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slayerboy2009
title | Contact High
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Dan X Blair
summary |"his low quality material is surprisingly soft." She looked oddly intrigued with it and it made him take a gulp.
notes|This is not betad all mistakes are my own. which i am aware might be a lot. I just cant help myself I tend to be hardcore dair trash...

*******
He spots it in his peripheral vision the tangle of smoke losing thickness in the air the streams growing thin. If he was honest, he had smelled it first the strong ,earthy, fresh and according to chuck the best green you can get on the upper east side. The joint wasn’t even a third of the way finished tip gone but that was about it. He looked at it now it had his full attention it just seemed wasteful so when curiosity was to much to fight he reached out took it between his fingers holding the edge carefully as to not drop it. With one last brave gasp he put his mouth to the end and inhales hard and suddenly his coughing and his lungs feel like they are bursting. He regains himself after a few minutes and looks at the joint in his hand cautiously and decides his already gone this far. so smokes a few more puffs a little more gently and he can feel a little heavy by the time his putting it down he decide the floor looks more comfortable and he remembers his in Waldorf's house sneaking around once again.
He thinks he doesn’t mind as much as he should in fact he sort of likes the idea of Blair being his secret. Or Blair having him for one. His feet had sort of led him to the Waldorf home and is not surprised to bump into Chuck on the way off the elevator. Chuck gives his usual snide Humphrey and he can tell he isn't threaten by him and it sort of unnerves him and maybe that is how he ends up here. Looking into the vastness of the Waldorf home and for the first time he notices the room atmosphere its litely lit and dim and he finds it comforting so he lets his back relax against the couch and that is when he hears her.

"Humphrey." she puffs making him smile a large goofy smile that might be a clear signal of the content running through his blood stream. A medicinal strong herb and mix of hormones along with the great empathy he tends to share with her. And his thoughts flow towards her hair seems awfully soft he really had not thought of it to much or had try not to anyways, thou now he can't help himself. She must of course notice because she is looking at him intently her eyes darting back and forth and suddenly she spots it half a joint still lit on the marble of her countertop and her eyes go wide with realization and its really unexpected how she just starts to giggle.
"well Humphrey you really are full of surprises." she says matter of factly.

" you might as well give up Waldorf." he raises his eyebrows and his smile widens. "you just can't figure me out." letting his head fall and maybe looks at her from under his eyelashes. She looks so soft he cant help himself and lets his eye wonder lingering on her warm tan slightly golden and he can imagine running his hands slightly along it . She seems to radiate heat just by her indifference it makes something deep inside his gut fill with warmth and nostalgia he wants to latch on.

"aint that the truth." she sits on the couch next to him when he lets his head fall into the couch she is there above him, she looks sort of angelic due to the hazyness of the lights. and he can feel the plush of his sweater rubbing against her knee. "your high." she states but doesn’t pull away and grabs what is left of the joint and takes a hard hit and she looks almost awkward in her green silky dress her eyes shut and her bodies stiffens and she starts coughing frantically he can't help himself and laughs,laughs so hard his insides hurt he finally catches his breath in the middle of her second hit. She throws him a death glare he spots it.

" I thought you be a natural." he admits

" I have no intention of becoming a high class stoner." she says and passes him the joint there fingers brush against each other it sends a little jolt up his spine, his been slowly adjusting to the feeling of their bodies touching on a more regular basis .
"So why are you doing it now." he takes it from her and takes the hit. he asked curiously because it does not make sense, she smart she knows better. So does he to be truthful he is already to relaxed for his comfort thou he decides to go with it.

"I thought of leveling the playing field." she smiles at him eyes glossy and wide smile. " Also it seemed wasteful." he hears her words echo his thoughts and for a moment he wants to kiss her so badly. It's just a moment but it's enough for the thought stick. and he feels her sink in next to him shoulder to shoulder on the alabaster floor and he sort of surprised she is this close to him. And it feels strangely intimate and he shifts his shoulders rub against her skin just below the thin green straps that hold her dress together and he thinks the deep green highlights they suits her skin.

"It really did." He nods and is sort of stuck in thought when he feels it. Her fingers on his sweater just very slightly stroking it making it furl under the fingertips.

