By Tango
DISCLAIMER: Nope. I still don't own them.
DISTRIBUTION: Of course you can have it! Please let me know though.
SPOILERS: Completely AU. My first one with no vamps or Slayers. Everyone's just plain ‘ole human. (I can't even believe I'm writing this, so please let me know what you think.)
PAIRING: B/A, of course!
FEEDBACK: I'd like to know what you think of this one.
LYRICS: All lyrics are from Barenaked Ladies
RATING: PG-13 (for now anyway)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I'm in the process of working on several different projects right now (*In A Maudlin Sort of Way* and *Slayers and Vampires and Witches, Oh My!*) but I took a break tonight to write this one. I just have to go where the muse takes me. (Also, for those of you who have sent me other challenges recently I SWEAR I haven't forgotten!) I'll pick my other fics up soon - probably.
***
Part 1
//one day i'll construct a satellite and i'll name if after you//
Angel strolled through the gallery showing. It was all his art and he puffed up with pride. He had worked all of his life to get here, to have a showing of his work and his work alone. Now here he was, milling through a large crowd of people who were admiring his work. Two pieces had already sold for enough money to keep him in canvases and paint for the six months. He was sure this was the best day of his life until he saw her and stood there struck dumb for a moment.
His mouth went dry and he picked up a glass of wine from a passing waiter, surprising the man when his hand sprung out to rescue the drink. He slammed back the dry wine and wished it was whiskey or water - hell, never mind because she was turning around and walking, pointing at various works with her friends in tow. He searched her hands for rings and found one. As she turned the corner, he tried to remember which hand she pointed with, the one with the ring. Was that the right or the left?
He hurried to follow her, setting his glass on a stand next to a nude statue he had done and received a dirty look from someone who didn't realize he was the artist. He stopped at the door to take her in once more. She was staring at a rather detailed nude he had done of Darla two years ago. He flushed with embarrassment as he looked over his own art. Nearly all of it was erotic and sensual in some way. If not blatantly sexual, it all had the slope of desire. It never seemed to matter before but he saw her looking at it with a flush to her innocent looking face, he wanted to cover it all up. He wasn't ashamed of his art, but that she now knew that he had seen a great many women naked, most of them ending up in his bed, which he was sure she realized.
He wanted to go over there and tell her that he would burn them all if she would forget she saw them. In the next breath, he wanted to ask her to be his next model. He stood in confusion, lost in her beauty. Her hair was so golden with an interesting contrast of light and dark. He wondered if he had the paint that would capture it correctly. The profile of her face was soft, yet defined and he was sure even his most delicate shading pencil would not get it right.
He edged over, preparing to eavesdrop when her dark haired friend, turned and flashed him a brilliant smile, "You must be Angel!" "Yes," he flustered, nodding, sneaking another glance at the blonde. What color were her eyes, for the love of God? Were they hazel? Green? Jesus, he could spend hours mixing paint to create that hue.
"You don't have a last name?" the red headed girl asked, smiling nervously.
"Not really," he answered. Growing up as an orphan, he never knew his last name. He didn't even have an official first name. The lady at the orphanage always called him "her angel" and it kinda stuck. He had been adopted several times and passed along from foster home to foster home, but it never worked out. He was too much of a wild child to remain in one place for long. His driver's license had a last name on it, as did his birth certificate and social security card. They were all different.
"How very *Madonna* of you," the dark haired girl said, still smiling. He thought her face might crack if she didn't rest soon.
"You're very talented," the blonde said. The goddess finally spoke and it was like melting caramel. Her voice changed everything. The picture went askew from the moving of her lips, the lightness in her eyes.
"Thank you, um..." he said, fishing for a name.
"Buffy," she answered, "Buffy Summers, cause, I...uh...I do have a last name."
"Cordelia," the dark haired girl threw in, touching his arm.
"This is Willow," Buffy said, gesturing to her friend and smiling warmly at her.
"So, what do you ladies do for a living?" Angel said, unsure of how to act. Should he put on the usual charm and reel her in? It always worked before, but he didn't want to come on too strong. She seemed like the type who would never give a guy like him the time of day. Too smart. He knew he could have the brunette in his bed by the end of the night if he wanted to but that's not what he wanted.
"I actually run a gallery," Buffy answered smiling sheepishly.
"Really?" he said, smiling broadly. It was fate. He knew it. "Which one?"
"It's small," she said, speaking over her friend's huff of irritation. The brunette obviously did not like competition.
"You probably get tired of being around artsy people all the time, Angel. I, on the other hand, am a model. Whole different ball of wax."
"Yes, you're right," he said, nodding graciously. He knew there was a reason he didn't like her even though she was striking. She was a model. He hated those whiney bitches, always interested in themselves.
"What do you do?" he asked Willow, the shy one. He didn't want Buffy to think he was leaving her friend out of the conversation, especially since she seemed partial to the red head. They must be closer friends.
"I work at the hospital," Willow answered.
"She's a surgeon," Buffy beamed proudly, "She's the best on the staff."
"Yeah, we're all so very proud of her," Cordelia moaned. She hated it when Willow stole her thunder by being cute *and* smart.
"We are!" Buffy announced and leaned in to Angel with a twinkle in her eye, "You should know you have a genius in your midst."
"I'm honored," Angel answered, sweeping in an exaggerated bow that made the blonde goddess giggle lightly. He tried not to look at her body, tried to keep his eyes on her face, but the little black cocktail dress she was wearing was like an invitation to drool. He forced himself not to notice the curve of her hips, the shapely legs appearing beneath the hem, the tiny bit of cleavage showing...for very long, anyway.
"Of course, you're a genius too," Buffy said, looking up at the picture in front of her. It was a landscape. One of the only ones he had done but it seemed to sing of love and had a touching air to it that she couldn't place, "This one is fantastic."
"Thank you," Angel said, blushing slightly, "It's Ireland. That's where I was born but was shipped to America shortly after."
"Shipped?" Cordy asked quizzically, "What were you? Cargo?"
"Pretty much," he said, shrugging, "My mother boarded the ship with me to America and got off without me. I was sent to an orphanage. I never found out who she was, only where she was from."
"I'm sorry, that's horrible," Buffy said, feeling the urge to give him a hug and keep holding on to his broad frame until he had to call the police to pry her off. He was beautiful and his deep brown eyes were more vivid than his paintings.
"Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy the show," Angel said, wanting to pay someone to beat him senseless for telling her his sob childhood story. *What a fucking idiot.*
"Angel," Cordelia said, touching his arm again, her blood red claws contrasting nicely with his black silk shirt. She handed him a card with her home address and phone number written on the back. She always had one prepared just in case, "We're having a party next Friday. I hope you can make it."
"We?" Angel asked, glancing at Buffy again.
"House warming," Buffy added, "Cordy just bought a new house to celebrate her modeling career."
"Oh," he said nodding, "Will you be there?"
"Y-yes," Buffy answered.
"Then so will I," he said, turning again and hurrying away. He grabbed another glass of wine and leaned against the wall next to one of his paintings, drinking the cool liquid slowly.
*Will you be there?*
*Yes.*
*Then so will I.*
Well, he couldn't feel more like a dolt if he tried on purpose. That little conversation was the equivalent of Jennifer Gray's famous line, "I carried a watermelon," in *Dirty Dancing.*
"They were cute," Spike said, leaning next to him against the wall.
"I thought you weren't coming," Angel said to his friend, feeling jealousy rear up in him. As long as Spike didn't go after the blonde he wouldn't have to kill him.
"Yeah, well," he said, "I decided to stop by and scan the girls that showed up to fawn over your blobs of paint."
"Thanks for your support," Angel said dryly, trying not too look at Spike because he was trying to savor the picture of her in his mind. If he memorized her face, he could paint her tonight...and tomorrow...and the next day.
"The blonde is-"
"Not your type," Angel added, breaking into his friend's sentence.
"Ah, Peaches," Spike said, with a knowing smile, "I think you're smitten with the chit."
"Don't be stupid," Angel said, breathing evenly, "She's just...too innocent for your...for you."
"If you don't like her then it's okay if I try her out," Spike said, pulling away from the wall he was leaning on, "You know, take her for a little test drive."
"We're friends this year," Angel asked, referring to their rocky past, "Don't ruin it now."
"I thought you didn't like her."
"I lied," Angel said, moving away to mingle with his guests, "Stay away from her."
"Don't worry," Spike said, cocking his head to the side as the three moved away. A trio of tight asses to choose from on those three, he didn't need the blonde. Not yet, anyway.
***
//i feel fine enough, i guess considering everything's a mess//
"He's mine," Cordelia noted as she watched him walk away, "With an body like that, he needs to be with me."
"You have a boyfriend," Buffy protested. She didn't know how she spent all of her life kissing other men when the man of her dreams was across the room, talking to an attractive blonde man. She wanted go over there and give him *her* card. Of course she wasn't a man hunter like Cordy, so she didn't bring any in her tiny "going out" purse. Even if she had, they wouldn't have her home telephone number on the back of them.
"So do you," Cordy countered.
"I don't," Willow complained.
"Well, you certainly can't have him!" Cordelia announced.
"Shut up, Cordy," Buffy said, quieting her friend and then looking at Willow with pleading in her eyes. *Please don't say you want him.* Willow smiled back. She didn't want him. Only because she had never seen that look of longing in her friend's eyes before. She certainly never looked at Riley like that. Not that he deserved it or anything.
"Ready to go?" Will asked with a yawn.
"Yes," Buffy said, glancing over at the picture of Ireland one last time. She would love to take that one home but she knew better than to ask what it cost. She had run her late mother's gallery for too long to be naive about art prices.
***
//it's so strange, i can't believe it//
"Dru," Angel panted, running through the gallery to find the owner when he saw that Buffy and her friends had left. One minute he had been talking to some people, selling a piece and the next thing he knew they were gone. He couldn't believe he let her out of there before asking the name of her gallery. If that brunette hadn't interrupted then he would have and then...
...and then he would be in the same state of disarray he was right now - lusting after a little blonde girl he had talked to for three minutes.
"Yes, love?" she answered, sauntering over in her tasteful maroon dress with a smile, "Darling, the show is an absolute success. You're famous."
"I need you to take that painting of Ireland off the wall. I'm not selling it," Angel said.
"Of course, honey," Drusilla answered, "But you realize that there have been several people asking about it. It might sell any minute."
"Tell them they're too late," Angel said quickly, "I need it now."
"Of course," she said, waving one of her gallery stoodges over and giving him instructions. Angel didn't breath until he saw the canvas taken down. That was the one that she liked. He couldn't sell it someone else.
"By the way," Angel asked, suddenly trying to revert to his normal cool demeanor, "You didn't happen to have a guest book did you? A mailing list? Anything?"
"We don't do that here," she said, raising her chin snottily.
