping her heaving chest as she continued on demurely. “I’m so sorry, Angel.”

“Don’t be,” he sighed, raising a leg, trying to focus on something else besides her small breasts squashed against his side.

Unconsciously, she started rubbing herself against his upturned leg, a soft keening noise rumbling through her as she moved against him. He swallowed thickly, his hands of their own accord coming to rest on the sides of her ribcage, just beneath her breasts. His hips instinctively ground upwards against her small weight, and she moaned again, brushing against him faster to alleviate the growing tension---

A disjointed growl escaped him as he rolled them over and held her against the bed, grinding his arousal briefly into her before pulling away abruptly. Buffy latched onto him, her legs encircling his hips, her arms entwining around his neck, and followed him up. There was no escape from her luscious, heated passion.

She kissed his throat, worrying her teeth over his Adam’s apple. His next growl rumbled in her mouth, as he kissed her fiercely before detaching himself forcibly from her and shifting away. When Buffy tried to follow him, he held her away at arm’s length, watching her scantily clad figure writhe beneath him.

His eyes flashed gold. “You can’t do that, Buffy!” He hissed through elongating fangs as he struggled with his self control. “I’m not made of steel; I can’t- we can’t do this if all we ever do is get ensnared in our passion. I will bend, Buffy, and the conseqes oes of it will destroy us.”

Buffy panted loudly but stilled under his hands at his words. Mutely, she nodded and rolled away and off the bed. “Then I can’t stay here for the remainder of the night and predawn hours because I’m a bunch of nerves ready to go off at a touch.”

He watched her through amber eyes as she slowly, yet hastily left his bed and walked to the door. She turned at the last minute before slipping away from him and stared avidly at his face until he averted it self consciously. “But I won’t settle for a platonic roommate approach to this, Angel. We’re a couple, and granted there are a few issues to work out in this situation, but we’ll make it work for us. I’m eighteen, it’s my choice to live with you, and I won’t go back to my mom.”

“And if this doesn’t work out?” he asked quietly, afraid of her response.

“I’ll move out of the mansion,” Buffy murmured, watching her nails pick at the paint on the doorframe.

“Where?” he growled softly.

Buffy shrugged, “Somewhere, I’ll work it out. But my mother isn’t my home anymore, if she ever was since coming to Sunnydale.” She looked up, “She’s more focused on the gallery and alcohol than me. My home has always been with you; it’s what made saying goodnight so hard all the time.”

He reverted back to his human visage, and looked up from the bedspread. “I’ll try my damnedest to make it work for us, Buffy. But we’re a couple, you’re going to have to try too.”

“So am I moving in?” She asked casually.

He didn’t pretend to not know what she meant. Licking his lips, he nodded once, closing his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll clear out some drawer space tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she whispered before ducking out.

He fell back against the mattress, worried. How was he going to resist the temptation she presented to him? How was he going to be able to resist her sweet body curled around his at night and not be tempted to do something that would surely doom them from the start?

He didn’t know the answers to that. He was afraid what ight ght do to them, but it was apparent the other way that he had hoped to have it was not an option. Buffy would not let it be; she didn’t know how it was with him. He understood this, but didn’t she realize that it wasn’t just their sexual activities that made him happy?

Anything as simple as a smile could do him in, or anything as clear-cut as making love to her. If it was just making love, that would be hard enough; what could he offer to his hormonally imbalanced slayer if she got horny? Hell he was horny, what could he possibly accept from Buffy to alleviate it?

It didn’t seem likely that he’d be able to remain stoic and unmovable in close confines with her. In fact it was almost inevitable that he would indeed give in to the irresistible urges he had to sweep her into his arms, curse be damned. And it would be damned.

Though if he thought about it some more, didn’t their schedules conflict enough that they might, just might, never end up sharing the bed but for brief minutes? If at all? It was almost too good a happening to trust, he thought with a wry grin. Buffy was known to be difficult and then some to wake in the morning to go to school.

