Hey everyone,
thanks so much for your feedback again! I am so very glad you like the
story. Enjoy part 7.
Love's Gift - Part 7
By Jill
Once again Angel cursed the fact that he was bound to his apartment
during daytime. Of course, it wasn't quite true. He could take a nice
long walk through Sunnydale's sewer tunnels, enjoy the sceneray of rats,
and other annoying creatures. Or maybe he'd run into Spike and Dru. Now
wouldn't that be fun?
Shaking his head over his own train of thoughts, Angel sighed. But at the
moment the fact that he had to avoid sunlight was driving him nuts. For
once he didn't like that he couldn't help the others to find the reason
behind the return of his soul. So far they didn't have a cue.
The other problem was that while he was forced to stay in his apartment,
he had time to think. Or brood. He'd perfected brooding over the last
hundred years and he was used to it by now. Still, at the moment, there
were things he didn't want to deal with, yet knew, he had to.
He'd seen Buffy regularely since his soul was returned to him, they talked,
hunted together, at night he'd gone to the library, helped with research.
It was so good to be with her, be close, but it was also, slowly, driving
him insane.
Whenever they were touching each other, they flinched, they were careful
not to initiate anything they might not be able to control. Hell, he hadn't
even dared to kiss her the last three nights, afraid he might lose control.
Angel wasn't stupid. He was old enough to understand that it couldn't go
on like this forever. Being close to her, but not being able to touch her,
to express his feelings ... Sooner or later it would destroy the wonderful
feelings between them and finally lead to misery. He knew without a doubt
that if they didn't find out why his soul came back, and what it meant, he
had to leave.
The only problem was, even thinking it was like ripping his heart out of
his chest. The mere idea of leaving her had his gut twisted into one
gigantic knot. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.
But as painful and unthinkable it was, he knew that somehow he would be
able to deal. He was used to guilt, shame, loss, and pain. All those
feelings were like old pals for him, had accompanied him for hundred
years after all. Somehow he would find a way to go on.
He wasn't so sure where Buffy was concerned.
Angel wasn't vain enough to think he was the only man on earth to make
her happy. But he had also seen the look in her eyes when she'd realised
his soul was back. They'd been lighting up like beams, staring at him
with such disbelief and hope, it had almost broken his heart.
And he also remembered the way she'd clung to him in the library after
Xander's attack, after questioning her choice of letting him live. There
had been such despair in her voice, and in the way her hands had encircled
his neck.
Being as old as he was he had dismissed her interest for him at first,
thought it was nothing but teenage infatuation, only to realise that it
went far beyond. He knew she loved him, and he also knew that her love
was true, strong, and deep. But that was only a part of their connection.
With Angel being a vampire with a soul, he was an outcast amongst his own,
a freak, much the same way Buffy felt inbetween normal human beings. She'd
been fifteen years old when a stranger had told her she wasn't just a girl,
but the Slayer, meant to fight evil, forced into a secret identity, to lie
to her friends and family.
She had friends now, Willow and Xander, and Giles, her watcher. They knew
who she was, but they would never, not ever, be able to understand what
she was going through. They had no idea what it meant to be a Slayer, that
it was more than some weird secret identity. That there was a dark side
to her, she herself just started to discover. That she couldn't just shake
off the whole deal and quit.
Angel knew it scared her, he knew that there were times she just wanted to
scream and pretend her life wasn't real. He understood that sometimes all
she wanted was for it to end, that she'd already been tempted to give in,
had seen it in her eyes, more times he wanted to admit even to himself.
The night when she'd found out about the prophecy of her own death had only
been a peak, but there were countless other times, when only her strong
will, her determination, had saved her from surrender.
And without giving himself too much credit, he knew without a doubt that
part of her success so far was his presence in her life. Not just the love
they shared, although it was undoubtedly powerful, but first and foremost
because he was able to understand her. In a way none of the others could.
He knew all about dark sides, wrong choices, death, and destruction. He
knew what it meant to alone, deep inside, in a place nobody else could
touch. It was slowly eating you up, scaring your soul, letting it shrivel,
and if you weren't careful it could be so damaged after a while, you'd
never recognize it again. You'd end up an emotional cripple without even
noticing.
He'd been close, living off the rats in New York, or rather existing in a
way he didn't care to remember. And then Whistler had stepped into his
life, had shown him Buffy, and on a bright sunny day, a blond girl had
touched that dark spot deep inside, has pulled him back from the edge,
back into life, had given him hope and purpose in a way he'd never
thought possible.
She had touched him. And in a way he couldn't explain, he knew without
doubt he had touched her, too. They filled each other, completed each
other like two halfs of the same coin. Angel had never believed in fate
or destiny before, but ever since Buffy had stepped into his life, he was
beginning to.
So how could he even contemplate leaving her, knowing all this? And how
could he not, knowing that one wrong move might lead to destruction?
Trying to distract himself, he walked to the fridge, stared at the blood
stocked there, a sharp reminder of the differences between him and Buffy.
Don't even go there, he ordered himself. There were enough problems
already without adding the fact that there were more than 200 years
between them. Maybe he should just sleep for a while. But sleeping wasn't
so attractive these days either.
Angel had always been haunted by dreams. But now, after his recent slip
into soullessness, they were more frequent. They were horrible dreams.
