It was dark. And it was hot. Sweat rolled down Angel's body and made his
white shirt wet and sticky. For a moment, he was reminded of the years he
had spent in hell, while everyone else had been enjoying a few days of
vacation. Well, everyone except Buffy. Buffy had run away.
She was in front of him now. Working out together, there was seldom room for talk, which was probably why that was when she came to see him. After their first kiss, which both of them knew would happen no matter what they did, they understood that the safest way of Angel not going soulless, was to stop seeing eachother.
But it was so much harder than they had said. Whenever Buffy asked how he was doing, Angel shrugged and said "fine," but he was lying, and she knew he was. Every time he saw her he wanted to hold her, but they couldn't.
It was especially hard now, with her in front of him, facing the other way, doing karate exercises. Her hands went up and down, graceful and confident, and Angel remembered longingly how it had felt when she used those same hands to hold him and kiss him.
His eyes traveled the length of her form, admiring her shape, remembering the way she moved and arched against him. *God I can't do this.* he thought in agony. *I'm going insane.* He broke away from the exercise, breathing hard with restraint, and turned to face the dark window. She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
Angel said nothing. He couldn't. The very touch of her hand was making his skin jump, making his mind whirl. She turned him around to face her, and abruptly put her lips to his. She started to cry softly, and he kissed every tear as it left her eyes. And somewhere, deep down, his heart thumped, once, twice, three times, before going back to its deathly silence.
She was in front of him now. Working out together, there was seldom room for talk, which was probably why that was when she came to see him. After their first kiss, which both of them knew would happen no matter what they did, they understood that the safest way of Angel not going soulless, was to stop seeing eachother.
But it was so much harder than they had said. Whenever Buffy asked how he was doing, Angel shrugged and said "fine," but he was lying, and she knew he was. Every time he saw her he wanted to hold her, but they couldn't.
It was especially hard now, with her in front of him, facing the other way, doing karate exercises. Her hands went up and down, graceful and confident, and Angel remembered longingly how it had felt when she used those same hands to hold him and kiss him.
His eyes traveled the length of her form, admiring her shape, remembering the way she moved and arched against him. *God I can't do this.* he thought in agony. *I'm going insane.* He broke away from the exercise, breathing hard with restraint, and turned to face the dark window. She came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
Angel said nothing. He couldn't. The very touch of her hand was making his skin jump, making his mind whirl. She turned him around to face her, and abruptly put her lips to his. She started to cry softly, and he kissed every tear as it left her eyes. And somewhere, deep down, his heart thumped, once, twice, three times, before going back to its deathly silence.