"Okay then," Angel said, looking at the floor for a second, "What about gallery owners? You sent invitations, right?"
"Of course."
"I need to see it, please," Angel asked.
"Now?" she asked in surprise, "During your showing?"
"It'll only take a minute," he said, following her shapely form to the office. He knew it was stupid to leave his own showing to look up the address of a woman he had just met, but he had to know how to find her.
In the back office, he scanned the list once, twice, three times and each time it proved useless. What the hell kind of invitation didn't have the owners names on them? All they had were the names of the galleries and the addresses. He headed back out and began to mingle again. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the business card. Whatever happened between now and Friday, one thing was for certain - he was going to be at that party.
***
Part Two - "The Party Life"
//it's like a dream you try to remember but it's gone//
Angel went home that night by himself for the first time in…
…well, it should suffice to say that he normally did not sleep alone. When he woke up the previous morning, his mind was filled with visions of beautiful women decorating his arm and flashes of dollar signs from his inevitable success. Upon entering the art gallery that evening, he had already spotted two or three prospective women to take home, one of them being the gallery owner, Drusilla. Although, she was slightly on the eccentric side (as all crazy rich people were called), she was rumored to have certain "talents." Just looking at her sashaying around in that tight maroon dress made her rise to the top of his list.
That was all before he saw Buffy, of course. Because of one small conversation with the petite blonde, he ended up going to his apartment alone. He spent the evening trying to recreate her in pencil sketches, charcoal *and* pastels before he settled in front of the easel and began to paint.
When the sun rose the following morning, he was still trying to capture her and failing. His small living room/art studio was scattered at botched attempts to make her look radiant and true to life. He leaned back and yawned into the sunrise. Standing, he crossed the room and poured himself another cup of coffee and then stood at the wall of windows and stared out the pink and orange streaked sky.
Deciding to distract himself, he started a new painting of the sunrise outside of his window. He flourished in the change of subject matter and found inspiration in the whirls of colors, challenging himself to make it as authentic as he could. Soon he found himself painting in the bare windows themselves, giving the viewer the same thing he was seeing - the harsh reality of being trapped inside a room when all of the beauty was outside.
An hour later, he leaned back in his chair and surveyed what he had done. So deep in concentration, he hadn't even noticed that in the very corner of the painting, near the edge of the window he had painted the perfect reflection of Buffy Summers.
He gasped, dropping the brush onto the drop cloth at his feet and stared at her. All night he had tried to make her come to life and now there she was, her pink lips curled in a tiny smile as she looked at the spectacular show before her.
***
//it's the perfect time of year somewhere far away from here//
It was raining and that was the perfect weather to sit at a desk and pretend to go over inventory while dreaming of a six-foot-ish godlike artist. Buffy stared at the stack of pages in front of her, comforted by the monotonous beat of rain on the window panes, trying to remind herself that she was dating Riley Finn, a man who loved her. Instead, she found herself thinking of Angel's large hands with the long slender fingers of an artist, of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in those arms...all night...naked...
"Buffy!" Anya shouted, coming to the office door and standing there with her hands on her narrow hips, eyes flashing in irritation.
"Huh?" Buffy said, jerking her eyes up to look at her employee.
"I've been calling you for ten minutes? You can't be *that* interested in inventory, besides I already went over it this morning," Anya complained.
"I know," Buffy said, standing up and straightening her shirt, "I always go over the inventory too. You know that. What do you need?"
"Do you realize that one of your stupid carrying-things boys hung a cubist painting next to an impressionist work?"
"Um...so?"
"So? You can't do that! It ruins the ambiance of the gallery, not to mention the emotions being portrayed on the canvas. It's WRONG!"
"Okay. I'll have it moved," Buffy sighed, smiling at the girl. Anya had been a life saver since she started at the gallery. When her mother died, Buffy decided to carry on in her mother's honor, but she knew very little about art when she started. What she did have was a flair for knowing what people liked and a dead on intuition about what should be categorized as "art" and what was "crap." Her talent in those areas was what had kept the gallery alive. Now that she had Anya she was able to increase the in house knowledge.
"Thank you," Anya huffed and turned back to the gallery to peer at the balance of the hanging works. There just couldn't be another mishap like this one.
***
//if you're flummoxed and flushed and your heartbeat is rushed//
Angel was incredibly nervous about going to the party, which is why he was standing in front of his closet wondering why he had so many damn black clothes. Shouldn't an artist be more colorful than this? The last thing he wanted was to walk into the party looking like his normal broody and morose self.
He pulled one of few pairs of blue jeans he owned out of the closet and stared at them. Tossing them aside, he looked again, thinking how ridiculous this was. She was a girl. One. He had slept with dozens of women, dated more than that. He knew how to treat women and knew how to get what he wanted. The problem was with this girl, he didn't know what he wanted. He didn't want to sleep with her. Well, of course he did, but he wanted to take her out to dinner, buy her flowers, ask her about her day and rub her feet -
- for fuck's sake, this was absurd! He cut off his train of thought and dressed quickly, choosing what he would normally wear to one of these events: a pair of black pants and a maroon silk shirt. He looked in the mirror and cursed silently at his reflection as the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Hi baby," a female voice drawled.
"Darla," he answered, icing his voice over immediately at the sound of hers.
"Do you have plans tonight, lover?" she asked huskily.
"Yes," he answered, "And we're not lovers anymore."
"But we could be," she said, "Are you sure you can't back out of whatever you're doing? I need an escort."
"Call Spike," Angel spat, "I'm sure he'd be glad to service you."
"Angel," she said sweetly, "There's no need to be rude."
"Yes, there is," he said, not bothering to say goodbye as he hung up the phone. He stared down at the phone and took a deep breath. Then he took several more.
***
//feels just like i'm falling for the first time//
Buffy had been dodging Riley all week. They had long ago reached the point in their relationship where they should have had sex, but she just couldn't imagine losing her virginity to him. He was getting that look in his eyes lately and she knew what it meant, even though she acted like she didn't. She might be a spinster for the rest of her life but she didn't care. Whenever he touched her, she didn't feel the kind of warmth she had read about. She felt like running far, far away.
"Will?" Buffy called out, peaking into Cordelia's kitchen to find Willow mixing various punches as if they were chemistry experiments.
"Hey Buff, you're here," Willow said, "Wanna help make punch? I have 4 different kinds."
"Shouldn't we start on the food?" Buffy asked, bewildered by the amount of fruity beverages in front of her.
"You're in charge of the food," Willow said over Buffy's groan, "I'm in charge of the colorful drink concoctions."
"No fair," Buffy complained, "It's a good thing that Cordy doesn't expect any cooking to be done with the food part. Casualties could ensue. People have died from my cooking before, you know."
"It's okay," Willow said, picking up the first bowl of punch to carry it to the dining room, "I won't tell Angel."
"Willow!"
"What?"
***
//with some gratuitous sex//
Buffy had spent the night wandering from room to room, occasionally talking to people but mostly looking for a certain hauntingly gorgeous artist. The party was in full swing with no sign of Angel when Buffy walked into the living room and saw a painting sitting on the couch in deep discussion with Cordelia. Well, she wasn't a painting, but she was in one of Angel's paintings - one of the very naked ones.
She crept over to better overhear their conversation, feeling slightly guilty for trying to eavesdrop but not too much.
"I have to know everything," Cordy demanded of the blonde.
"Well," she said, her voice dripping with an acidic sweetness that made Buffy's stomach turn, "He's a wonderful lover. If he wants to get between your thighs, I highly suggest it. The man made me feel things I didn't think were possible. But never trust him."
"He's one of those?" Cordelia asked, nearly snarling with the news.
"He's incapable of being with just one woman. ‘Monogamy' is *not* a word that he understands."
"Hey love," said a male voice and Buffy turned to see the blonde man Angel had been speaking to at the gallery. He walked up and sat down next to the woman, curling an arm around her waist, "Bad mouthing Peaches again?"
"As a rule, yes," she answered. All Buffy could see in her eyes was a cold bitterness. She felt her heart sink as she realized how much Angel have hurt her to make her that bracing. She never would have thought that about him. Suddenly, she wasn't so excited about him coming and reluctantly went to see if her boyfriend had noticed how much she had ignored him already.
"Finally something that's true," Angel said, appearing at the doorway and causing Buffy to stop in her tracks and turn around to look at him.
"Angel!" the blonde woman said, lighting up. Buffy noticed immediately that her whole demeanor had changed when she spotted him.
"Darla," he said coldly, "Hello Cordelia. Thank you for inviting me to your party. I can see that my ex here has once again sullied my name."
"That's not true," Cordy said, rising eagerly to her feet and taking Angel's arm in hers, "Let me show you where the refreshments are."
Buffy watched in disbelief as her shameless friend led Angel into the dining room to show him the vast array of beverages and edible treats. It was so typical that she would not care if he was a piece of shit, only that he was famous and good looking...and apparently the fact that he was good in bed didn't dissuade her at all.
***
//i could be good, and i would - if i knew i was understood//
Spike followed Angel out to the back patio of Cordelia's new home, where he stood looking out at the trees and grass.
"I heard a little rumor about you," Spike said, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke at his friend's back.
"Of that I have no doubt," Angel snapped, knowing that every tiny thought he had of seeing Buffy was ruined now that Darla had been filling her friend's ears with information about him.
"This one didn't come from Darla," Spike added, "Tell me if you've heard this one before."
"Here we go," Angel sighed, turning to face him.
"Nancy boy prances about town for the past ten years, give or take, shagging every chit that wanders in his path. He finally gets a taste of his own medicine and is crushed by a certain blonde bitch, we both know."
"Spike."
"Let me finish. He double times his efforts after the break up, rutting women left and right. Then the Poof meets a *different* blonde girl at his very first and mighty successful, might I add, art show. He goes home by himself that night for the first time in longer than I can bloody remember. Then he breaks up with all the little bints he's been screwing for the past couple of months. He refuses to see any of them and sits in his apartment doodling his new obsession."
"Do you have a point?" Angel asked, trying to keep from punching his long time friend for telling the truth.
"Yeah, I think you're in love with her," Spike said, "I think you've jumped off the damn deep end."
"*I think* you should mind your own fucking business," Angel ordered furiously.
"Really? Then I guess you don't want to know what Darla said about you and how much of that your sweet and innocent girl heard of it."
"What did she say?" he demanded, his voice nearly a growl.
"Are you in love with her?" Spike asked, his eyes glittering.
"What did she say, Spike?"
"I want to hear you admit you're in love. I want to be the first to witness the crumbling of the great womanizer. Admit it and I'll tell you. You love her?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Angel shouted, grabbing Spike by the lapels of his leather duster and shaking him roughly. He pushed him away and watched as his friend stumbled back, laughing. He heaved breaths and continued, "I can't stop thinking about her. I don't even know her. The only thing I do know is that I don't want anyone else. Not anymore."