But he would see that she did. An education was important; even if the schooling in this country was pretty wretched, it was better than most. Rolling over, he punched his pillow together and stuck it under his head as he stared at the wall. When she went to school, he’d go to sleep instead of near dawn. It was just a few hours later than he usually did, and instead of waking early around noon, he’d wake about the time she came back from school or training.

It seemed the best idea if any, and he would go through with it even if he yearned, like Buffy, to share a bed together- in all meanings of the phrase. He loved Buffy. He would make it work. He had to; he wouldn’t accept anything less now that he had agreed to living with her.

“Oh God!” he groaned silently, burying his face into the mattress.

A whole new set of problems sprang to mind. If she was living with him, and staying in this room, not only would she be sleeping in here, she’d be changing, showering, and performing all the rituals she would do to make herself presentable before facing other people.

He should stop being a melodramatic fool. Buffy was sure to have bad morning breath, and spend undue amounts of time in the bathroom to the extent it would annoy him, and dress unsuitably for school and he’d make her wear something else. With a grimace, he smiled ruefully to himself; who was he kidding? He was looking forward to it. If she snored, sang off key in the shower, and paraded around in front of him in the skimpiest of outfits, he would love every minute of it.

They would eat together, train together, watch movies and horrible teen soap operas, read quietly before the fireplace, work on homework, patrol, buy groceries and blood, steal kisses, do laundry, and maybe she would finally pose for a drawing he had promised her.

Buffy moving in didn’t seem so bad anymore, now that he was looking at it from a positive viewpoint. She was eighteen, an adult by the standards of today. It wasn’t his place to make the decision for her to move out from her mom, but it was his place, however, to offer her a place to say without seeming presumptuous; after all, they were in a relationship.

He smiled sardonically. Was that not her argument in the first place, he thought, setting about going to sleep. Surprisingly it came very easily, and when he next awoke it was the middle of the day on Saturday. With a yawn he stretched and sat up blearily, looking around him perplexed at the odd feeling that wouldn’t leave him.

The door happened to open then, as Buffy came in wearing earphones and humming quietly to herself. He watched her carefully reorganize his wife beater drawer with her bras and panties. His arousal peaked as she slipped in the pajama top full of holes. She closed the drawer with a thud, humming off key to the noise that came off that piece of machinery.

Her eyes widened at seeing him sitting up before relaxing in a congenial smile. “Afternoon, sleepy head.” She greeted.

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Did it have to be my wife beater drawer?”

Buffy nodded with a grin and sat down excitedly on the edge of the bed. “Yes, cause I got you a rack.”

“A rack?” he asked, confused.

“Those shirts fold up to practically nothing; I bought you a rack to put them on. Here, I’ll be right back.” She excused herself quickly and bounded out of the room.

Not quite awake, he got up and slipped on some pants over his boxers. He eyed the pile of wife beaters skeptically before grabbing one and pulling it over his head and slipping his arms into it.

Buffy came back with a box in her hands. Happily she thrust it at him and he took it with caution, opening it to find that inside was a stand with a few shelves. It was roughly the size of two VCRs stacked one on top of the other. With her help, he refolded and organized the undershirts and stuck them on the shelves.

“To make room for some other things of mine, I was thinking we could combine our underwear drawers.”

“You mean add my boxers and socks to the drawer you just put together?”

Buffy nodded, picking the empty box up, a mischievous smile lingering on her lips. “I’m going to take this downstairs. Faith and Willow are going to be by in a little bit with some things from my room.”

“I’ll go wash up,” he said, motioning to the door to the master bathroom.

Buffy walked over to him, and stood up on her tippy-toes to give him a light kiss on the lips. “I love you, Angel,” she whispered before giving him another sweet kiss, a light lingering brush of her lips over his.

“I love you, Buffy,” he murmured, standing there as she sashayed out the door.

