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"Angel, we need to talk. This just isn't working."
Angel got that confused look on his face that constituted a large part of his expression repertoire. "How can you say that? We have the glowy, I-feel-you, you-feel-me, two souls entwined, whole destiny mojo going for us."
Buffy looked away from him, chewing on her bottom lip. "It's the sex."
"What! But there's a sonic boom, plus every window in the neighboring three towns is busted."
"I get air sick. I'm on triple strength Dramamine, but what with all the mid-air thrusting and twisting and pounding, I'm nauseous all the time."
Angel stared at her, unable to speak.
"Spike called. He's got a king size bed with a new Tempur-pedic mattress that cradles you while you sleep. So, this is goodbye."
Angel let out a soul filled sigh as he watched her retreating back. Finally, he reached into his pocket, flipped open his cell and carefully punched in a number.
"Hey Nina. How do you feel about flying?"