"Wow," Spike said, flicking his butt out into the lawn and watched it smolder on the grass for a moment, "I'll have to mark this down as the best conversation we've ever had."
"Screw you," Angel said, "Tell me what she said."
"Oh that," Spike said, "You already know. Same bloody thing she's told every woman she's come across for a long time. Good in bed. Can't be trusted."
"You're a jackass."
"Stating the obvious for fun?" Spike said with a grin as he went inside, "By the way, since you're little ex has efficiently set you back in the race, I don't suppose you'd mind a little healthy competition would you?"
"This isn't a race," Angel said, turning deadly eyes on his longtime friend-enemy, "This is a beautiful young woman who does not need any pain in her life. If I find out you've hurt her in any way, if you shake her hand too hard, if you look at her too harshly, I'm going to kill you with my bare hands."
"Aw Peaches," Spike said as he strolled back into the house.
***
Part Three - "The Next Show"
***
//then you try to scream but it only comes out as a yawn//
Angel stood on the patio and looked through the windows at the party going on inside. He felt as if he shouldn't go back in, that he should stay out in the dark as the outcast. It would be so simple, though, to walk back in and find the beautiful blonde who had turned his world upside down and seduce her. As much as he wanted to change, he couldn't help thinking about seducing her. Almost constantly, in fact. The only difference was that usually he was thinking about screwing some random girl and now, he only thought about making love to one.
He caught sight of her moving toward the door and he backed into the shadows automatically. She was followed by her boyfriend, who was tall and blonde as well. They both looked so decent, honest and wholesome together. The boyfriend was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt, as if he had just gotten home from a day in the fields. She was wearing a cotton dress that hung loosely over her body but couldn't manage to disguise the graceful curve of her hips or the rise of her breasts. Her skin was so smooth and flawless that Angel dreamed of touching it. He wondered how soft it would feel beneath his fingertips.
"This isn't the time, Riley," Buffy said, as she stepped out in the cool evening air and crossed her arms over her chest. Angel watched in fascination as little goosebumps rose on her arms, raising the tiny golden hairs there.
"I don't understand why you're getting so upset," he answered, touching her bare shoulder with his hand. Angel prickled in the darkness as he watched him touch her. The touch was familiar. She was used to his hands on her and Angel couldn't help feeling jealous. It was almost as if his emotions didn't understand that he had no claim whatsoever on the girl.
"I'm not ready for this kind of commitment," she said, stepping away and turning around to face Riley. Angel suspected she only turned around to face him so that he wasn't touching her any longer. He couldn't be certain, he just wished he was.
"We've been dating for six months," Riley said, "Isn't that a commitment?"
"Yes," Buffy said, "I guess so. I don't know."
"I know you don't love me," Riley said and the shamed look in his girlfriend's eyes confirmed the truth. She didn't answer right away, but she shifted her weight from one foot to another, looking off in the distance instead. She didn't need to answer. Riley knew and so did Angel. Even from far away he could see that she didn't love him. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, "But I do love you, Buffy."
"It's not that I don't love you, Riley," she answered.
"But you don't love me," Riley protested, "I've done everything I can to make you happy and nothing works. I don't understand why this is so difficult."
"I'm sorry I'm so difficult," Buffy snapped, narrowing her eyes in anger, "If I'm that much of a pain in the ass, why don't you just forget about me?"
"I'm sorry," Riley said, sounding as though he were nearly gushing to Angel. Although Angel thought he would be doing much the same thing in the boy's situation, "That's not what I meant. I want to be with you. I just don't understand why you don't want to be with me."
"I don't know," Buffy said, biting her lower lip, "I'm just not ready for this."
"Are you breaking up with me?" he asked. He sounded wounded. For such a large man, she made him look awfully small.
"I don't know," she repeated, "I just need some time."
"Time," he echoed. The word was small and cracked.
***
//she's burning for you//
"How are things with Riley?" Willow asked a month later over lunch. The pair were sitting in a restaurant on the outside patio. It was a bit too windy to be comfortable but they both decided to deal with it anyway. It just seemed like a waste of sunshine to sit inside.
"The same," she said, pushing her food around her plate with her fork, as if she thought the rearrangement would convince Willow she had eaten something.
"And you still haven't broken up with him?" Willow asked, leaning in confidentially, "Or slept with him?"
"That's the problem," Buffy said, "Kissing him is like I imagine kissing Xander would be like, like kissing a good friend or a brother. There's no *there* there, if you know what I mean."
"That's not what I thought about kissing Xander," Willow said, smiling brightly in spite of herself.
"Speaking of Xander," Buffy said, grateful for the change in subject, "When does he come to town next?"
"Thirteen days," Willow answered, inspecting her plate closely to hide the look of excitement from her friend.
"I see," Buffy said, nodding wisely, "We're counting again. Should I get out the chart so we can compare his blood pressure from last time?"
"Very funny," Willow said as wryly as Willow could be.
"Seriously though," Buffy said, "Will there be sparkage?"
"I hope so," Willow sighed, "I've only waited approximately my whole life. He seems to be...eager to see me."
"That's a good."
"Oh yeah," Willow answered, "Speaking of sparkage, guess who *already* has another art show?"
Buffy groaned and fought the urge to pound her head on the table. She had gone almost a whole day without thinking about Angel. It was really absurd at this point to be thinking about a man whom she had met once and seen twice. And yet, the chemistry that had been missing with Riley came back in spades with Angel.
"When?" Buffy asked weakly.
"Next month," Willow said, "Guess where?"
"Where?" Buffy asked.
"Your gallery."
"What?!"
"Anya set up it," Willow said, "She said she told you."
"She said she wanted to use the gallery for a showing of her friend's work next month and I said that was fine. And you knew damn well I had no idea or you wouldn't be so smug over there."
"Yeah," Willow said, grinning ear to ear, "The *friend* is Angel. Or actually a friend of a friend. Apparently, our little Anya has been dating his friend, Spike, for the last couple of weeks."
"The blonde English guy?"
"The same."
"Oh God."
***
//i'm so sane, it's driving me crazy//
It was Friday night and Angel decided he was going to the bar to have a drink. He had been celibate and liquor free for so damn long, he was going to join seminary school if he wasn't careful. He strolled into the bar that Spike owned and sat down at the bar, perching on a vacant barstool.
"Angel!" the bartender said with a smile, "Long time, no see, buddy. Want the usual?"
"Hey Doyle," he said, "Yeah, the usual would be great."
"I heard you have another art show coming up," he said, sliding a tall chilled glass of Irish stout down the bar, which Angel caught, lifted and took a swig of in one smooth movement.
"Yes he does," Spike said, taking over the stool next to Angel, "Doyle, I'd like one of the same."
"Sure thing," Doyle said, sliding another down the bar at his boss a second or two later, "Hey, did you break the happy news to him yet?"
"What happy news?" Angel asked, looking over at Spike's evil grin suspiciously.
"Well, remember when I told you that I'd set up the location of your new showing?"
"Yeah," Angel said hesitantly.
"I made all nice like with your little chit's employee, Anya."
"What are you saying *exactly*?"
"The little gallery hosting your work is Fluffy's."
"Buffy."
"Whatever mate."
"Wait a second," Angel said, swiveling in his stool to look directly at his friend, "Are you telling me that it's at *her* gallery. The one she owns? As in, she's going to be there?"
"Yep," Spike said nodding, "Now tell me what a great friend I am. I mean, I sacrificed all this energy for your love life."
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Angel shouted, gaining the attention of most of the room in the process, "Most of the goddamn paintings have her in them!"
"I know."
"If it's her gallery, then she'll see them and think I'm a fucking psychopath."
"I know," Spike said, adding a laugh to his maniacal grin before taking another sip of the bitter stout in front of him, "Great, isn't it?"
"What the hell am I going to do?" Angel asked, leaning over the bar with his head in his hands, "She'll see the paintings and she'll hate me. She'll...oh God."
"Yeah," Spike said, obviously enjoying the hell out of himself, "Guess you'd better paint something else in the next couple of weeks. Maybe if you have another bint on the canvas here and there she won't notice so much."
"You are such a shit."
"For what? Enjoying life? Get a grip, Nancy boy. The fun's just beginning," Spike said. He swallowed the rest of his beer and slammed the glass on the bar, top down, splashing a bit of the dark liquid on the glossy surface.
***
//now i've landed in this awkward situation//
"Anya," Buffy said, the next morning as she stormed into the little gallery. Thankfully there were no patrons present to overhear the briskness of her tone.
"What's the matter?" Anya said, looking up from the photos in front of her.
"Why didn't you tell me who the artist was for the art showing next month?"
"It's Angel," Anya said matter of factly, "I didn't tell you because you didn't ask. You said you trusted my judgement. What's wrong? You don't like his work? I know it's a bit sensual now and then, but he really has wonderful technique."
"I know that," Buffy said, trying to cover the harshness of her tone, "He does wonderful work."
"Then why are you angry about it?"
"I'm not angry," she shouted, almost hysterically, "Why would I be angry?"
"Are you nervous then?" Anya asked, "There's no need to be. He's only just become famous. He won't be any bother. From what I understand he's very nice."
"I thought you said he was your friend."
"A friend of a friend," Anya said, "Actually, I've been copulating with his best friend. He said he's met you. His name is Spike."
"I've met them both," Buffy said. She had walked into the gallery and was hoping to find some reason to make this not happen. She just couldn't have that heart-breaking, knee melting, soul crunching devil in her gallery. It was too much to handle. And now she couldn't think of one excuse to say no.
"So you've met Angel?" Anya said, "He was supposed to be at Cordelia's party. Actually that's where I met Spike, but I never saw Angel there. Is he as gorgeous as they say he is?"
"More," Buffy groaned, resting her head on the counter, "Much, much more...dammit."
"Oh, I see," Anya said, smiling knowingly at her boss.
"See? See what?"
"You've got a crush on him."
"Don't be silly, Anya," Buffy chided, "We aren't in high school anymore, you know."
"What's that have to do with crushes?" Anya asked seriously, "You can have a crush if you're 16 or 160 and I know you have a crush on that man."
"Why would I possibly have a crush on a horrible womanizer like him?" Buffy demanded.
"There's a reason he's so good at being a womanizer you know."
***
//there's an overwhelming stench of alibi...
come on now, now, come on now, now
enjoy the humor of the situation//
Angel laid all of his most recent paintings out, displaying them around his apartment. He looked from painting to painting, from image to image, thinking how beautiful they looked yesterday. Today they looked pathetic and crazy and stalker-like. There were a couple that were so abstract that they could be passed off as not being inspired by Buffy, but they were few and far between.