A few moments passed before he realized that he was still standing there in the middle of the empty room. With a shake of his head he pivoted and went into the bathroom, careful to close the door behind him. He flicked the switch, and the room was flooded with light. As he looked around the neat orderly bathroom, he wondered what changes were about to occur in it.

Certainly her things would litter the room, making it appear as if someone actually used the bathroom. Her bathrobe would hang over the door, her soaps and lotions would clutter the ledge by the bathtub, her hairspray would sit next to his hair gel, her toothbrush would lie next to his; his bachelor existence as he knew it was about to change drastically.

Stripping out of his pants and boxers and putting them in the dirty laundry basket in the walk in closet, he realized he was going to welcome it. The dreary, drab, unchanging days would be full of life and laughter and love. He wasn’t confined to loneliness anymore, because she wanted, needed, loved him.

As he did for her, he acknowledged, turning on the shower and stepping under the currently cool spray. It warmed considerably in the next few minutes, and he remained still under the near scalding water, before moving with barely contained excitement as he went about washing his hair and scrubbing his body with a bar of soap. He wanted to get done with the necessary evil and be out there helping Buffy unpack her things.

Therefore it was quite a shock to step out of the shower to find Faith placing a box of Buffy’s things on the counter. Under her interested gaze, he quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. An uncomfortable silence fell between them before Faith finally spoke up.

“Your girl, B, she asked me to bring up the toiletries here.”

“Did she actually say to put them in the bathroom, though?” he groused, annoyed, as he shifted away from her.

Faith licked her lips. “Well no, I uh, I’ll just go.”

“Good thinking,” he muttered, and when the door closed he added, “About time too.”

He proceeded to get dressed in a hurry and was toweling his hair dry in low slung pants when Buffy barged in. She stopped in the doorway and eyed his bare chest, following one of the errant beads of water running down his skin. He smirked knowingly and reached for the hair gel on the counter. Her eyes flitted to the dark towel that covered the large mirror in the bathroom, and she blinked.

“I don’t like being reminded that I don’t have a reflection,” he told her quietly as he wrapped the damp towel from his hair around his neck.

“I guessed as much. I’ll make sure to cover the full length mirror Faith and I will be bringing up in a few. I can’t imagine where Willow is, she should have been here by now.”

Buffy went over to the box and opened the flaps, pulling out the items he had earlier guessed would be taking over the bathroom. A strange lacy ball attached to a string was pulled out after an array of bottles of varying sizes, and he found himself curious.

“What’s that?” he asked, replacing the hair gel and picking up a few of her bottles and reading the labels.

“This?” Buffy asked surprised, holding the strange object up. “It’s a loofah.”

“A loofah?” He inquired, taking her bubble bath bottles and placing them on the ledge of the enormous tub, before entering the shower and sticking the shampoos and conditioners on the shelf next to his bar of soap and sandalwood.

When he turned around, Buffy handed him a wire rack. “A loofah,” she said, “lathers soap and makes time quicker in the shower. This,” she continued, as he gently removed the wire piece from her, “is going to hold my shaving kit and razors.”

“You should be very glad not to use a straight blade,” he commented absently.

“Nicked yourself a few times then?” Buffy asked with a giggle.

He gave her a small scowl before she retreated so he could exit the enclosed tiled space. “You would have too, and I didn’t get the chanceuse use mirrors all that often.”

“Or ever,” Buffy agreed congenially, turning back to the box and removing her hairbrush and toothbrush. One she placed next to his in the medicine cabinet and the other she stuck in a plastic green basket with a few other bottles.

He watched amazed as she pulled out some torturous looking devices and stuck them under the sink in the cabinets, along with cotton swabs, nail polish remover, a box of hair scrunchies, and mouth wash. The last thing she pulled from the box was an array of makeup haphazy sty stuffed in an octagonal decorative container.

