The State of the Union -- The Remix Version
AUTHOR: Yseult deBreton
SUMMARY: Second verse. Same as the first.
DATE: 3 Nov 2012
RATING: NC-17 (for ze sex)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a companion piece to the 2009 IWRY Marathon Story The State of the Union
DISCLAIMER: Insert standard don’t sue me language here.
DISTRIBUTION: IWRY Marathon site, Yseult’s Passion, anyone else please ask first if you feel so inclined.
DEDICATION: To old lovers … wherever you are, I do remember you.
Angel didn’t even try to hide that he was staring at the blonde college student as she twirled the white ice cream cone on her tongue. From this angle, the hair escaping from her messy bun blew harmlessly around her face. She was self-absorbed in her dual goals of sun worship and ice cream ingestion. Her lack of awareness gave Angel time to examine her body: long limbs that ended at one end in shiny nude coloured heels and at the other in a red/white/black plaid miniskirt topped with a lemon yellow t-shirt. Her legs were shaped liked Buffy’s, even her stance was Buffy.
Angel smiled, thumbed open his phone, and fired off a text to Buffy:
just saw ur legs in shiny high heels + cute miniskirt.
He glanced around to see if anyone else was watching the woman. Her tongue snaked out to swirl the tip of the cone. Angel closed his eyes and pictured Buffy’s tongue performing the same action. When they were dating -- yes, Angel would admit now they dated in those months leading to her seventeenth birthday -- they would swing by the Dairy Queen just before it closed so Buffy could get a small vanilla ice cream cone. He texted again:
this woman’s eating ice cream. I wanna be the cone. U could lick me.
Angel’s mind continued to tumble through a montage of Buffy and ice cream memories. His smile widened as he recalled the Great Ice Cream Battle of Sunnydale Cemetery. Buffy had ultimately mashed her cone up his nose (an unintended consequence), but then kissed his face clean. Angel had declared himself the winner and claimed his prize by licking the ice cream from Buffy’s breasts. Everyone’s clothing had remained intact and on their respective bodies, but Angel had been very sure to rub his rock-hard cock against Buffy’s pelvis. Angel felt his pants bulge and sent two more texts:
Better idea. U culd lick part of me most most like the cone. The hard part.
Then u could eat the cream part.
His first human experience with ice cream had been courtesy of the Mohra demon. What flavour was that ice cream again? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. What Angel remembered most was the ice cream dripping on his chest and Buffy leaning in to lick it. He stifled a groan and sent a chaser text:
Or let it drip on my chest & u lick up. U like that. What u think?
He hoped her thought was “Yes, I want that too.” More than that, he hoped that his texts made Buffy think of him, want him, in the midst of her life. God, he missed her. Angel wasn’t sure how they had ended up here -- sexting without the pictures -- thousands of miles and three time zones apart from each other. This wasn’t how he’d thought they would be when he became human again. Wesley’s Shanshu prophecy reading was right .. and not right too. Humanity had been as painfully bestowed as when the Roma had returned his soul the first time. In the aftermath of the LA Apocalypse, it had been Nina who had nursed him to health amid the chaos of those mad “after” days. It was Nina who set bones that didn’t heal quickly or as well without vampiric powers. It was Nina who bathed Angel and fed him, Nina who sat with him through the nightmares, Nina who unquestioningly melded her body to his, Nina who walked beside him in the sunlight. In those long months of recovery, he never heard from Buffy. Her silence hurt Angel deeply; Nina’s presence was the only thing that stopped him from suicide. To be human and separated from Buffy because Buffy wanted the separation... it was too much. For so long he had believed that humanity meant days spent in bed with Buffy, broken kitchen tables, chocolate, ice cream...
It had taken nearly seven years for Angel to feel “normal” enough to contact Buffy. He wasn’t sure what her reaction would be, but he was ready to handle her rejection again. He didn’t know if she knew he was human. He couldn’t think of a good way to say, “Oh, by the way, I’m human now,” so he didn’t mention anything about a prophecy or being a Champion. Instead via email he told her what he was doing and where he was … and who was by his side now. Buffy was a big girl, he reasoned; she could figure it out for herself.
Angel was elated when Buffy replied two weeks later. She sounded happy and excited about the new direction of her life and her new home. He had sent another email, but once again Buffy was silent. He had tried. It wasn’t meant to be.
When she contacted him two year later, it was purely for business reasons, but it was enough to begin a stilted conversation over email. Angel discovered how much he missed having Buffy in his life. She was the only one from his past who was still around and talking to him. It was nice to “catch up” every couple of days. Even that first phone call had been neighbourly. More phone calls and emails? That was just two old friends getting together. And yeah, Angel still loved Buffy. He’d never stopped; he saw no point in pretending otherwise. He had never, and would never, flaunt his love for Buffy in Nina’s face, but he had never told Nina anything differently. She had accepted that as she had accepted everything else with Angel. It was one of the reasons why Angel and Nina were still together. Spike had it wrong: Buffy and Angel could be friends without being lovers.
Or so Angel thought. As they reconnected over email, Buffy and Angel relived some of their worst couple moments as they argued about misinterpretations, words out of context, perceived slights due to delays in response. Email was a horrible medium for them. Words were immortalized and scars were re-opened with each new reading. Eventually one of them would reach for the phone and the healing process would start.