He wasn't even sure how it happened exactly, how so many of them came to be. He just was trying to get it right, to capture not only her outer beauty but her inner light as well. Even as he thought about it, he realized it was stupid. Inner light. What the hell was that anyway? But she had it. She had a lightness about her, a breezy air in her voice and in her step that made his other lovers seem static, flat and stale. He had been with all those women who were beautiful, of course, but they all seemed fake. Buffy didn't have that falseness about her. She seemed more real somehow, more...everything.
Now he had to figure out how to go back to painting things that were less than everything. He had to reinvent himself yet again. He wandered around the apartment and looked at each dab of paint and each stroke of his brush. There had to be a way to make this right, even though it didn't really seem all that wrong to begin with.
***
Part Four "Moment of Truth"
***
//and you...you're the last thing on my mind.
you're the last thing on my mind.
you're the last thing on my mind.
you're the last thing on my...//
Angel was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. Nervous wasn't really even the right word. Maybe it would be better to say terrified or maybe entrail extracting horror would be closer. He had an hour before it was time to go the gallery and he was slumped in his arm chair looking at the picture he had hung on his wall - Buffy's painting of Ireland. Funny how it kinda became her painting. Before it always reminded him of home and now it reminded him of her.
The past month had been spent mulling over whether he had the right to sell any of the pieces that contained her image. All of his previous models were aware that they were being painted and realized that he would eventually sell the painting. Buffy didn't even know she was a model. He knew there was some rule that was being broken here and was certain that once she recognized herself in any of the paintings it would be over. The mere dislike she must hold for him already would nudge its way to full blown hatred. He sighed as he headed for the shower. There was nothing he could do about it now. All the paintings were already hanging in the gallery, ready for the show. He was fairly certain Buffy had already seen them.
There were only a couple of paintings in the show that were *definitely* her. Most of them were abstracts of a blonde woman who could be someone else. He threw in a couple of other paintings he had done to mix it up, but he could already see the anger on her face. He could already hear Spike laughing at his folly.
***
//your brain stops ticking//
Buffy walked slowly through her gallery, looking over Angel's paintings before the show started. She hadn't hosted very many of these and she was already nervous about that without the whole crush on the artist situation coming into play. She paused before each of his pieces and looked over them intently. She couldn't help but feel like they were speaking to her. Not just as art usually spoke in its dainty way, but these spoke directly to *her*.
She brushed off the feeling as she continued to wander around her gallery, thankful that Anya had run off to get a few last minute things. She had the whole building to herself and felt enveloped in him, not just his paintings. Many of them contained an unrecognizable blonde woman and she found herself envying the woman who had caught his eye. She was usually looking away or given in a side profile and although she was never nude, she seemed to exude an innocent sexuality that made her blush.
The last painting was a sunset given through a wall of windows. It was the most beautiful of all them and captured sunrise, almost personifying it. The colors blended into one another, raining want and need on the canvas. In the lower corner, the blonde woman stood looking out of the windows at the display. Her face was reflected in the glass and Buffy leaned in to study the girl's face. Her hand flew to her mouth as she recognized her own smiling lips, her own hazel eyes studying a view she had never seen.
***
//dropped your arms to the sides and said, ‘i'm sorry.'//
Angel held his breath as he crossed the room. He knew what painting Buffy was staring at before he even looked up. It was the one he felt he had to put in the gallery. It only seemed right that the first real painting he had done correctly with her in it be in this show. He stood behind her for a moment as she stood there, poised before the painting as if she was about to run away and her hand was covering her beautiful mouth in shock.
"Hi," he said quietly, causing her to jump in surprise and turn around to face him. He saw tears in her eyes and he wanted to beg her forgiveness, ask her for one moment of her life to allow him to explain. Only he didn't think he could.
"Hi," she answered. She looked over him, standing there in tight leather pants and a white button down shirt. It would be helpful if he didn't look so perfectly munchable right then.
"You're upset," he said, nodding at the painting. He looked away from her and up at the painting trying to see its faults but this one, unlike any of his others, didn't seem to have any. He always could fine his flaws in his work. He always knew later what he should have done differently. For this one painting, he saw it as complete.
"No," she said, shaking her head and speaking slowly as if she didn't trust her voice, "It's beautiful. I just..."
"You just what?" he asked, after a moment of silence had passed between them.
"I just don't understand why you painted me."
"I like you," he said, searching his mind for a better statement and coming up empty. Finally, he just decided to spill it. If she broke his heart, hopefully she would do it quickly and release him from this prison of emotions he had been trapped in, "I wanted to capture your beauty on the canvas. I hope you're not upset that I didn't ask your permission first."
"No, I'm not," she said, glancing back at the painting and then at the gorgeous man before her, humbling himself for reasons she really didn't understand, "My beauty?"
"Yes," he said, reaching out involuntarily and touching her cheek, "You're beautiful."
"Buffy!" Anya's voice rang out as she tromped in the gallery door with her arms loaded with a box of miscellaneous last minute items.
"I'm here," Buffy said, walking over to help her employee with the box. Angel crossed the room, his long strides allowing him to make it there sooner. He took the box from the girl and she looked up at him in surprise.
"Thank you," Anya said, "That thing is really heavy."
She watched as Angel effortlessly lifted the box and set it on the counter. Anya smiled appreciatively over his firm body and added, "Although not to you. I'm Anya."
"Angel," he said, introducing himself and holding out his hand to her, "Spike told me about you."
"Spike told me about you," she echoed, "He's an asshole."
"Yes," Angel said, laughing, "He is that."
"But he's a sex machine."
"Anya!" Buffy said, in shock.
"What? He is. Did I say something wrong?"
"I'll just take your word for it," he said good-naturedly. Anya and Buffy began setting up the tables as the caterers and waiters arrived. Anya ordered them around with ease and Angel found her amusing. Equally entertaining was Buffy's flustered apologies for her employee's curtness and bossiness. Anya even ordered Angel to help her move things around and he found himself happily obliging if only to have something to do other than wait for Buffy to remember that she hated him.
As much as Buffy wanted to remember, she couldn't seem to. Every time she passed the painting that she already thought of as hers, she saw that smile on her face. She didn't think she had ever had that sort of happiness before, even though it was definitely her lips, her eyes, her face. The blissful reflection captured a moment she had never had and emotions she had never felt.
***
//make me think the wrong thing//
Buffy watched as Angel worked the room, speaking to people and laughing occasionally while keeping that stoic beauty and mystery. He seemed shrouded by it and it was intriguing. Buffy didn't even notice Spike strutting across the room to her, even though he was almost in her direct line of vision, until he spoke.
"Hey there cutie," he said, leaning against the wall beside her.
"Hello," she said, "Are you...um...enjoying the show?"
"Not really," he said honestly, "I think these things are boring as hell, but I came to support my friend."
"You've known Angel for a long time?"
"Seems like forever," he said. He had a way about him that always made Buffy think he was bored. It was as if he was always looking for a thrill but never really found it.
"Oh," she said. She began to wonder if he was an orphan too but decided it was probably not appropriate to ask.
"You know they're all of you," Spike said, waving his hand around the room, which happened to be holding a glass of wine.
"N-no," she said. She hadn't had time to think about the reoccurring blonde in all of the paintings. Had she had time to think about it, she probably would have talked herself out of the idea, but now that Spike was pointing it out, she wasn't sure what to think.
"They are," he said, "Don't you see yourself in them?"
"They can't be."
"You should see the ones he decided to keep out of the show. He thought maybe they were, what's the word? Inappropriate," Spike said, smiling. He hoped the obsessiveness and stalker-like quality would chase her away. Or at least send her running into his own arms.
"What do you mean?" Buffy said, "There's more of me?"
"Oh yeah," the blonde Englishman said, "There's a lot more."
"He'd give his right arm to get between your dimpled knees, pet," Spike added, leaning in so his breath scraped her ears.
"Are you saying that this is his way of trying to get in my pants?" Buffy said, moving away slightly, "Please. Why should I believe you? Seems like overkill, don't you think?"
"Don't know," Spike shrugged, "That depends."
"On what?"
"On if it's working," Spike whispered, "Not many women would refuse him. I'm just wagering on how long it will take him to get...inside you."
"Anya's right," Buffy said with a sneer, "You are an asshole."
"Sure I am, honey," he said as he walked away, "Doesn't change the truth though."
Buffy watched as Spike strolled away, sipping his wine with a smile playing on his lips. He found Anya talking to a customer and he kissed the nape of her neck before wrapping his arm around her trim waist. Buffy shuddered as she watched him pull her into his side, his hand moving over her abdomen in an overly intimate way. Just the small stroke seemed obscene to her all of a sudden.
She crossed the room and retrieved a glass of wine, gulping down half of it before making her rounds, greeting visitors and helping them to admire the artist's work. She felt eyes on her. Not just Angel's but other people's, as if they all knew she was the woman in the paintings. She blushed furiously as she studied the canvases, lost in her own confusion. None of it made sense. She nursed glass after glass of wine, chatting with a person here and there, but mostly she just stared at the swirls of paint, at the colors blending into one another until they no longer formed images, until they were just hues.
"Buffy," Willow said, coming up behind her breathless and giggling from too much wine. Xander stood next to her, looking happy and flushed with alcohol as well.
"Hi Will," she answered, sipping on her third glass of wine. She could already feel the alcohol reaching her head. With her slight frame and the fact that she rarely drank, it wasn't hard to tell that it wouldn't take much to inebriate her, "Xander! I didn't even know you were here."
"We got here about a half hour ago but you didn't notice," Willow whispered, "Mostly due to the fact that you've been staring at yourself all night."
"Yeah, Buff," Xander said, pulling her into a hug and then keeping his arm over her bare shoulders, "You seem to be the belle of the ball."
"Who do you mean?" Buffy said, shifting her eyes from Xander to Willow and back again.
"Angel's been staring at you," Willow said, "And you've been staring at his paintings of you."
"Guy's got it bad," Xander said, smiling and nodding his head briefly at the artist, who was frowning at him. Xander could almost feel the jealousy radiating off him, "Look, he thinks I'm putting the moves on you."
"Xander," Buffy said, not really having a rest of a sentence to go with that. Instead she downed the rest of her glass.
"And look," Willow said, steering her friend's gaze to the corner where Cordelia and Darla were huddled together speaking in hushed and angry tones, "They're jealous too. The show's success is partially due to all the scandal here."
"Scandal?" Buffy said, a shade too loudly. She lowered her tone and set her glass on table beside her, "Don't you think you're making this into more than it really is?"
"Buffy," Xander said, looking down at his longtime friend, "I think you should check out the library's stalker manual because that guy is seriously freaky over you."
***
//one day this embarrassment will fade behind me
and that day i could think of things that won't remind me
but these days it's unbearable for both of us//
Angel was fairly certain that every woman he had ever slept with, dated, kissed or talked to showed up at the gallery. He was flanked with ex-lovers and the only one he wanted was the unreachable girl across the room, currently in the arms of some dark haired guy he had never seen. He tried not to look over there but he was not the boyfriend she had before. She seemed comfortable there, tucked into his side, swaying slightly from drinking too much.