"This low quality material is surprisingly soft." She looked oddly intrigued with it and it made him take a gulp. The clear signal of her high makes him smile.

"Something's gotta keep me warm in the cold streets of Brooklyn." But he doesn’t look away from her fingertip on the hemline of his sweater.

"Makes sense." She doesn’t argue and it throws him off but the weed sort of making him follow her sweet channel5 and he finds himself leaning in.
"Of course it can't make up for that terrible off white beige. " It takes Dan a moment to and she isn't looking at him just lets go of his sweater with a slight tug and turns around and her chestnut hair looking perfectly velvety and self consciously steps back and suggest sleepless in Seattle for tonight's movie. She agrees excusing his earlier behavior and it must be the high because he leans in anyways and captures her lips pressing his own firmly against her so she won't mistake it for anything other than it is. His not sure weather the tingles in his skin are ever going to fade as he pulls back. She seems stunned a bit her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted and it must be her high because he swears he feels her knuckles brush against the back of his skin sending electric signals to his brain he can't seem to ignore. Nothing more is said about it as the movie is inserted and for most of the movie while tom hanks slowly grieves over loss of his wife Blair's hand brushes the back of his own knuckles and she must be getting used to his touch as well because she leans into his shoulder her head resting there. They seem to relax into each other the high wearing off slowly her thumb making the frequent journey from his thumb knuckle to his wrist. The night goes on like this electricity in the air with the ever present lightness they seem to bring to each other and and the strong smell of herb in the air. She shift slight on his shoulder so that she is looking directly at him and he can feel her eyes over his cheek and he turns to meet them. Her eyebrows knot together in concentration. He is about to ask what it is. He is at the end of his high and he slowly coming back down and he slightly squirms under her glare. Thou suddenly her hands clutch in his sweater and she is pulling him in all teeth and tongue. He gasp into her but immediately responds letting his lips part and her tongue meeting his and the contact high is heavenly and he melts into her. As she pushes her body flush against his he groans or whimpers his not sure. Thou he has never been more grateful for Chuck wasteful tendencies.

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Current Mood: tired
Current Music: contact high- architecture in helsinki

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title | I take a walk
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Cordy/Xander
summary | Life falls apart in the middle of the day
notes|I really adore the concept of these two and it just breaks my heart that they never got a real chance. Thanks to Buffy Sunnydale for being the perfect beta!

Life falls apart in the middle of the day when your dad doesn’t come home and someone shows up with the keys to your Mustang and your house. Your mom crying as she watches various men take away everything of value in your home. You wonder if it’s still a home or if it’s just an empty building now. It only belongs to you for a couple more months anyway. Chin up and full of pride, you decide to take a walk. Your Gucci stilettos hit the ground with determination because, above all, you are still Cordelia Chase.

She walks with pride down the hallway holding her purse close, and even closer, her secrets. Rumors have started spreading and she can see the questioning glances and the wicked smiles. She gulps down the insecurity and when a body bumps against hers she hears the Dolce & Gabana purse hit the ground.

“Watch it.” She demands as she looks into the eyes of the young boy. The tinge of fear is there and she remembers who she is because of it. “Well? What are you waiting for?” She raises an eyebrow and he hurriedly drops to his knees, picking up her things, muttering apologies as he does. She holds her position and doesn’t wait for him to stand and just walks past him, all eyes on her. Queen C walks away with a small smirk and the knowledge that she still rules here. Fearful eyes follow her Gucci shoes as they leave a trail of splendor behind them.

Her forehead falls onto the locker and the sound of it echoes against the emptiness of the dark hallway. The only light is above her and she wipes away wet tears from her cheeks, swallowing to maintain some sort of composure. It had to end at one point or another. She never thought it would end here at prom. When Harmony confronted her realizing she can’t strut around with an empty purse nothing she can flaunt. So when the school finds out exactly how poor she is, she runs down the hall and away from judging eyes and she wonders if this is how she made people feel on daily basis and that is how she ends up curled up crying against a locker in her high school. A large hand appears, palm ready for hers, and a smiling Xander Harris is there in a tuxedo. She knows it’s all because he can’t resist being the white knight.
“Want to take a walk?” He tilts his head signaling for her to join him.
She lets her small hand be wrapped up by his and lets him be what no one else ever sees in him--just her. If it happens to be exactly what she needs, it must be a coincidence. She thinks it’s a fair trade because he seems to be the one always catching her like this: broken and lost.
She decides to take a walk because maybe he can help her find her way.