“I never knew you had so much stuff,” he said, shaking his head in astonishment as he looked around. Her presence was seen in many places, but fortunately it was neat, though how long that would last he didn’t know.

Buffy looked around the bathroom too, before shrugging. “Willow’s supposed to bring my book collection and Mr. Gordo and then I’m all set.”

“Shall I go order pizza to celebrate and you guys can put on some horrible chick flicks on that television you must have brought too.”

“Really?” Buffy asked excitedly, giving him a quick squeeze. “You of course will be watching it with us, right?”

“Couldn’t I just uh, read in the other room?” he asked, a little green.

She laughed, and patted him on his arm, “It’s okay, Angel, you don’t have to if it will upset your delicate sensibilities.”

“I beg to-” he began when Buffy continued.

“Stop spluttering, Angel,” she teased, poking him in the side. “Shall we get pepperoni and beef topping or beef topping and extra cheese?” The mansion echoed with a chiming of bells, and Buffy perked up. “I bet that’s Willow.”

Confused, he looked down at her. “Who else would it be?”

“Oz and Willow?” Buffy queried, guiding him out the door of his inner sanctuary.

It was indeed both Oz and Willow downstairs, chatting amicably with Faith as she lounged against the back of the sofa in the living room. The TV stood starkly in the corner, its face full of snow but thankfully muted. The presence of that device changed the entire ambience of the room. He longed for the den and its merrily crackling fireplace; this room would never have the same inviting manner to pull up a book and read by the hearth.

“Angel here has said he’d let us order some pizza when we’re done.” Buffy told her friends.

Oz nodded, “Thanks, man.”

Was it him or did Oz there also imply something more than gratitude for food? And Buffy thought he was cryptic on occasion.

“I hope you don’t mind that I invited Oz along,” Willow said, blushing. “It’s just that Faith said she couldn’t get the TV to work and I’m late cause I went to find Oz so he could fix it.”

“Was my mother home?” Buffy asked worriedly, taking the duffel bags from Willow and setting them on the ground by the sofa.

“No, I’m sorry, Buffy.”

“Why are you sorry?” Faith asked incredulously. “Just because Buffy’s mom has more in common wier der deadbeat dad than we all knew doesn’t make what she does your fault, Red.”

“Willow’s just very in tune with others’ moods,” Oz said with a smile directed at Willow. “Shall I see to the TV?”

Buffy nodded, and grabbed Angel’s arm, herding him into the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “Hey you guys, is there anything you want from the kitchen?”

“Buffy,” he started nervously, “there’s nothing in the refrigerator for you guys. You ate it all the last time you were here, and I don’t think O positive is what they want.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buffy chuckled. “Faith and I went shopping prior to coming here. We’re prepared to host a keg party with the amount of food we bought.”

He felt stricken. “We’re not though, right?”

Buffy gave him a kiss on the cheek and sauntered over to the cabinets and threw them open. “See? Tada! Food every mortal wants to indulge in to gain fatty pounds and oodles of calories.”

“Is any of that healthy?” he asked with a frown.

“Somewhere certainly.” She pulled out a bag of apple crisps, running her finger down the package. “Oh see! Calcium fortified! That’s healthy.”

“When they’re gone, I’m taking you out to get real food.” He said with dry amusement.

“Oh no, look! There’s also vitamin B and C in this too!” Buffy continued proudly. “Faith swears by them as a good energy replenishment.”

Not convinced, he merely asked. “Do you want to trust anything Faith endorses?”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him, and stuck the bag under her arm before grabbing a few sodas and two bottles of water. He grabbed the waters from her and followed her out of the kitchen, quite certain he’d have to force her to take everything back and get those items from that pyramid thingy.

“Snacks!” Buffy called out, passing Willow the two sodas for her and Oz when she walked by.

Faith eagerly moved forward to take the apple crisps from her, and then one of the bottles of water from him. Through a mouthful of the dried apple rings, Faith gestured over to Oz. “He can’t get the stupid contraption to work.”