He liked the way her skin seemed to flush from the wine and the little smile that almost crossed her lips when she spoke. Barely an hour into the showing, he felt crushed by the weight of what he had done and now that it was nearing to the end, he was sure he was sinking into the floor. Everyone there quickly figured out that the gallery owner was also the model. He wanted to scream in rage that everyone kept looking at her. He felt as if he had cheapened her somehow, as if his obsession had marred her in a way that couldn't be erased. They all thought he had slept with her. He heard whispers about them keeping away from each other during the show for appearance sake and he growled under his breath. It took all of his willpower not to storm from the building and leave his paintings there, hanging alone without his support. The only thing that kept him there was Buffy.
"Angel," a male voice said and he turned to face the dark haired man that had just been holding Buffy. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation but the man held out his hand, "I'm Xander."
"Nice to meet you," Angel lied, accepting the offered hand and shaking it firmly. He wanted to shake it more firmly. He wanted to break every one of the fingers that had touched her, followed by the arm that had been draped over her narrow shoulders. He forced the frown from his face even though he couldn't manage a smile.
"Yeah," Xander snorted, "Look, we both know that's a big lie."
"Okay," Angel said, nodding as he crossed his arms, "Guess it's time to be honest. I know you're not here to chat about paint, so what do you want?"
"I want to talk about Buffy," Xander said, knowing his answer was not surprising, "She means a lot to me. I don't want to see her hurt."
"Neither do I."
"Your reputation proceeds ya, buddy."
"Buffy can make her own decisions," Angel said, feeling testosterone overloading his brain. What if he just hit him? Just once.
"Whatever," Xander said, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm back in town after being gone for awhile. I'm going to be staying and I'm going to protect my friend."
"Friend?" Angel echoed, thanking God that word was used without the "girl" prefix at the beginning.
"She's not my girlfriend," Xander said, answering his unasked question, "But maybe it would be better if you pretended she was."
"You're in love with her," Angel said, sizing up the mannish boy speaking to him.
"Aren't you?" Xander said. A weighted pause in the conversation was hovering over them until Buffy stepped between them, filling the small space.
"Xander," she said, touching his arm. She could have been touching Angel's arm the way the gentle gesture sent chills down his spine. Xander looked down at her, losing most of the protectiveness in his eyes.
"I'm just talking to him," Xander protested.
"I beg you not to help me," she said with a sarcastic edge to her already slurred voice.
"Fine, but-"
"Xander."
"Fine," he said, backing away, "I was just trying to help."
"I know," she said, nodding. She watched Xander walk away and since she hadn't moved and neither had Angel, his breath was almost caressing her neck from the small space between them. She turned after a moment, taking a deep breath as she pivoted and faced him. The crowd was beginning to thin and most of the pieces had sold for outrageous prices. She couldn't help but feel proud, for him and for her gallery, that the event had been so successful.
"I want to see them," she said quietly, meeting his piercing gaze and melting under it. She stood up a bit straighter in an attempt to add strength to her words, but she seemed small next to him, dwindling underneath his large shadow.
"Them?"
"The other paintings," she said, "If there are more of me, I want to see them."
"Spike," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear.
"I think I have a right," she said, taking another sip of the golden courage in her wine glass, "Don't you?"
"Yes," he said, nodding slowly, "Just tell me when."
"Tonight," she said, "When the show ends."
***
Part Five
//go home
there's nothing better than affairs of the heart
to make you feel so good
then tear you apart//
By the time the crowd had disappeared entirely and Anya had let herself out, after flashing a knowing look to the pair huddled in the corner, Buffy was officially intoxicated. She refused to lean on the arm that Angel offered as they headed for the door, claiming that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own, thank you very much. When they reached the doorway, he asked her to wait while he went to get his car, which was parked a couple of blocks away.
She agreed to wait but he was worried about leaving her standing in the gallery alone. Not because he thought she wasn't safe, but because she was wobbling unsteadily on her high heel shoes and he was afraid she was going to fall over before he came back. She dropped her keys as she was trying to put them in the door to unlock it again since Anya had locked them in.
"Oops," she said, giggling and bent over to pick them up. As she did, her dress rode up enough to show the tops of her thigh high stockings. Angel held his breath as his groin tightened and reminded himself that he didn't want to sleep with her...tonight. She couldn't unlock the door quick enough for Angel to bolt out, needing to separate himself from the object of his dreams before he did something he knew he would later regret.
Buffy stumbled out of the gallery doors, even though Angel insisted that she relock the door and wait inside. She needed fresh air and felt perfectly safe even though it was close to one in the morning. She fumbled with her keys and took several moments to slip the key in the lock, but finally was able to successfully lock it and drop the keys into her purse. She turned around to look for Angel and found a large body slamming her back into the glass door.
A calloused hand covered her mouth as her head slammed against the door, cracking the glass behind her head and blurring her vision even more than it already was. She released a muffled scream as the front of her dress was ripped away. She could barely make out her attacker's face in the dark doorway, but he was nearly as tall as Angel with a slimmer build. His hair was blonde, she caught that, and he reeked of whiskey and cigarettes.
"Shut up, bitch," he said in his bland American accent as he pushed her down to the concrete walkway just in front of the door. Buffy squeezed out tears and tried to shake him off, pushing and punching at his shoulders. He punched her in the jaw, removing his hand from her mouth to do it, which gave her the opportunity to scream, "ANGEL!"
"Nothing's going to save you tonight, baby," he grunted as slapped her into silence and ripped away her bra and panties swiftly. He took a second to look over her lithe body and soon found himself on his back with a large boot crushing in his teeth.
Angel saw them before he heard her scream his name and was already out of his car, leaving it double parked and running in the street. He sprinted the few remaining feet to save the woman he now knew he was in love with. Spending his life in orphanages and on the street, he had more than his fair share of fights. He used every move he had ever learned to crush her attacker into the sidewalk. Anger and rage that was usually foreign to the artist became a living beast inside of him as the man tried to crawl away. Angel kicked him in the side and enjoyed the gurgled grunt of pain that sprayed from his mouth with his blood. He pulled the blonde man to his feet and prepared to punch him again when he said, "Angel. Stop."
He didn't stop. He hit him as hard as he could even as the man's identity was realized. He looked down at the bleeding man and stomped on his chest, feeling several ribs crack inside his chest.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Angel asked, wanting to kill him with his bare hands.
"Just give me a second," he answered, struggling to breathe.
"Did you give her a second, Penn? What are you doing trying to rape girls in the street, you horrible fuck?"
"I was paid to do it," he wheezed. He tried to scoot away but Angel pressed his boot harder into his chest. He could hear Buffy sobbing in the doorway and he looked over to see her trying to gather bits of her dress to cover her exposed body.
"Who hired you?"
"I don't know," he said. Angel bent over to punch him hard in the face and nearly growled out his next words, "Wrong answer."
"I swear," he gasped. Angel looked down at the man he had been friends with in boyhood and stared into his eyes for a moment, searching for the truth. He moved his foot off of his chest and Penn started to sit up, only to fall back again when Angel kicked the side of his head, contacting with his temple and knocking him unconscious. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 as he hurried to Buffy's side.
He knelt before her and looked down at her tearful, mascara streaked face. Blood was seeping from her full lips from where she had been struck and he felt the most abominable feeling he had ever known trickling into his soul. Someone he knew had to have hired Penn to do this to her. This was his fault. He gave the police the address and then shoved his phone back in his pocket before slipping off his leather jacket and gently wrapping it around her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said, feeling tears in his eyes for the first time since he was a little boy, "This is all my fault."
Much to his surprise, she laid her head on his chest as she continued to cry. Her shoulders shook violently with her sobs and it was all Angel could do to not go over and kill Penn before the police arrived. Instead, he pulled her into his arms. She allowed it and clung to him as he cradled her, smoothing his hand over her hair and sending a deadly glare at the unconscious former friend on the sidewalk.
***
//and in the mist our hero stands//
Detective Kate Lockley looked suspiciously over the tall, dark and extremely sexy man who claimed to know the attacker. He claimed to have no real relationship with the victim, Buffy Summers, other than a business relationship, but he loomed over her, watching every person who got near her. He was so protective over her that the other police officers were inclined to think of him as hostile.
"He said he was paid," Angel said, keeping a hand on Buffy's shoulder. She remained silent, wrapped in his leather jacket and feeling more naked with each passing second. Angel kept glancing down at her bloody knees and torn nylons and every time he did, he felt a rare, acutely defined fury rise in his chest. He should have killed that fucker when he had the chance.
"But he said he didn't know who, is that right?" Kate asked.
"That's right," Angel said, nodding.
"Did he say how much he was paid?"
"I knocked him out before he got that far," Angel answered honestly.
"Okay," she said, "Thank you. I appreciate your taking the time to answer our questions. We would like to take Ms. Summers' statement now. You are free to go. I'll have someone take her home."
Angel was frozen, unable to think of how to deal with the situation. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving her there alone and frightened. He looked down at her and she looked back up. Her eyes seemed to plead for him to stay and when he started to remove his hand from her shoulder she reached up and caught it, holding his hand tightly in hers. He lowered himself to one knee next to her chair and looked in her eyes for a moment before asking, "Buffy, I can stay...if you want."
He had to wait for a long time before she managed to whisper hoarsely, "Please don't leave me here alone, Angel."
"Okay, love," he said, touching the unbruised side of her face gently, "I'll stay."
Kate watched as he stood and turned his eyes back to her. The gentleness and love pouring out to Buffy disappeared completely as he looked back up at her. Instead they were now filled with anger and determination.
"I'm staying with her, detective," he said firmly.
"Fine," Kate said, nodding. She initially thought that the mysterious Angel had something to do with the attack, especially since he was once close friends with the rapist, but now she wasn't so sure. He was going to remain near the top of her suspect list, but he was slipping lower as they went along. Kate took a deep breath and continued, "Please have a seat over there while I get her statement alone."
Angel started to step away but Buffy held onto his hand and actually pulled him closer to her, unwilling to let him go. He looked down at her again and squeezed her hand.
"I'm not going to leave you, Buffy," he said quietly, "They think I'll influence your statement if I'm standing here. I'll just be over there, okay?"
Kate raised an eyebrow in surprise. She hadn't expected that reaction and as a cop, coming from a long line of cops, she was rarely surprised. Reluctantly, Buffy released his hand and turned her head to watch him walk away. She watched him until he settled in a chair on the other side of the room and waited.
