More fluff. I'm going to have to hand in my angst card
Inspired by last week's Open on Sunday prompt of short.
1188 words, future fic.
Thanks to the ever amazing
The door slammed, causing Angel to lose his place in the Dean Koontz novel
he had been devouring. True, the book had nothing to with reality, but all
Sartre all the time made Angel a grumpypants. Or, so claimed Buffy. Speaking
He could hear her continuing to stomp around the living room, throwing her
weapons into the chest. He mentally went through a list of anniversaries,
holidays and assorted random days Buffy deemed important. Fairly certain
that today wasn't on any of those lists, and therefore Buffy wasn't angry
at him, he decided to venture downstairs.
Peeking his head around the entryway, he could see Buffy sitting on their
oversize club chair, arms crossed against her chest, eyes narrowed in
anger. He just watched for a bit, the luxury of just being able to be with
her still new enough that everything she did was endlessly fascinating.
"Something wrong? " he asked cautiously.
"Stupid vampire laughed at me," she fumed.
"Oh?" He walked over to where she was sitting and squeezed in
next to her, the tight fit causing her body to pleasantly press against
"He said he didn't realize slayers came in size puny."
Angel managed not to laugh, partly because Buffy was truly upset, partly
because he didn't relish being smacked by a pissed-off slayer. "I
assume he won't be making any more short jokes?"
"Not unless there's a dust buster out there with reanimation
properties." She sighed, her hands worrying each other. "I know
I'm being silly. I just get tired of all the Gary Coleman
This time Angel did laugh a little. "I can guarantee you have never
looked anything like Gary Coleman, even at his cutest."
"You even did it once," she continued. "The first time you
met me you said you didn't expect me to be so tiny."
He remembered all right. It never ceased to amaze him that she remembered
every imagined slight, every fight, every difficult time they had gone
through (realistically, most of those difficult times it wasn't possible to
forget, even if they wanted to). Not that she didn't remember the happier
times also, he just wished her memory faltered a bit regarding some of the
other stuff. He shifted, suddenly a bit uncomfortable.
"I wasn't surprised by your height. Don't forget, I saw you in
"Then why'd you say it?" her eyes flashing dangerously.
He had really stepped in it now. "You caught me off guard. That's not
something that happened very often. And---"
"And," Buffy encouraged, still not mollified.
"I figured if I said what I really wanted to, you wouldn't listen to
anything I had to say." He tilted his head back, looking up at the
ceiling, thinking about that long ago night when everything had started to
change. "I wanted to tell you you were very pretty."
She smiled brightly at his admission. "In that case, I forgive your
"I think you mean faux pas. And thank you."
"That's how that's pronounced? You would think they were writing
"Or French, " Angel said dryly.
"That too," Buffy grumped. Turning toward Angel, she gave him a
quick kiss and then stood up. "I'm going to head up. Come with?"
She held out her hand, her earlier anger gone.
"In a moment." He watched as she walked up stairs, appreciating
the view of her ass in the pants she was wearing. He closed his eyes,
feeling a bit guilty. He hadn't lied to Buffy, but he hadn't told the
entire truth either. It was true that he thought her very pretty that day
in the alley; he had thought that since the moment he had seen her on the
steps of Hemery High. But he hadn't told her that he'd thought she'd be
taller and more muscled because he was afraid she'd kick his ass if instead
he'd said he thought she was beautiful.
He had been afraid that she wouldn't.
After Whistler had shown her to him and told him that Buffy would need
help, he had followed her every night, waiting to aid her. That moment
never arrived. Even when her watcher killed himself rather than let Lothos
turn him, she didn't fall apart. He had never known that anyone could be
like that. That you could rise above your pain and keep going, that you
could do the right thing, the heroic thing even when everything was lost.
How could he not fall in love with her?
Falling for her had been the absolute worst thing he could have done and he
was aware of it. He had thought that by being cocky, he would annoy her and
therefore she need never know about his feelings.
He jumped. He had been so deep in his head that he hadn't heard her come
"Am I going to have to stage a brood intervention?"
"What makes you think I was brooding?" He couldn't help pouting a
bit at being so transparent.
Buffy simply rolled her eyes as Angel held up his hands, palms out in a
gesture of surrender. She clamped her hands over his wrists, easily pulling
him to his feet.
"So how's the weather up there," she said, leaning back in order
to look him in the face.
"I assume the air must be thinner. It's the only explanation,"
she smirked. "Lucky for you, I like them big and—"
"That's mean," Angel protested.
She walked over to the stairs and beckoned him to follow. He could feel his
fears and regrets disappearing. She had always been the sun, melting his
resolve. It was why he had never stopped loving her, even though he
suspected that someday she would burn him fatally. He would go willingly.
"Are you sure you want me up there?" Angel said, "I know all
your ticklish spots."
Buffy's eyebrows drew up. "And I know all your non-ticklish spots.
Which would you prefer?"
She stopped on the second step and partially turned back toward him.
"You do realize this offer has an expiration."
It should have been disconcerting having to look up to see her face. His
instinct, however, was to fall to his knees, her loyal supplicant. Instead
he smirked at her.
"Does it come with a money-back guarantee?"
Buffy slowly walked up the remaining steps, hips rolling suggestively. When
she got to the landing, she looked over her shoulder at him. "I don't
make promises I can't keep."
Angel could hear the bedroom door opening. He had come to the slow
realization that he wasn't particularly good at planning. He never saw the
consequences of his actions until it was too late and people got hurt or
killed. Part of him wondered if trying to make a life with Buffy was just
the latest in a long line of mistakes. He also knew that right in this
moment, he didn't care.
He bounded up the stairs, shedding his shirt as he went. The future was the
future. For now, it would be shortsighted not to take advantage of all that
Buffy was offering.
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