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title | Tell her I miss our little talks
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Cordy/Xander
summary | Once a upon a time he had been that boy.
notes|The bitterness that curses thru me when I think of these particular ship., Thanks to Buffy Sunnydale for being the perfect beta! This is likely the last story for the drabble contest.
___________


Once upon a time he had been that boy.

His hand entangled with hers as she ruled the school with a Prada purse held in the other.

She chooses the toad over all her kingdom. She falls and rises again as he knew she would. Her skill for backstabbing a delicate art in her hands and some part of him fills with pride.
He never does turn into a prince she loves him anyways. Old worn jeans and raggedy shirt she throws her arms around him.

Once upon a time he broke her majesty’s heart.

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Current Location: United States, Arizona, Mesa
Current Mood: blah blah
Current Music: Little Talks -Of Monsters and Men

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title | Hums that never leave you.
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG-13
characters/pairings | Angel/Xander
summary | Maybe it’s the smell of coffee and earth, all mixed into the perfect combination of heavy,
notes|Angst,slight rafrence to sexual activity, Thanks to Buffy Sunnydale for betaing this for me she did such a great job!
___________

He always knows when Xander is in the room. He doesn’t have to even speak--he can stand meters away and Angel knows. Maybe it’s the smell of coffee and earth, all mixed into the perfect combination of heavy, too-quick steps as he has trouble ever really standing still. Angel thinks it’s a nervous habit from years before he knew the boy, before he fell for the boy, before he couldn’t see the boy. He smiles and knows he’s in the room. He gives off heat. He’s sweating and giving off pheromones like crazy. He was most likely working out.

Angel can’t really say when he started filling out. All he knows is that when he came back, his body wasn’t that of a young boy’s but of a man. It was his hands that gave it away. He came with Willow—Angel had been desperate at the time, lost like never before, his darkness swallowed him whole, and his world became shadows and memories. So when Xander had taken his hand and let him feel around his eye patch, he gulped at the feel of the boy’s hand heavy over his. It was oh so incredibly warm. With not one single quip, the boy just nodded in understanding and hugged him-- something they had never done before. His chest expanded with every beat of Xander’s warm heart against his cold dead chest and that’s when he knew.

As he struggled to remember all the color he had ever seen-- all the blood, and Spike with his ridiculous bleached hair, and Dru swirling around him, and Darla (she had such bright eyes) seeing Buffy for the first time, the sun, he would never see the sun again--it made him want to crumble. His eyes filled with tears and he held on with all of his might, because if he let himself go he would fall. The boy just held him and he smelled of warmth and sympathy and he wanted to keep him.

It was when he didn’t leave that things started to change. He called him “a brooding version of Daredevil” and made sure he knew every step, made sure that no one ever moved the cups for his blood. He trained with him, and when he knew he was ready, they hunted and the vampire dusting to the ground became a satisfying sound to his ear. Every sound Xander ever made he knew by memory. It was when Fred would panic because she forgot to move a book from his desk. Xander would smile take the book and read to him, his voice calm and ever so patient.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, when he knew. When he was smiling before touching him, when he was heavy and sad, and his footsteps dragged just a little and the furrow in his brow against his thumb became what made his soul hurt. The smile in his voice made him light and he wished he could see him smile. It felt like a betrayal when he could remember every part of Buffy but not see how his brown eyes shone, and the anger in him swelled until the punching bag fell to the ground. Taking his fist in his hand, Xander led him to the bedroom and let him memorize every part of his body. Every whine and moan he heard he wanted to learn by heart until Xander was all that had ever mattered; until every part of him was his, and all he could remember was Xander and his smell, and all he could feel was himself tremble inside him, and just for a second he could remember exactly how the sun felt on his skin because that’s how Xander felt: warm, smooth, and filled with hope. He remembered every part of Buffy from when he first saw her, but he knew if he ever saw Xander smile again, that’s all it would take to lose his soul.