***
//now what can we say?
have a nice day?
looks like rain today...//
Buffy didn't get to see Angel's paintings of her that evening and it was the furthest thing from her mind as he walked her out to his car at close to four in the morning. She gave him directions to her apartment and sat mutely in the seat, holding onto her seat belt for dear life even though Angel drove overly slow and cautiously. She was glad he was driving slowly because she didn't want to go into that dark quiet apartment and finally be alone. Even the thought of sleeping there by herself made her start to shake again.
He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex and parked in front of her building. She looked over at him, still trembling, waiting for him to tell her that he was leaving her there, that he was going to go away. He didn't. He turned off the car and walked around to open her door. Extending a hand with a sort of gentlemanly gesture he had never done before, she accepted his hand. He walked her to her door and took her keys from her after she tried several times to steady her hands.
When he opened the door, the first thing they both heard was breathing.
"Someone's here," he growled, stepping in ahead of her. Angel stood still in the darkness for a second, allowing his eyes to adjust. Buffy saw a familiar outline of a body on her couch and opened her mouth to stop Angel but he was already across the room, pulling the bulky weight from the couch.
"What the..."
"Angel!" Buffy shouted, "It's Riley. Stop. It's Riley."
She flipped on the light and looked over cloaked in shame of her violation. Angel had his hand around Riley's surprised throat and didn't bother letting go. Riley pushed him away and stared at his girlfriend for a moment. Was she his girlfriend anymore? He wasn't sure exactly but the condition she was in made him want to scream and cry and attack someone.
"What happened?" he shouted and turned back to Angel, "Did you do this to her? I'll fucking kill you!"
"Stop," Buffy sobbed, unable to stand another moment of violence for the evening, "He didn't do this to me."
"What happened?" Riley asked quietly, crossing the room to her. He reached out to touch her and she flinched, closing her eyes as she stepped away.
"I...can't..." she whispered, cringing.
"She was attacked outside the gallery," Angel said, his voice rumbling with checked anger.
"He saved me," she whispered.
"Are you okay?" he asked, feeling guilty for keeping his vigil on her couch while he waited for her to come home. He had been convinced that she was cheating on him, if cheating was even the right word for a woman he wasn't sure he was dating anymore. Now he felt the same jealousy twisting into something else.
She didn't answer but the pained look in her eyes answered the question.
"Do you want me to stay tonight?" he asked, wanting so badly to touch her, to pull her into his arms but knowing that he couldn't. Somehow the line had been drawn now and he wasn't sure if it would ever be erased again. A feeling of loss came over him as she shook her head.
"No," she said, "I just need...I need some time, Riley."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said, opening the door again for him. Riley looked over at Angel, who didn't look as if he planned on leaving.
"You coming?" he asked with a little more fierceness than he meant. Angel looked over to Buffy, questioning her silently.
"I need him to stay," she answered for him.
"*He's* staying but you want me to leave?"
"Please don't," she said, feeling a new set of sobs rising in her chest. She wasn't even sure why she wanted him to stay and for Riley to leave. It didn't make sense. All she knew was that he was the only one she felt safe with right now. She knew that she was probably asking too much of him to stay with her for awhile longer, but she needed it.
"Call me if you need me," Riley grumbled, giving a hard look to Angel, "And I'll come back."
"Thank you," she said before closing the door behind him.
***
//you realized it's not my fault not a moment too soon//
Angel stood guard as Buffy took a shower. The trust she felt for him was strange, to say the least, but she knew that if nothing else, he would protect her. She dry heaved under the spray and wished her stomach wasn't empty. Not that she would be able to eat. She wouldn't. Right then she wasn't sure how she was still breathing.
As she was getting dressed, she heard Angel pacing in her living room. She still felt dirty and had to resist the urge to get back in the shower and wash again. Instead she dressed slowly, choosing a pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt. It was warm outside but her apartment was freezing. She was sure it was her nerves since the temperature was fine when she left.
She hugged her body as she went into the living room to face her visitor. Now that she had made him stay there, she wasn't sure what to do with him. She did know that she didn't want him to leave. She wasn't sure she could face the rest of the night, even though there wasn't much left of it.
"Here," he said, holding a towel filled with ice in his hand, "Sit down. We have to get the swelling down."
She obeyed, curling up on the couch. He sat down next to her, careful not to touch her. After she had shied away from Riley's touch, he thought it was a good idea to keep his distance. He held the ice lightly against her face and flinched when she hissed in pain from the contact.
"Sorry," he mumbled, holding the ice there for her until she reached up to take it from him.
"‘S okay," she croaked out. She felt like crying, but there weren't any tears left. It took a long time for her to look over at him and meet his eyes. She was surprised to see more anguish there than she expected.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, "I mean, I'll stay with you for as long as you need me to, but I can't see why you would want that."
"Why would you say that?" she asked, pulling the ice away from her face.
"This is my fault," he said, "Penn was my friend. He had to have been hired by someone I know, someone trying to get back at me."
"I don't understand," she said, "Why would they attack me to get at you?"
"Because..." he said, searching his mind for the right way to explain it, "Because...dammit."
"Still not understanding, Angel."
"I think I'm in love with you," Angel said, "I know I'm not good enough for someone like you and I've tried to stay away from you but I can't. All my friends know that I've...changed since I've met you."
"Changed how?"
"I've been with a lot of women, Buffy," he said, standing up to look out her sliding glass doors at the predawn sky, "I'm not a very good person."
"People keep telling me that," she said, "But you don't seem so horrible to me."
"You're not looking close enough," he said, turning back to her, "You don't know me."
"I know enough," she said, standing up, "I know you saved me tonight...How have you changed?"
"I haven't seen another woman since I met you. I broke up with the women that I was seeing."
"W-why?"
"Because the only thing I want is you," he said. He waited for her to say something, to have some sort of reaction but he was met with stunned silence. He took a deep breath and looked down at her wounded face, "You can kick me out any time now."
"I don't want to," she whispered.
"What do you want?" he asked, clenching his hands to keep from touching her.
"Hold me until I fall asleep?"
He nodded silently and allowed her to lead him to her bedroom. She laid down on the bed, uncertain of what to do. He slid in beside her and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her narrow waist. Carefully brushing her hair away from her face, he kissed her forehead and listened to her breathing. Just before she fell asleep, he heard her whisper, "It's not your fault."
***
Part Six - "Falling"
***
//anyone perfect must be lying
anything easy has its cost
anyone plain can be lovely
anyone loved can be lost
what if i lost my direction?
what if i lost sense if time?
what if i nursed this infection?
maybe the worst is behind
and it feels just like i'm falling for the first time//
Angel wanted to stay in that warm bed and hold onto Buffy for the rest of the night and into the following day. He wanted to sink into a deep sleep and dream of the future in her arms. But he couldn't close his eyes without seeing Penn ripping her clothes from her body, the tears in her frightened eyes. He heard her screaming his name over and over again in his mind. He was certain that if he remembered anything for the rest of his life, it would be the desperate rattling scream for echoing off the empty street.
He looked down at her, finally asleep. One whole side of her face was bruised in deep purple and blue, a shattering reminder of what had happened. Her lip was split and although she had washed the blood away, he could still see it. It was almost as if it were still on his hands.
After he was certain she was sound asleep, he carefully slipped away and went into her living room. Picking up her cordless phone, he opened the sliding glass doors and went out onto the balcony. He sat on the edge of one of those wicker chairs that he had seen on a dozen other women's verandas and dialed as the sun was rising in front of him.
"Whoever this is better get a fucking watch," the gravely voice said when he answered.
"Gunn, it's Angel."
"This had better be an emergency man," Gunn complained, "I *just* got to bed."
"It's an emergency."
"What's up?"
"Someone tried to rape...my girl. Someone hired him. I need you to find out who," Angel said, letting the words come of his mouth in a stream of something as close to panic as Gunn had ever heard in his friend's voice.
"Okay," Gunn said, slowly, sitting up in bed and wiping his eyes, "first of all, you say ‘girl' as if there's only one and from the sound of your voice you aren't smiling."
"There is only one," Angel said, "now. And I'm a far cry from smiling."
"Wow. Need to digest that thought for a second."
"There's no time for that. Remember Penn? He tried to rape her in front of her gallery tonight. He said someone hired him. This isn't a favor. I'm hiring you. I want all of your people on this until it's resolved. I want someone outside of her apartment and someone at her gallery 24/7. I want every fucking person you have at your disposal on this case."
"I have other cases, Angel," Gunn said calmly, "I can tell you're upset and hell, I would be too, but you need to think rationally for a second."
"This is me being rational. I'll pay whatever it costs. Find that bastard and I'll take care of it from there."
"Whoa, man. You need to calm down. You're talking crazy. You can't be thinking about doing what it sounds like you're thinking about doing."
"Find out who is responsible for this," Angel said slowly, enunciating every word.
"Alright, alright. Give me the details," Gunn said, reaching for a pad of paper and pen. Angel filled him in on everything that had happened in overly specific detail, including sounds, smells and goddamn pigments. He had known Angel for a long time. He had even seen him possessive of certain women, but this girl, this Buffy Summers, was something completely different. It was almost as if Angel was actually in love with her.
Angel hung up the phone and dialed again. He listened to the ring and groaned when the answering machine picked up. He listened to Spike's voice saying, "Leave a bloody message or hang up."
"Spike, it's Angel. If you're there, pick up," Angel said and paused for a second, "It's important. I need to talk to you as soon as poss-"
"What do you WANT?" Spike grunted, "Did you get Betty home and forget how to get in her in the sack since you've been a monk for the last coupla months?"
"Buffy," Angel growled, "Her name is Buffy, dammit, and Penn tried to rape her outside the gallery after the show tonight. What do you know about it?"
"What you just told me," Spike answered, "I'm into shagging ‘em, not raping ‘em, mate. What the bloody hell would Penn be doing raping someone anyway? He's a sadistic bastard, but he never had a problem getting a girl before."
"He said someone hired him," Angel answered.
"Paid rapist? That's new."
"You're not funny," Angel warned, "I need you to ask around. Find out if anyone knows anything."
"Call Gunn. I'm not a detective."
"Already called him and now I'm asking you too. You're going to help me and if I find out you had anything to do with this-"
"Jesus, Peaches," Spike complained, "You can't threaten someone this early in the morning."
"Just ask around, okay?"
"Fine, but you owe me."
"Whatever, William."
"Keep that shit up and I won't be helping you at all."
***
//i've never felt so small
i've never been so dissed as i shiver, dripping//
Buffy woke up alone and her bed never seemed so large. She curled up and stared at the window that she couldn't see out of. She didn't want to get up and face the day. She didn't want to see that Angel had left her. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to find out if he left a note or not. It just seemed hopeless and she felt helpless. It made her angry to feel that way, that someone could make her so afraid and weak, that one man, one stranger could have that much power. If Buffy Summers was ever anything, it was never helpless and weak. Whoever Penn was, whoever hired him, she couldn't let him destroy her peace of mind.