“I don’t understand it,” Oz said composedly, coming out from behind the set. “It should be working, but it’s not.”

“Well now what?” Willow asked, bummed, as she grabbed a handful of apple rings from the bag Faith was holding.

He sat on the sofa silently, apathetic as to how the entertainment issue was settled. After a few moments of bickering he heard Buffy shout out, sounding a bit exasperated. “Hey, it’s still daylight and that’s not fair to Angel. Why don’t we ask him what he did for entertainment prior to the invention of television.”

He groaned and sank lower in the cushions and closed his eyes. He wasn’t there, honest. Where was a book when he needed one? Especially now so he could hide.

“Angel?” Buffy questioned softly, squatting down before him, her hands resting on his knees as she looked up at him.

“Hmm?” He said noncommittally.

“What did you do prior to the television for entertainment?”

“Do you really want to be regaled with Angelus stories?” He muttered darkly.

Faith grinned, flopping down beside him. “That’d be wicked cool. So I hear he was a bad ass to end all bad asses.”

“Faith!” Willow hissed sharply, as Oz grabbed her and sat her in his lap as he took one of the side chairs.

Faith looked at her indignantly before facing him and giving him a small apologetic smile. “Sorry, Muffin Butt.”

He must have appeared as shocked as he felt, for Faith laughed uproariously and Buffy shot her a glare. He distinctly heard her muttered ‘mine’ under her breath. “So what did you do?” She asked, changing the subject abruptly from the ‘muffin butt’ comment.

“Told stories, back when we all lived with the dinosaurs secreted away in caves.”

Oz appeared to have cracked a smile. Willow looked like she was about to contradict the dinosaur comment until she got that it wasoke.oke. Faith just looked less than amused, but Buffy grinned up at him and shook her head.

She climbed into his lap and leaned back against him. The smell of her hair wafted in the air, and he breathed it in deeply. Her heartbeat fluttered in his ears like sweet music, the warmth of her body penetrated the coolness of his own, and he relaxed greatly with her in his arms.

“So we telling stories?” Willow asked curious. At everyone’s nod, she smiled. “I’ve been doing some Wicca research and came across the legend of the first witch.”

“Go on, Red,” Faith encouraged, popping another mouthful of apple crisps into her mouth.

So Willow proceeded to tell about the first witch, and how when her life had seemed hopeless she found strength in nature’s beauty. Her awe had started with thunderstorms and then the magical qua in in the world that surrounded her. She had harnessed the magics and taught other women of her joy in the beauty of the outdoors.

Faith then lightened up the atmosphere with her regalings about naked crocodile wrestling. Which wound up including other naked adventures, which started to get Buffy and Willow a little miffed. He just smiled, loving the misplaced jealousy, and merely held her tightly, making noncommittal noises now and then as he caught Oz’s eye over Buffy’s head.

Oz took the hint and told a traditional scary story about a Miss Weber whose effigy doll’s expression changed from perpetually happy to perpetually sad. From doll-like to lifelike one night mysteriously. A few nights following that odd discovery, Miss Weber was awakened by a scratching noise to find the doll at the end of her bed. Frightened, Miss Weber snatched the doll up and locked it in a chest, but the next night her only warning was a scratching noise before suddenly, she was being smothered by her own pillow with the doll holding it in place.

Buffy bade Oz to stop or give it a happy ending at this point, and he teased her about being afraid. The retort she gave him was scathing to say the least, especially since she had been attacked by a dummy herself two years ago. That bit of information quieted him and he wondered why he hadn’t known about that. Oz apologized for picking what appeared to have been a bad choice of if not genre than legend itself.