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Current Location: Room
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Electric President -Insomnia

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title | Sometime around midnight.
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Angel/Xander
summary | he can’t remember how to breathe.
notes I Also funny thing the story inspiration hit around midnight and I was like yup ..This is meant to be.
Also many many thanks to Buffy Sunnydale for her wonderful editing skills she did a great job! This is for the 100 word drabble contest for a group I am in.
My word was summer.
****

It’s summer in Sunnydale, and right before midnight, the heat wave refuses to break. Strings of sweat cling to his body. The silence that fills the room is smothering him and he can’t remember how to breathe. Feels like any other lonely night in Sunnydale as the air currents lull him to sleep. He feels the bed sink under him and sighs with relief as soft cold skin presses into his and he melts into it.

"It's too hot to be alone." He can hear Angel's voice in the distance; on the threshold of his consciousness. It helps him remember.

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Current Location: All the rooms
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Sometime around midnight - The air toxic event

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title | “The Unplanned Summer”
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Cordy/Xander
summary | It’s summertime and she ends up clutching a stack of bills at the seedy Ladies Night Club
notes | This take place the summer after Graduation.After season 3 and before season 4.
Also thank to Buffy Sunnydale for her wonderful editing skills she did a great job! This is for the 100 word drabble contest for a group I am in.
My word was summer.
******
It’s summertime and she ends up clutching a stack of bills at the seedy Ladies Night Club because LA makes her lonely.
“How the mighty have fallen,” she murmurs against the table. This is not what the Queen Bee had planned for life after high school.
To her side, she hears shattering of glass and doesn’t look up until she hears nervous apologies that have a pitch of desperation to them in the same pathetic loser tone she never could forget. Cordelia looks up to find one more thing she never had planned for herself in High School: Xander Harris.

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Current Location: Room
Current Mood: amused amused
Current Music: Angus and Julia Stone-Just a boy

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title | Extraordinary things happen when people sleep
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Angle/Buffy
summary | time holds him perfectly still at sixteen. He was 253 and she was 25.
notes | This is set up post season 7.
Also thank to Buffy Sunnydale for her wonderful editing skills she did a great job! I am giving up and posting this story no matter how horribly cheesy I think it is. Quotes by William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

____

“Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.”

Angel feels the silk smooth under his thumb as he holds the black tie a little too gently, trying not to wrinkle it. An exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he thinks, If only years of inexperience in tying a tie was my biggest problem. He looks up from the soft texture in his hand and finds a door. It almost seems ironic in a way. He feels too large in the tux and the dress shoes feel out of place in this small room with a mirror that reflects everything but him. He stares at the door, determined and exasperated, and it feels nostalgic. The door and him: it really is how it all began.

“Buffy, please come out,” he says, and thinks back to the beginning of all this.

“There is no way I am coming out with this hair. You will appreciate it later.”

***
The dark surrounded him and wouldn’t let him go, and in his bruised bloody hands he held a tattered, dirty picture. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and centered-in on it. The blonde in the picture has an easy smile and looks perfectly happy; eyes bright, and time holds him perfectly still at sixteen. He was 253 and she was 25.

He gave up, folding the picture cautiously and tucked it away in his pocket. He looked at the door and the night was so dark that the door blended in. His knock echoed against nothingness and his chest tightened. If he could breathe, he would have felt like he was holding his breath, but instead he just felt tight and nervous. His ears picked up the sound of laughter, making him gulp and step back. Then there was light meeting his eyes and all he could focus on was how intensely green her eyes were when they met his, and how she looked just as vulnerable now as she did in that picture. Angel held her, not caring if she was cookie dough or even just grains, and he knew, as he placed his forehead against hers, that giving in would lead to... this harmony.

****
Angel paces back and forth nervously, unable to find a place to settle. He is 256 now, and he shouldn’t be this nervous, but she won’t come out and it’s making him jittery. He can feel the sun go down in downtown London and he wishes he had breath to catch and ground himself to the earth, because the vertigo is not passing. Every footstep in front of the next just makes it worse, so he just focuses on tying his tie.

“I don’t understand why you have to be in a whole other room? I think maybe we should hurry. I think we’re running late.”