Trying on a slip of determination, she forced herself to get out of bed. She stood on her own two feet and saw the lush green tree outside of her window. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining. It was a depressingly beautiful day. Too beautiful to feel the way she did. The sun seemed to know that as it pressed against her, making her feel hot in the bulky sweat shirt she had put on the night before. She slipped it off and made her way to the kitchen in her sports bra and sweat pants.
She stopped just outside the kitchen door as she saw him standing in front of the stove, breaking an egg into her frying pan. His hair was still wet from the shower he must have taken, sticking up haphazardly in the most adorable way. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but those incredible leather pants.
"Hey," he said when he noticed her standing there. He tried not to stare at her body, reminding himself that the furthest thing from his mind *should* be how delectable she looked in that little top. She crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably, confirming his suspicions. He crossed the room to her, against his better judgement, and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"Hey," she echoed numbly.
"I borrowed your shower," he said, turning back to the eggs, "I hope you don't mind. I thought I'd make you breakfast."
"It's fine," she answered, "About the shower, I mean. It's sweet of you to make me breakfast but I'm really not hungry."
"You need to eat something. You'll need the energy."
"For what?" she asked, tracing her finger on the counter.
"For your first lesson."
"Lesson?"
"Yeah," he nodded, scrambling the eggs artfully as he spoke, "You're going to learn self defense. I'm going to teach you how to fight and we're not going to stop until you can kick my ass."
"What? Are you joking?" she asked in surprise.
"No," he said, setting the spatula down before facing her and looking into her eyes to let her know just how serious he was, "I want you to be able to protect yourself. No one is *ever* going to hurt you again."
"I don't get you," Buffy said, shuffling away from the kitchen and back into the living room. She curled up on the couch and looked absently out the sliding glass doors, wishing they would just seal her up inside there.
"What's not to get?" he called from the kitchen as he turned off the burner and then followed her out, "I want you to be safe."
"You don't even know me," she said, "Why do you even care?"
"I care," he said, sitting down next to her, "And you're right, I don't know you. But I will, if you let me."
***
//make up your mind and stick it out or start again
you can't imagine what an effort it takes//
"Why didn't you call us?" Willow asked, hiding her shaking hands under Buffy's kitchen table as she looked over her friend's split lip and bruised face.
"The better question here is how do you trust Angel, or whatever his *real* name is, when it was his friend that attacked you?" Xander demanded, just barely keeping himself from pounding his fist on the table in frustration.
"This wasn't his fault," Buffy answered, sternly. If there was anything in this situation that she was sure of, it was Angel's innocence.
"You've known him for what? Ten minutes? It's pretty damn convenient that you get attacked by his friend and he just *happens* to be there to save you and then ends up in your bed!"
"I asked him to stay, Xander," Buffy said, keeping her voice steady, "And this is none of your damn business. Leave Angel out of this."
"Wake up and smell the seduction, Buffy!"
"So," Willow said, clearing her throat and sending a dirty look in Xander's direction, "He's teaching you self defense?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding, "I spent the morning learning how punch correctly, how to make a fist, getting out of holds, that sort of thing. It was interesting, actually. I didn't think it would be that, you know, fun."
"Fun?" Xander asked, a shade too loudly.
"Maybe you should show Xander how to punch correctly," Willow offered with a grin.
***
//so now you're out from under the gun
and it's over and done
so i won't spoil all the fun//
Three weeks passed and Buffy was starting to think that she had imagined the part where Angel said he was falling in love with her. He taught her self defense three nights a week, took her out to dinner a couple of times and hired some people to follow her around, but he never even tried to hold her hand. His protectiveness was as endearing as it was annoying. She thought originally that she was just being paranoid when she felt like she was being watched. Then she started to notice people following her all the time. It took almost two weeks to get the little "Gunn Investigations" tidbit out of him and initially she was pissed as hell that he hadn't bothered to tell her she was being followed. Did he think that she wouldn't notice thug types hanging around all the time?
But it was hard to stay angry with him. He had this soothing quality about him that made her forget within moments what she was supposed to be upset about. She thought it was his eyes. They more than penetrated, they took root, set up camp and started fires. But he kept his distance physically if his gaze didn't. She was getting that itch that she thought Riley must have felt when she refused him. She began to think about him touching her and kissing her. Every time he touched her, she leaned in, waiting for the more that didn't happen.
With the multitude of women she heard about him sleeping with, she couldn't understand what was taking him so long. Maybe he had changed his mind about her after what happened. She shuddered when she thought about that night, naked and bleeding in front of him, sobbing on his shoulder. Every time she looked in the mirror and saw the bruises that were taking an excruciatingly long time to heal, she was reminded of what she was desperately trying to forget.
That particular evening, she was sitting at home, staring at the wall and trying to think of something to do. Xander took Willow out of town for the weekend to a secret destination that he wouldn't even tell her. Anya was out with Spike and Cordelia had somehow hooked up with the bartender at Spike's club. That one was a little confusing, since she usually went for rich, no-necks and that guy was neither wealthy, nor a jock. Still, she saw the attraction. He had a worshipful way about him when he looked at her with those pretty blue eyes. He called her "Princess" which made the snooty Queen C turn into a rubber kneed school girl. It was cute. It was frustrating. Why was everyone else getting smoochies? Everyone seemed to be happy with someone except for her.
Picking up the phone, she dialed Angel's number from memory and listened to the empty ring. He picked up just as the answering clicked on and sounded busy as he said, "Hello?"
"Hi. It's Buffy. Um...am I calling at a bad time?"
"No, of course not," he answered. She had a horrible picture inside her mind of him in bed with some beautiful woman. She could only hope that he was exercising. Maybe he was painting. It was a much more attractive image than the in bed with some other woman one, although he was just as naked in that vision as in the other.
"I was in the shower," he added after a moment of silence.
Even better mental image, she thought as she said, "Oh. I'm sorry. I'll let you go."
"No!" he said, "Hold on one sec while I grab a towel. I'm dripping all over my floor."
Dear God, he was completely naked. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone while she tried to make herself breathe. Mr. Dark, Gorgeous and Overprotective was naked and covered with little droplets of water...
"Kay," he said, picking up the phone again, "Is everything okay?"
"Sure," she said, "I was just wondering, since I never got to see your other paintings of me, that you might want to...but I'm sure you probably have plans since you were showering and it's Friday night, so I can just let you go-"
"Buffy," Angel interrupted and smiled into the phone at her nervous babbling, "I'd love for you to come over and see them. Do you want me to come pick you up?"
Naked? Sure!
"No," Buffy said, grinning, "I have a car. Besides, Gunn or one of his buddies will be following me anyway."
"Uh, right," he said, guiltily, "They have liked all the snacks you've been giving them. You're their favorite assignment."
"I bet."
***
//he already knows he's forgotten all he knew before//
When Angel answered the door, he had to make himself not stare. Buffy was wearing one of those little black camisoles that hugged her chest and left her torso delightfully bare. She wasn't wearing anything under it, he was certain of that. Her jeans were worn and faded, hugging her hips seductively. He hid the fact that he was taking a deep breath to calm himself as he stepped back to let her in.
He had set all of the paintings up around the room, leaning against the furniture and the walls. In fact, he was glad she came right over because he had resorted to moving them around in different positions as if the lighting and location of each canvas would make all the difference. He mulled over hiding a couple that he wasn't sure of but in the end, he decided not to hide anything from her. He leaned against the closed door after letting her in and let her wander around the room to look at them. It was better to stay there, since he was sure he would be opening it again within minutes to let her back out.
Buffy had braced herself for the viewing of the paintings. After seeing his other ones of different women, she thought for certain that she would be nude in some of them. She was shocked to see that she wasn't. She guessed it made sense that he wouldn't know what she looked like underneath her clothes, but she was sure he could imagine it pretty accurately. If he did imagine it, he didn't paint it. They were seductive and surreal, dreamy and beautiful. She always thought herself sort of plain but he made her seem more exotic somehow, more interesting.
"Is this all of them?" she asked, staring at herself over and over again, silhouetted, shaded and abstracted. Some of them were just a hint of her and others were so real she almost expected her image to step off the canvas. There were so many it was almost too much to handle.
"Those are all of paintings," he said, crossing the room to his desk. He pulled out a sketchbook and handed it to her, stilling the tremor in his hands. The moment of truth was taking an unbearably long time. Buffy sat down on the couch and opened the book. The first thing she saw was a sketch of Darla done in charcoal. She was in the center of a bed, nude and inviting.
"Keep going," he said, clearing his throat nervously, "Yours are more towards the middle."
He cursed silently as she flipped each individual page, looking at what he had done before he met her. Some of them were a little more risque than others and he wished he had flipped to the first page with her in it instead of giving her free reign of the drawings. Eons passed before she reached the first one of herself. She turned the pages slowly and he wanted to speed up the process, make it to the finish and get his judgement. The waiting was torment.
When she finally closed the book, he waited for moment while she held the book in her hands, looking around the room again.
"What do you think?"
"This is going to sound conceited," she said quietly, as she stood up from the couch, "But I think they're beautiful. It isn't that they're of me, it's what you see in me, what you've made me into. It's almost like...you see more than there is."
She reached out and touched a reproduction of her face, half of her lost in the shadows, "You make into more than what I am."
"No, I don't," he said. She jumped when she heard him speak. She didn't realize he was standing right behind her until he spoke softly in her ear. She turned and faced him, tilting her head to look up at him.
"These are more full of life than I am," she whispered.
"They're pathetic attempts," he whispered back, "You're much more than this."
He leaned down, inching toward her face, waiting for her to shy away from him. She didn't move away but toward him. He kissed her gently and felt his heart thumping in his chest as she responded to him, parting her lips as the kiss deepened. Pulling her into his arms, he threaded his fingers through her silky hair with one hand and spanned her lower back with the other, relishing in the feel of the bare skin between her shirt and jeans.
***
Part Seven "The Want"
***
//i'm so done, turn me over cause it feels just like i'm falling for the
first time//
Angel's old frame of mind was creeping in as he kissed her. He felt his arousal growing, sex flooding his mind as he explored her warm mouth, loving the way she responded to him. Just a flick of his wrist and her tiny camisole would be gone and he would be able feast his hungry eyes on her full breasts. Taking each second of self control he never used in the past, he broke the kiss and released her. Her lips were moist and parted as she expelled little puffs of breath. She seemed to be silently asking for another kiss as she kept her arms around him.
He leaned in and kissed her again, promising himself it would be the last. She tasted like so sweet and her body fit against his so perfectly that he almost thought he was dreaming it. He thought back on that night with her falling asleep in his arms. He was so concerned about her welfare that he hadn't taken the time to relish in the feel of her. Tonight he had that time and was trying to keep himself from it again.
