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She was too beautiful for words, except maybe the kind found in poems Buffy hadn't had the time to read. Another Slayer? No, it'd be weird if so; she would've said. It might be nice, to not be the only one.
Buffy set the thought aside. Mystery girl was annoyingly cryptic and gorgeous, but useful. Good enough for now. Her fingers clenched around the black leather of Angel’s jacket.
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"Very thematic of you," Buffy told Angel. Shirt off, the girl had—okay, not an angel, but her point was the wings tattooed on her shoulder. She didn’t look like the type, with her sleek black and white ensembles. No all-leather outfits, though there was the jacket she’d gifted Buffy. Most people she could read by their accessories, but Angel was a woman unto herself. "A little drama geek." That might fit. "Uh, not that that's bad." When did she forget how to flirt?
Flirt? She was flirting?
Angel smiled, which made her fumbling worth it, unless she was just too polite to say Buffy was the actual geek.
"You're not entirely wrong. Though it's been a long time since I was at a theater."
"We could go sometime, do a thing not related to vampires. Set a date."
"Date?"
Angel's face clouded.
“Oh, uh. Can we say cut and start over?”
“Let’s get some rest.”
Yikes. End scene.
Despite the weirdness and Angel’s ensuing brooding, she awoke warm and giddy.
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Broody or no, she was still in Buffy’s room after school.
“Listen, we can’t—”
“Talk? Meet over something that’s not carnage? Be friends? You stayed in my room all day to tell me not spend time with you?”
“I’m—I’m older. And it’s not right.”
“What isn’t?” God, Buffy hadn’t even had this conversation with herself, let alone spoken to Willow, and now Angel was starting it.
“What isn’t?” She repeated, voice soft. She wanted Buffy to face up to something? Fine. For once, Buffy would make Angel say what she meant.
“All I want is to kiss you.”
So Buffy did, and conversation was Angel’s mouth cool on hers, cool as she dressed, though her hand was in Buffy’s hair and okay, if she was room temperature Buffy was going to warm her up—she was soft, really soft, gentle even as Buffy looked into her eyes, startled—oh god did she have a blister, her mouth stung—and screamed.
Angel fled, and Buffy cupped her mouth with both hands, still feeling the scrape of fangs on her tongue.
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Another night of trudging through Sunnydale’s twelve graveyards. Buffy couldn’t move out, but she didn’t see why more people weren’t trying. “You’d think they’d get sick of the funeral expenses.”
“It’s easier not to. If they did, they’d have to admit something’s going on and ask themselves why.”
“Might shorten the patrol portion of the evening if they did.”
A pause, and then, “I don’t find it so bad.”
Buffy smiled. The Angel part? No complaints. “Not all bad,” she agreed, and walked closer, Angel putting her arm around Buffy’s shoulders. “Be nice to have more time, so we could do other things.” Buffy pressed against her side. A nice, firm, not very relaxed side. “And you don’t want to do other things.”
“You should have them. Whatever you want. You’re still human.”
“And I’m still a vampire slayer. Just don’t want to be a gross one.” Point one for Buffy. She’d made Angel smile. That was always a victory. Now to seal it. “Whatever I want, huh.” Her turn to smile.