“Because it’s tradition, and we will make it.” Her voice comes across the door and he can hear her moving around, taking minutes away before she enters his life in a whole new way. Time...he doesn’t mind thinking about time anymore, but he is pretty sure she does. But this isn’t about that. She will be 30 in a few years, and then 80, and then eventually she’ll die, and he just wants to know that this was theirs: their decision, their choice; to spend minutes, hours, and years belonging to each other. He made the choice to accept her mortality but what hurts him more is his own immortality. He stops and his eyesight meets the door, and he settles. She settles him.

****
“Do you want tea?” He asked, sitting with his own cup and flipping the page on A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

“Old habits die hard,” she said. Her hair was tousled and her face had no makeup, which made him smile. He pointed to the coffee cup. She lights up, taking it with grateful hands.
“You know me so well.” She whispered into his cheek.

“Giles called. We need to be there for the meeting so we can take patrol afterwards,” Angel said.
Sitting at the other side of the table, Buffy nods, picking up the morning paper. For a second they are just any other couple on any other morning performing their morning routine. For a second he feels the normalcy and he soaks it up willingly.

“And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste.”



****
The door opens and she is there; golden hair against her shoulders and white dress meeting it. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks nervous as she twirls her fingers nervously. It makes the time worth it, because it’s all is worth it, and he is so secure of that fact and quite amazed at how unafraid he is of it.

“You look beautiful.” It just comes out. He hadn’t planned it, but he can hear the sigh of relief as he steps and takes her hand.

“You think? I only had so much to work with.” She sounds insecure and won’t look him in the eye, so he kisses her lips till she calms against his finger tips. Pulling back, he finds her eyes blissfully closed. The moment comes where it’s just Angel and Buffy: her wearing a more simple dress than all her teenage daydreams, and him wearing this suit that he wouldn’t allow himself think about for as long as he has known her. “Here. Let me.” She takes his tie and makes it look easy. As she adjusts it, he tries hard to stop himself from squirming nervously.

“You sure you don’t even want to tell Dawn?” He whispers out his fear as she runs her hands through his tie.

“I am sure,” she says with a nod. Her voice confirms it. “They wouldn’t get it.”

****
“Let’s get married,” he said one night as they walk the cemetery. It made him stop in his tracks, amazed he got the words out.

“What?” She stopped too, and looked at him like he just told her Willow went straight again.

“I want to marry you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “One day you are going to die, Buffy, but before you do... marry me?” He expected her to lose it. To argue with him about how it’s irrational and how they have been living together for 3 years now and what would be the point.

“Gee, you really know how to get a girl to say yes,” she says sarcastically, but her voice is chuckling. “Telling a girl she will eventually meet her mortal death really makes popping the question so much more romantic.” She moved closer to him and tentatively took his large hand. “Yes. Not because I am going to die someday. But because I want to live with you and around you for the rest of my life.” She smiled. He smiled back, and his eyes filled with happiness. The night sky seems brighter as her golden locks were soft against his fingers and her lips met with his own promise.

****
“You ready for this?” she asks. He nods, not being able to form words.
“I love you.”
“I love you.” Her eyes meet his. “You have to promise not to cry at my vows. I know how you get sentimental, ya big lug.”

“I’ll do my best.” He smiles and allows himself to marinate in the feeling that she creates in him--that normalcy. He’ll never really get used to it, but he has learned to recognize it and it dwell in it for as long as he can. He wants to dwell in her for as long as he can... that’s the purpose of tonight.

“Let’s go get hitched!” He hears the excitement in her voice and his smile widens, feeling the excitement himself. “Buffy Summers, thank you for agreeing to be my wife.” Her eyes shine at the last word.

That night, in the small town of Faversham, England, it began to rain and Buffy became Angel’s wife. The feeling of normalcy passed for Angel and it became an extraordinary night. For the first time, he welcomed extraordinary into his life with no qualms whatsoever.

“A proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day.”

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title | The boy in the blue box.
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Andrew/Buffy
summary |which Buffy realizes that she should have known better.
notes | This is set up post season 7. Melds two of my favorite shows without doing a actual crossover.
Again Thanks to Linara for being so patient with me and helping me come back after my four month hiatus.
She is wonderful!
Song: Just going to start including the song I am hearing while I write. Mr little jeans-Angel.
****

Buffy is cookie dough and Andrew is all long fingers and shaggy hair that covers his eyes as they sparkle when he gets over excited. He is talking animatedly about some sort of doctor in a blue phone box as he puts on 3D glasses, a gesture she must assume is trademark for this doctor man. She becomes lost in the high pitch of his voice when speaking about his imaginary world.