Then it was Buffy’s turn to tell a tale, and she surprised him with what she chose. A sixteenth century lad was captured off of his fishing boat by Algerian pirates. He was sold into slavery in North Africa where a wealthy Moorish goldsmith bought him. The young lad learned the trade of his owner and designed a ring for his beloved, whom he had never forgotten. When he had earned his freedom, his master asked him to stay and tried to win the lad over with riches and the hand of his only daughter, but the lad who was now a man refused. He went back home to a woman who had fortunately waited for him all those years. He gave her the ring, and they married, living happily ever after.

The others must have seen how this story affected him, them, and left because silence just pounded in his ears like her heartbeat. Buffy grabbed his hand and brought it up to her lips, where she placed a gentle kiss on his Claddagh.

“You see, you wear it like this to show you belong to someone, husband,” Buffy whispered, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

He was paralyzed. How did she-? When did-? “Why?” He choked.

“I wanted to know more on the ring, and Willow helped me search on the web.” Buffy whispered, hushing his next words with a more lingering taste of her mouth. His hands grappled in her hair as he pulled her down towards him so that she was closer.

“You don’t mind?” he murmured, trailing kisses to her ear.

“A tad, oh hubby of mine,” Buffy growled lightly, biting his earlobe.

He retaliated in kind. “Loving wife, beloved.” He husked.

She moaned, her fingers trailing distractedly down his shoulders to his hips before tiptoeing over to his erection. The feeling was exquisite as well as tormenting; quietly, he gripped her wrist and mutely shook his head, unable to find the words to tell her to stop. At the moment he didn’t particularly care if contcontinued or didn’t, though he was kind of hoping she would. Continue that is, but he didn’t think he could handle much more.

Shaking his head, he curled his fingers into her hips, muttering softly, “Buffy, Buffy.” He left open mouth kisses along her collarbone, before burying his face in her resplendent warm breasts.

“Angel,” she keened softly as his mouth closed over her turgid nipple. “You’ve still yet to tell me a story,” she hummed softly around his silent pulse.

“Penny readings,” he groused, huffing and annoyed, but he pulled himself away from her and walked over to the den to the bookshelv
B
Buffy followed him, sat on the floor by high straightk ark armchair, and took the quilt off the arm. The titles of the books blurred as he tried to select just one for him to read to her. Instead of picking up a play or novel, he ending picking up a collection of Irish folklore, which he assumed also contained a story very similar to the one Buffy had related on the Claddagh, but that wasn’t what he was after.

Everyone associated Ireland with fairies and leprechauns, but hardly anyone knew of the roan. Since Buffy appeared to be showing an interest, and in the theme of the evening he’d share another tale about the Emerald Isle.

“Have you ever heard of Garrett Hugh?” he asked absently, fingering through the index pages, before opening to the directed page and walking slowly back to the chair.

Buffy had wrapped herself in the quilt, and sat there hunched over, her legs drawn to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. She shook her head, blond locks fell around her face and she peeked up at him from under the shoulder length tresses. Her normally green eyes were gray with banked lust, open and curious. He smiled at her fondly and gave her the marked book for her to start reading before turning to the fireplace and stroking it to life.

When he came back, she was sitting there nose pressed to the page, her eyes following each line with an over exaggerated movement with her irises. With a low husky laugh he grabbed the volume from her and sat himself down in the soft plush leather.

“Two lovers, danced upon the seam, am, and mated in the tides. Together they lived on the edge of the distant horizon. Aisling and her Tyrone. Immortals whose love was not unlike the intricate mysteries of the moon and the sea…” Hed, hd, his voice low and quiet as he recanted the tale of the immortal lovers.

The fable was long, and he spoke in that same husky tone for a long time, unmarked by the clock, its passing only witnessed by the slowly dying fire. Buffy’s head, heavy with lethargy, rested upon his thigh as she stared up at him, mesmerized by the movement of his lips as theyled led around each new word.

“Garrett Hugh is a wretched man,” Buffy hissed suddenly, her voice angry. “And Eileen Mairéad too. Tyrone was married to Aisling, but her spiteful jealousy ripped them apart, all because he refused her as his mistress! It infuriates me!”

