"I can’t breathe."

"You don’t need to breathe," Buffy reminded him, looking at the thermometer.

"Wow. It’s up to like 90 degrees. You are sick."

"I know," Angel moaned pitifully, lolling his head back on the pillow. "I haven’t been sick in over 200 years. Does Willow know?"

"I called her," Buffy said, hiding a smile. "But, Angel, it’s not her fault that when she bound your soul to you, you picked up some human qualities too. Like getting sick."

Angel sighed unnecessarily and closed his eyes. "I don’t feel well."

"You said that already," Buffy reminded him. "I’ll leave you to sleep for a while."

Angel’s eyes flew open. "You mean, you’re not...you’re not..."

"Yes?" Buffy turned in the doorway, watching him. Why did his chest have to be bare? Why did he have to look so damn desirable, sitting there in bed with the sheet falling to his hips and his hair all spiky-soft and his eyes pleading with her not to leave him alone?

"You’re not....*leaving* me, are you?" His voice was pathetically soft, a strange contrast for someone who had taken care of himself for well over two centuries. "You’re supposed to feed me, like, soup and stuff."

Buffy’s lips twitched. Men were men, and most were babies. Even the undead.

She returned to the bed, sinking down by his side. "All right," she soothed. "I’ll stay." She combed his hair off his forehead with her fingers, causing Angel to sigh contentedly and settle back into the pillows.

"Lay with me," he murmured, patting the bed.

Buffy looked at him suspiciously, but his eyes were closed again. Scooting over him, she lay down by his side and rested her head on his hard chest. He rumbled with satisfaction, pulling her closer with a strong arm. They lay quietly for a few moments, and Buffy had just thought Angel asleep when the sheet in front of her began to move.

She frowned in confusion, then her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. Buffy bit her bottom lip as she watched the thin sheet begin to rise from Angel’s crotch, making a little tent of the fabric. Apparently, Angel was not sleeping. She raised her eyes to his face and found him watching her intently.

"Thought you were sick."

"I am. I need some attention."

"Hmm, really? Will it make you feel better?"

"Oh, most definitely," he nodded vigorously.

"Well. If it will make you feel better..." and with that, Buffy reached out and enclosed Angel’s stiff cock in hand, sheet and all. He arched his neck and grinned.

"Feeling better already."

Buffy began to stroke him over the sheet, letting the cotton caress his hardness while her hand explored his length, and he began to thrust up into her palm. When he tried to throw the sheet off, she stopped him.

"No. Leave it on. You’ll like it."

Angel looked doubtful, but let his hand fall away and Buffy continued to grip him firmly, using the sheet to create friction between her hand and his skin. Sure enough, Angel began to squirm, clutching at the bedsheets with his fingers. "Harder," he mumbled, tossing his head and squeezing his eyes shut, so Buffy complied.

It wasn’t enough, though, and soon Angel had placed his own hand on top of Buffy’s small one, and together they were creating a rhythm that worked. Angel began to thrust into their hands, and Buffy watched a tiny drop of moisture create a wet spot on the sheet. He began to growl low in his chest, and when she glanced up at him, she grinned in satisfaction as she watched him use his tongue to lick at his fangs. His forehead had ridged, probably without him even knowing, and Buffy knew he was close to climax.

Sitting up, she gripped him firmly with both hands, pushing his own hand away. Rubbing him hard over the sheet, she felt him twitch, then saw the small drop of moisture grow larger and felt a rush of cool liquid beneath her hands. Angel groaned, then growled as his hips rode up to meet her willing fingers. He collapsed back on the bed, trembling slightly.

Buffy lay back next to him, and he cuddled her tightly, grinning down at her.

"Feel better?" she asked, smiling at his self-satisfied chuckle.

"Immensely. Just what the doctor ordered."

"Well, you know what they say," she sighed. "A spoonful of sugar..."