“The Daleks get pretty annoying fast but you have to admire their constancy,“ he babbles.

Buffy lets out an exasperated sigh, hearing the rain dance along the street, and lets him go on. Tonight, somewhere between thinking he was betraying them and stalking him, she was puzzled by Andrew's behaviour. He should have known better than to sneak out almost every night with a Slayer in residence, much less to do it while carrying magical ingredients. It wasn't until she ended up here, stuck in an actual phone box that has been deliberately painted blue, with Andrew a foot away and dressed in an oversized brown trench coat and Converse, which Buffy realizes that she should have known better.

Andrew's secret would be geek-oriented rather than evil.

With her elbow leaning against the old-fashioned phone and her head resting in her palm, she hears the endless flow of words. It must have been a long time since she's been around during one of his speeches on sci-fiction; has he always been so... intense... when talking about his favorite subject? He doesn’t look half bad, either.

Even kind of cute.

Or maybe she’s gone and lost it in the last hour of constant rain. She curses London weather - Andrew’s geekyness, too. Fighting off a magically induced cyber men is tiring business, no matter how easily they were defeated. A part of her wants to be mad, or at least cranky, but she's mostly amused at the situation. Being trapped in the likeness of a TV show prop is a new, unexpected end for her night; it's been too long since she had a surprise that did not include the prospective end of the world. As long as Andrew keeps his promise and keeps off recreating imaginary villains, there’s really no harm to anyone if he's just trying to make himself the hero by reenacting some adventure of this doctor guy.


Besides, she cannot be mad at him after the panic he showed as he made his confession, fully aware that meddling with magic without permission or legitimate cause could get him kicked out of the Scoobies. How desperate he was at the thought! After years of fighting at their side he’s managed to become part of whatever little twisted family they had, where they hated each other one day and found out they could never live without each other the next. Somehow, along the way, Andrew has become one of them.

For a moment, just a second, Buffy thinks he doesn’t need to make himself the hero because, after the many times he's helped them out, he already is. She surprises herself with this conclusion, just as Andrew crosses his arms and leans back against the phone box, sighing. He must have finally figured out that she doesn’t understand most of what he says.

He looks so disappointed as he takes the 3D glasses off in a way that reminds Buffy of Giles and points to the phone box once more, in a attempt to start his explanation again. “So you see, the Tardis...”

The sentence doesn’t get finished because he is suddenly pushed against the wall. A thud fills the room and then, silence. Buffy looks into his wide-eyed shocked green gaze as his mouth forms an “ouch.” She doesn’t know if it’s to get him to shut up or, in her own way, to thank him for saving her from another lonely Friday night she would have unavoidably had. Her lips meet his and her tongue meets his lip and enters his mouth like she owns it and he melts into the wall. It goes on like this until he can’t breathe and she is pretty out of breath herself.

Turns out he’s not a bad kisser.

“It’s bigger on the inside than on the outside,” she says, repeating something of what he's been saying for the last hour. Then, gently, she lets go of his trench coat and adjusts it.


“Uh huh.” Andrew stays wide-eyed as ever and can’t seem to move any of his limbs or make any other sound.

Buffy waits for the freak out that is bound to happen, one that'll include even more babbling. The moment goes on and she is unsure whether or not she wants the rain to stop when he meets her equally unsure green eyes.

She thinks she is still cookie dough so she sides on hoping the rain continues on.

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Current Location: United States, Arizona, Mesa
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Mr little jeans-Angel

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title |Late night nostalgia
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG
characters/pairings | Angel/Buffy
summary | “A quiet night,” she manages to repeat, mesmerized because she has never seen him look so lost.
notes | This is set before the episode Angel in season one. Buffy does not know angel is a vampire.
Again mushos Thanks To Linara Philipps for putting up with me and betaing it with all my pickyness.
She is wonderful!
Also Title of the fic comes from the song that inspired it. Its called Rubik's Cube by Athlete

crossed posted at ba_rosebuds
*****
The moment passed and drifted away like autumn leaves gliding in the air. It disappeared when his large hand let go of hers.