It was during one of these healing calls when Angel said, “It’s a good thing I still love you.” He hadn’t thought about saying this; the words were suddenly there. When he hung up the phone, Angel took a moment to assess his feelings. Yes, he loved Buffy, but no longer as a friend. He was okay with that. He wondered if Buffy felt the same or if she was still skittish.
Angel was mildly surprised at the response. Buffy loved him. Still. As much as before. The reconnection over email became a discussion about reconnecting in person. He sent her a picture of his middle-aged self with no paunch or baldness standing in front of the Space Needle with Nina. Buffy sent him a group shot of the remaining Scoobies. He pulled the picture up on his phone. Buffy was in the front row with her arms around her much taller sister. She looked happy and relaxed. To him, she looked beautiful. He had wanted to tell her that, but she had insisted that he couldn’t make any comments. Angel had also wanted to tell her that his heart rate raced every time he looked at this picture. He vowed if he ever saw her in person, he would say exactly that.
He had discovered texting by accident. Nina had shown him so they could meet for dinner when she was in the city or tell him when her flight was delayed. Angel still didn’t understand why Buffy thought it was funny that he could text. He was a twenty-first century man and he loved all things tech. He’d even stood in line for an iPhone when it was first released.
Those first months of texting had been like the first emails: simple, day-in-the-life bursts of real time sharing. As they both became more familiar with the technology, the texts were more frequent. Angel liked the closeness. Buffy was the first person to learn his painting had sold for $51,095. She had shared his ecstasy. It was the next best thing to having her with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t tell Nina; he just told her second. Buffy was increasingly the first one to know about the important things in his life. He got the impression that the same was true for Buffy. She was between boyfriends. Angel was not unhappy with this; if he could, he’d be the one sharing her bed doing all sorts of things that they’d never tried together. This time she would remember.
One Saturday morning Buffy texted Angel that she had dreamt he was behind her, with his arms wrapped around her waist, and his face buried in her hair. She told him she had cried when she awoke and he was not there. She told him that she missed him so much it physically hurt. She wanted him so much. Angel had still been in bed. He texted back:
I m bhind u. Feel my hands on ur hips pulling u onto my cock. Fuck u slowly til u cum. Then my turn.
One hand gripped his cock and squeezed it while he waited for her reply:
Yes, ur turn
With that, Angel moved his hand up and down the length of his shaft in strong strokes until he came with a loud groan, his head thrown back, semen overflowing his hand. He had imagined it was Buffy’s pussy accepting his cum.
After that, Angel moved to an unlimited text plan. He and Buffy averaged 50 texts a day. Some were about the weather and food choices for lunch. Most were sex-intensive and involved fucking in multiple positions, locations, and degrees of exhibitionism. Angel liked his sex hard. Buffy liked hers harder. She wasn’t as graphic as Angel, but she wasn’t above asking to be mercilessly fucked by him before every college exam.
There were some no-go areas: everything must be consensual, no others could be involved, no questions about others, the safe word was “no”. Angel had been impressed with some of the scenarios that Buffy proposed. He hadn’t guessed that she enjoyed bondage or that she liked to be in control. He wondered what experiences had led to this knowledge, but he was afraid to ask. There were some things he did not want to know.
The night that the gallery took a 33% commission on one of his paintings and then told him he would need to wait 30 days for his portion of the sale, Angel was livid. It had been years since he’d had been this angry. He had driven recklessly which resulted in a speeding ticket. By the time he got home, he was enraged. Nina wasn’t there and Buffy was teasing him via texts. What he wanted was the sexual release that he’d only experienced with Buffy. When Angel couldn’t stand it any longer, he called and said, “Make me cum.” He couldn’t quite believe he’d asked ... and that she had delivered. Angel had cum hard and not fast with Buffy’s voice in his ear. He couldn’t remember what he’d said, but he knew when he closed his eyes, it was her body beneath his and her pussy lips stretched wide to receive him. It was part imagination and part memory.
Since then, he’d cum a couple times a month to her voice. It was always late at night or early in the morning, and always when Nina was out of town. Buffy used different words, but the effect was always the same: a mind-blowing noisy orgasm that left him breathless and dizzy and aching for Buffy. As Thanksgiving approached, the feelings had become more bittersweet. Angel replayed the same sequence of events in his mind: making love to Buffy in his bed with the ice cream melting around them.
Angel checked his phone. He still hadn’t heard from her. He pinged her again:
u doing end of world thing?
This time Buffy responded.
nope, playing w/ whipped cream
That response contained possible sexual overtones. Angel glanced at his watch. Nope, Buffy was planted at Starbucks drinking a last hot chocolate before heading home to the frenzy of Dawn making Thanksgiving dinner for tomorrow. He texted back:
not ice cream? pout
How u know I like 2 lick ice cream off ur chest? Don’t even know if I like that.
Angel smirked and texted:
Buffy’s text was a bolt of reality:
Not w/ me. U mixing up ur sex goddesses?
Angel was silent. He was literally the only one who knew about that day. Everyone else who knew was gone. It was only his memory of happiness. His phone vibrated with a message from Buffy:
He stared at the phone and saw Buffy’s lips puffy from his kisses, Buffy lying on the kitchen table with her body impaled on his cock, Buffy asleep in his bed, Buffy looking at the clock as the seconds counted down to the day that never was. The phone vibrated again. It was Buffy:
Yo! Where’d u go?
There was only one answer to how Angel knew Buffy liked to lick ice cream from his chest::
Yeah, somebody else. Not u. Sorry. I forgot.