When he broke the kiss the next time, he entertained the idea of jumping out the window. It seemed like the better alternative than trying to get her to go home. He loved her and yet, he felt as if he shouldn't corrupt her integrity. It seemed wrong for someone like him to be with someone like her but the way she was looking at him, that innocent lust in her pretty hazel eyes was more than he could stand.
"Are you going to be ready for our lesson tomorrow?" he asked, having a bit of difficulty getting the words out.
"Yes," she answered, nodding her head in confusion. Weren't they just kissing? Who gave a rat's ass about the lesson tomorrow?
"Good," he said, nodding and stepping away, hoping she didn't notice the uncomfortable bulge in the front of his pants. He sat down on the couch and she sat on the opposite end, slipping off her sandals and pulling her feet up against her chest.
"Why do I feel like you regret kissing me?"
"I don't," he said, "I mean, I loved kissing you, Buffy, I just think that maybe we shouldn't...do that."
"Why not?" she asked.
"I'm just not the kind of guy you should be with."
"So you want me to go out with another guy?"
"NO!" he said, standing up, "I mean, yes. Yes."
"Are you trying to talk yourself into that? I thought you said you were falling in love with me."
"I am," he said, facing the window she now recognized from his painting, "...already in love with you."
She walked boldly over to him. She stood behind him for a second before she wrapped her hands around his waist, resting her cheek on his back. She felt her hands trembling slightly as she held him and she breathed deeply, waiting there in silence for a second.
"Angel," she said quietly, "I love you too. I want to be with you."
She let him go and walked around him, leaning against the window pane as she continued speaking, "I'm not sure why you think you're not good enough for me, but I don't care what you did in the past or who you slept with before. All that matters to me is here and now. It's what you are to me, how you treat me."
"I'm not so sure," he said, shaking his head.
"Do you want to be with me?" she asked sternly.
"Buffy, it's not that-"
"Do you want to be with me, Angel? It's a simple question."
"Yes," he said, meeting her eyes, "Yes, I do."
"Good, now that we have that out of the way," she said, stepping closer, "I think you should kiss me again."
He crushed his mouth against hers, plunging his tongue into her warm mouth. He stepped forward, pressing her against the glass behind her. He ignored the fact that his arousal was against her, alerting her of just how much he wanted her. As she kissed him, she reached down and pulled her shirt up, breaking the kiss to pull it off, baring her chest to his gaze. He paused for a second, licking his lips while his mind raced on the right thing to do. The rarity of these emotions were crowding in with his lust. She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off of his shoulders. After a second, she pulled his hands to her chest, placing them over her breasts.
"Please," she whispered, "Don't think about it. Just touch me, Angel."
He cupped her breasts gently, brushing his thumbs over her erect nipples as he leaned in to kiss her again, slipping down to her neck and then capturing one of her nipples in his mouth. She threaded her fingers into his hair and moaned as he sucked in one nipple then the other, pausing to leave a dozen little kisses in the valley between her breasts.
She squealed in surprise when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, kissing her passionately on the way. He set her on her feet next to his bed. He looked down at her flushed skin, her swollen lips and the way her eyes sparkled with want. He shook his head and groaned in pain as he stepped away. She reached out and grabbed his arm, keeping him there and then slipped off her jeans. Her black lace panties were all the clothing she had left and as she moved to remove them, he stopped her.
"It's too soon," he said.
"I want you," she breathed, her voice husky with desire, "I thought you wanted me."
"I do," he answered, "You have no idea how hard this is for me. I just think we should wait. I don't want to ruin it."
Buffy stepped up, closing the space between them and pressed her nearly naked body against his. She kissed the smooth column of his neck, allowing her hands to roam freely over his chest and back. She felt him weakening as one hand slipped into her hair and the other traced her spine. She sucked his nipples into her mouth, mirroring his previous movements and a shiver of desire rippled through him.
"Buffy," he said as her hand slid down to caress the rigid outline of his cock through his pants, "I'm begging you, baby. We have to wait."
"Uh-huh," she said, reaching for the button of his pants, "Don't wanna."
With a growl he knocked her hands away and backed her toward the bed, pushing her back on it. He slid her panties off easily and spread her legs, sliding his hands down her inner thighs. God, she was perfect. He leaned in to inhale the musky sweet scent of her arousal and then dipped in to taste her. He kissed her outer lips before teasing her open with his tongue, pressing her legs further apart as she opened for him. The guttural moan she released when he finally sucked her clit into his mouth was enticing, to say the least, and spurred him on. The years of practice were paying off as he nibbled, licked and sucked her, exploring the contours of her with his expert mouth.
He pushed a finger inside her, moving shallowly for a moment before pressing deeper. When he hit her hymen, he almost cried. She was a virgin. He suspected, but didn't really think it was true and now that it was, he wasn't sure how to continue. He slowed down, crafting her orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until she was trembling underneath him and gripping his shoulders.
"Angel," she gasped, raising her hips and pressing her dripping sex against his mouth. Answering her request, he sucked her clitoris into his mouth, sucking hard until she came, screaming and bucking beneath him. His name appeared inside her moans of pleasure and it was perfect.
He gathered her trembling body against him and nestled with her against the pillows, holding her tightly against his chest. She waited for him to move to make love to her, but he didn't. Finally, she turned over in his arms and looked at his face, blanketed with lust and determination.
"Don't you want to make love to me?" she asked.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth, "But I'm not going to."
"Angel..."
"Not tonight, Buffy," he said, kissing her lightly, "Please, just let me wait."
"You're just torturing yourself," Buffy said, pressing her hand against his pounding heart, "You can have me, Angel. I'm not going to disappear."
"I know, love," he said, but he didn't.
***
//it's really amazing//
Angel couldn't believe that Buffy was in his bed, blissfully naked and snuggled against his chest sound asleep. Okay, so he hadn't made love to her but that didn't change the fact that she was in his apartment, in his bed, in love with him. He would have been dancing around the room, jumping up and down with joy, if it didn't mean leaving her arms. He smiled down at her, studying her like he never bothered to study any other woman. She was so small and perfect, her leg tossed over his, her warm heat pressing against his leg, her hand so small as it rested on his stomach. It was the first time in years he had gone to bed in clothing. He was in boxer shorts, which was far more than he had slept in a long time, except for the night he held her before. In some twisted part of his mind, it felt good. He wasn't her lover yet but it didn't matter, she loved him.
The morning sun was filtering through his windows, flooding the room with heat and light. She shifted in her sleep and he knew that she would wake up any moment. He waited, smiling down at her as she murmured in her sleep, rubbing her face on his chest. Her hand moved over his chest as if in half sleep she was trying to remember where she was. She opened her eyes and blinked. A second later, she looked up at him and smiled back at him.
"Morning," she said, her voice full and groggy. She turned her face up for a kiss and he obliged, delighted she wasn't one of those women who had to run to the bathroom to brush her teeth first. He knew it was sad, but everything she did made him love her more.
"Morning," he said, as the kiss ended, rubbing her back gently, "How did you sleep?"
"Better than I have in weeks actually," she said, sitting up. She glanced at the clock on his bedside table and groaned, "I have to get to the gallery. I'm meeting this morning. Can I borrow your shower?"
"Sure," he said, nodding toward the bathroom, "There are clean towels in the closet."
"Thanks," she said, kissing him again before getting up and heading toward the bathroom. He watched her perfect, golden, naked body as she walked, swaying her hips generously. At the door, she stopped and turned around, "Wanna come?"
"Don't tempt me," he grumbled, sitting up in bed.
"That's exactly what I was trying to do," she said, winking at him before disappearing into the room. He dropped his head in his hands and reminded himself that it was too soon to have sex. Too soon. He thought about their conversation the night before, how he had insisted that they wait and she disagreed. He was trapped in a world of confusion. *He* was telling a woman they should wait? If only Spike could hear him now. He listened to the running water in the bathroom, imagining her little body under the spray, water streaming over her breasts, tracing each perfect rib, over her abdomen and down...at this rate, he was going to have to write it down and keep it in his pocket like a flash card. *It's too soon to sleep with her, Angel.*
***
//before all the fireworks exploded
our conversations were so loaded
innuendo flying//
There were several rounds of bets going on at Gunn Investigations lately. Some of the staff, actually ALL of the staff and some people outside it, were betting on how long it would take Angel to sleep with Buffy. Some of his subcontractors, who knew Angel well, had lost the first round of bets on that one. Now that they were edging toward the first month, money was being exchanged almost every day. No one could believe Angel hadn't gotten her into bed yet. The idea of Angel waiting one night without nailing a beautiful girl was inconceivable, but a month? Are you fucking crazy?
The second round of bets were the ones that Gunn found hilarious. Everyone was dying to know how long it would take Angel to beat the shit out of some guy who hit on his girl. All the men who watched Buffy on a regular basis, both at her apartment and at the gallery, had a bit of a crush on the sweet but bitingly sarcastic blonde girl. Angel had warned several of them in a not so nice tone that if they touched her, he would murder them in cold blood. The scary part was they really didn't think he was kidding.
"Hey people! You will not bloody *believe* the latest," Spike said, laughing so hard that tears were coming to his eyes as he strolled into Gunn Investigations that evening. Spike had been a integral source of knowledge for their rounds of bets since he was sleeping with Buffy's employee, Anya, who did not think it was a big deal to blurt out everything that was going on.
"Better hurry up and leak it," Gunn said, glancing up half heartedly from the file in front of him. The grim pictures in the file kept him from being as interested as usual in Angel's sex life. LA was becoming more dangerous and violent, at least he thought it was. Either that or he was becoming known for taking on the more grisly cases. Why couldn't he look for a lost kitten or something? This shit was sick, "They're going to meet here in for a sparring session in a little while."
"What's up?" Tommy asked. He was one of Gunn's guys who currently had a lot of money riding on the couple. He stepped forward with interest as Spike sank down to sit on the steps of the Hotel Hyperion, clutching his gut with laughter.
"Buffy...oh God, this is so great," Spike sputtered, "Buffy..."
"Spit it out!" Damon, a seven foot giant of an employee yelled as he stepped closer as well.
"Buffy wants to sleep with Angel, but *he* wants to wait!" Spike said, collapsing into a fresh spout of guffaws. This was terrific. He couldn't even grasp the idea of his friend requesting that they "take it slow." What a bloody riot! The funniest part of it all was that Spike had an inkling since Angel first spotted the girl that this was going to be different and he had hedged his bets accordingly. These morons were going to make him rich before Angel could get a piece of her sweet ass.
"What?" Tommy screamed. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Angel was his goddamn hero. He screwed every beautiful woman in LA and some outside of LA. Shit, half the women he had dated in the past couple of years had already slept with the artist. Now he was going to lose a bundle of his next paycheck cause Angel suddenly got a heart and conscience! It wasn't right.
***
TBC...
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