There was no kiss on that night.

****
“Funny. I feel like you should drop the word 'apocalypse' or something,” she says with a small smile.

He smiles back. “It’s been a quiet night.”

When he looks up at the sky, his gaze seems lost in the bright stars. The moonlight makes him look so much larger, and Buffy notices the curve of his jaw line, the definition of his Adam's apple, the sharp lines noticeable even in the darkness. His nearness makes a shiver run through her. He is so different and yet, just for a second, he looks like any other guy looking up at the stars as if looking for some sort of answer. It makes her wonder how perfectly her head would fit between the space of his shoulder and his chin.

“A quiet night,” she manages to repeat, mesmerized because she has never seen him look so lost.

His head lowers toward her, and his whole demeanour shifts until he looks like he's been found again. Now that his dark eyes are on her, they seem to search for something inside her. Do they find it? Perhaps, because out of nowhere, skin meets skin and her hand is engulfed in his. Buffy's eyes flicker down; her palm looks so small against his, and yet it feels so right. He holds it lightly, and the moment fills with his tenderness. Buffy gulps, suddenly aware of the importance of this moment. Whatever answer he is looking for, she wants him to find it in her.

“I just wanted to see you.”

When she hears the whisper, she knows that a reply should be given; every nerve of her body is attached to her hand, though, and she can’t make her mouth work.

“I figured this was the place to find you,” he continues. He looks around the cemetery, but like anchors to the seabed, his eyes pull back to hers. Whatever he would have said next is swallowed back when she leans into his personal space and he invades hers in response.

She wants to hold onto this moment forever, sees herself getting lost in him - in his kiss.

“You were all I thought about in class,” she confesses. He seems surprised for a moment, his mouth agape as he steps back slowly. “All day in fact,” she tries desperately to no effect. Something has changed within him; he might as well be miles away. With a sigh, she looks away.

The moment has passed and drifted away like autumn leaves gliding in the air. It disappears when his large hand lets go of hers.

She won't get kissed tonight.

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Current Mood: complacent complacent
Current Music: Athlete - Rubik's Cube

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title | What it takes
chapter | 1/1
rating | PG Very dark
characters/pairings | Angelus/Buffy
summary | “Killing is very far down the list.”
notes | This is set somewhere in late early season 2 I want to say. So I been on that angst train lately this is just another stop.
Bunches of Thanks To Linara Philipps for betaing this and getting it back to me so quickly!
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The cold night air flows in and out of her and every breath feels more important than the last; she wants to remember not to stop.

“What are you doing here, Slayer?” His voice echoes across the barren walls of the mansion. In this place that makes her feel like a mouse trapped in a maze, she feels lost already.

“I-“ The witty answer she had practiced on the way over gets stuck at the back of her throat. “You want to kill me?” It comes out as a question when she meant a statement. He turns to look at her, moon shining down on him through the window, and his eyes are bright when they meet hers. His body is large, it takes up so much space - just like the memory of him down inside Buffy, so much that she thinks her heart will break from him crushing it.

“I want a lot of things, little girl.” His hand latches on her arm, the tight grip ensuring that there will be bruises, and she closes her eyes. She promises herself that she won’t cry; but she feels the wetness on her cheeks. Somewhere in the jumble of her thoughts, she knows that she can stop this - but she won’t. Not when he finishes his statement with a soft voice: “Killing is very far down the list.”

When he kisses her something breaks; it hurts everything inside her and she has to choke down a sob. He smells of cold rain and blood, and when he pulls back his grin is wide and his eyes shine with happiness.

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The next morning she hugs the sheets tightly to her, thinking of Angel for the first time since she stepped inside the large mansion. How could she forgive herself? Of course she cannot. Then she sees him out of the corner of her eye; there's a towel wrapped around his muscled body and a satisfied smirk on his face.

If she leaves, he won’t stop her.

But she doesn’t leave.

She stays and lets herself be less, used, and broken - and she hopes that in the end it will be enough to make her hate him.

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Current Mood: contemplative contemplative

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