“You blame Garrett?” He murmured with a smile, his voice giving a scratchy ambience to the words. “He found a beautiful maiden on the shores and built a fire out of a seal skin. He hadn’t known that she waroanroan, and it wasn’t like Aisling could tell him, not with Eileen’s curse.”

“But to curse her to lose every memory she had of her Tyrone and of what she truly was?” She asked incredulously, lifting her head from its resting place. “Aisling would have no reason to care if her seal skin, her immortal link back to her self and lover was burned if she didn’t understand? Oh, Angel, I can’t bear it. Tell me it has a happy ending!”

“The hour grows late, I could read this to you later,” he offered.

“Don’t do that!” Buffy yelped taking the book from him and placing it on her own lap. “I’ll read it if you’re getting tired.”

“Very well,” he acquiesced, and settling back against the leather at his back, while rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was content to let Buffy finish the few remaining pages, pleased that she hadn’t fallen asleep but had hung on every word of the tale.

“‘You are the sun, Tyrone,’ Aisling told him fervently by the sea. ‘I am the dawn. For the sun to live, the dawn must die.’

“‘No!’ he growled fiercely. ‘We will never be separated! I am the sea and you are the foam that kisses me on the swells of waves.’

“‘I am mortal, bound to the shore where the foam breaks. What we have can never be as it was!’ Aisling cried out bitterly.

“‘It will be better,’ Tyrone promised, pulling her into the safety of his embrace.”

Her voice touched the words with trembling tears, and he cherished the sound of the wobble in her voice. He petted her hair, stroking the soft locks as she read, occasionally cupping the back of her head when she grew bitter. He would cherish the watery smile that would grace her mouth when the tale ended.

Buffy drew nearer, and her words became more rushed and nervous with every passing word, until finally she breathed out the last paragraphs in wonderment as the legend drew to a close.

“‘Aisling stepped into the sea spray, covering first her feet, and then her s, us, up and up until the water went nigh over her head. Alas she would drown, if only to become one with the sea and her lover again, for she would not marry Garrett Hugh, and she could not fight Eileen whose hate cursed them all.

“But just when her lungs were about to collapse from need of air, something sleek brushed her bare skin. It brushed by her again and again, until she opened her eyes. Twin soulful irises shimmered with salty tears, before inexplicably she was lifted into the air.

“‘Aisling, do not despair,’ Tyrone scolded in her mind. ‘For I’ve found a way to set us free. I will rend my skin in half, and you shall wear it, and together we’ll be two parts of a whole, sharing one and the same soul.’”

In haste she read the last lines to herself, whispering under her breath as the immortal roan lovers become what they were always supposed to be: one, inseparable entity, bound by love, passion, and the sea.

She closed the thick volume in silence, causing him to look down worried. There were tears trembling on her eyelids, and she sniffed loudly. It was cute. Taking her hand in his, he gently pried the tome from her and left it on the seat. Still holding her hand in his, he banked the fire, and guided her out of the room. His fingers lingered wistfully along the small of her back as he guided her to their room, and watched as she tiredly collapsed on the bed.

With a small shake of his head, he went to her drawers, and pulled open the top one to pull out a nightgown. He was guilty of choosing the one with the holes for his own benefit, which he held in his hand as he turned to his tired wife and beloved. ly sly sitting her up in his embrace, he removed her day clothes. His palms skimmed her sweet curves, before he resolutely tugged the nightshift over her head and placed her arms in the sleeves.

A tired ‘hmm’ sounded softly, barely audible, as he pulled the covers over her, and fluffed the pillow behind her ear. When he was done, he placed a chaste kiss to her brow and pulled himself away. With one long look towards the empty side of the bed, he left the room, leaving the door open. What would he give to love her as Aisling and Tyrone loved.


Yes the little "roan" fable is made up, and yes I made it up. No stealing.