Vivid dreams. They were about Buffy, the pain and hurt in her eyes, about
the people he'd killed, and there were the images of Dru, and all the
things he had done with her.
He didn't want to think about it, but dreams rarely asked for permission.
They came, if you wanted them or not.
Realising he'd been staring at the blood in his fridge for at least five
minutes, Angel shut the door with a disgusted sound and was about to find
a book when he heard a knock at the door.
The only person knocking at his door was Buffy these day, but it was not
even noon, which meant she was in school, unless ...
He was at the door with two steps, images flashing through his mind of
Buffy being injured or worse, tore it open, only to freeze the moment his
eyes fell on his unexpected visitor, "Mrs ...," he gulped, cleared his
throat, "Mrs. Summers?"
He saw her struggle, and then a faint smile appeared on her lips, "Angel,
right?," she said, her voice slightly rough, betraying the nervousness she
was so determined to hide. "I ... uh ... I'd like to talk to you, if it's
possible."
Realising he was staring at her, Angel stepped back, inviting her with a
gesture. "Sure, come in." When she cautiosly stepped inside, he asked, "Can
I get you something? Tea? Some juice? I don't have coffee, I'm afraid."
"No," she shook her head, her hand fidgeting with the straps of her purse.
"Thanks, I'm fine. Can we ... could we sit down?"
"Oh." Embarrassed with his lack of manners, he showed her to his sofa,
glancing at the curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of his
apartment, glad when he found it closed. "Of course. I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's alright. I realise this is ...," she sighed, laughed
slightly, "I know this is awkward, and certainly," she nodded, when they
reached the sofa, sat down, "unexpected. Maybe it helps if you know, I
didn't expect to find myself here with you when I woke up this morning.
It was rather ... spontaneous."
Her eyes darted nervously around, seeing everything, yet seeing nothing.
They were the same colour as Buffy's, just older, and for a moment Angel
wondered if Buffy's eyes would look like hers in about twenty years. He
liked the idea. There was something in Joyce's eyes he felt instantly
connected to. Maybe the knowledge that life wasn't easy and that things
rarely happened the way you wished them to.
"That's no problem," he said, giving her a smile of his own, doing his
best not make her more uncomfortable. "I've got time."
"I thought you were in college," she remarked, eyeing him suspicously.
"Not today," he said quickly. "No classes today." He was glad the lie went
over his lips so easily. He hated lying, especially to Buffy's mother. But
what was he supposed to say? She didn't even know her daughter was the
Slayer. Angel had a feeling she wouldn't be so pleased to hear that her
daughter was dating a vampire.
"I see. That's fortunate ... for me. Otherwise," she gave another
nervous laugh, "we wouldn't be able to talk." Placing her purse at her
side, she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, her eyes suddenly
serious. "We need to talk. I ... I'm concerned," she began.
"I realise that-," he replied, but she cut him off, by holding up a hand.
"Please, let me finish."
"Of course," he smiled, "Go on."
"You are ... older than Buffy. I know she seems mature for her age, but
she's still a minor, still only seventeen. You are ... what ...
twenty-three? I know it doesn't seem much, it's only six years after all,
but at your age, it's ... like a lifetime. Experiences are different,
expectations too...," she sighed, "I know I'm not handling this well,"
she said finally, a disgusted expression on her face.
"No," he said softly. "You're handling it just fine. I understand. You're
afraid I'm going to take advantage of her. That I might use her and ...
hurt her in the end." He smiled when he saw her the startled look in her
eyes, "Mrs. Summers, I'm never going to take advantage of Buffy, and I
will never use her. I can promise you that. But I cannot promise you I
won't hurt her. Because even if I don't want to, it might happen
unintentionally, and quite frankly, it scares me to death.
"Buffy is so precious to me, the mere idea of hurting her, makes me sick.
But I also realise that it might happen, and that I might not have the
power to prevent it. But I love her. I love her very much."
He saw the surprise in her eyes, the uncertainty, the doubts. "That
sounds all very nice," she said finally, "And I'm sure today you mean all
those things. But what about tomorrow. What if ... Buffy is only seventeen.
You're a grown man...," she trailed off and Angel saw her blush, saw her
shift on his sofa.
"You mean what happens if I want more? Mrs Summers, nothing is going to
happen if Buffy doesn't want it." And nothing had happened so far. Nothing
she didn't want, Angel amended guiltily. The first time she'd initiated it,
and the second time ... they had both lost their minds, but it had been
consensual again. Both times had been wonderful, mind-blowing, deeply
satifying.
And they might have been everything they'd ever get.
The thought was like a sudden stab wound through his heart. He didn't want
to think about the possibility of never being able to touch her again, of
never losing himself in her, of never being able to give her passion, to
see her face go slack in the aftermath of a climax, to see her eyes shine
with pure pleasure.
Suddenly realising that her mother was still sitting opposite to him, he
cleared his throat, hoping that none of his thoughts were mirrored in his
eyes. It wouldn't exactly help if she knew he was having lusty thoughts
about her daughter, while he tried his best to reassure her.
"The problem is," she said slowly, "As I said, Buffy is only seventeen.
I'm not sure she always knows what she wants. Or rather, she doesn't
always know what's good for her. She's *not* twenty-three, she's a
teenager. There might be times when you have to be responsible for both
of you."
He tilted his head, "What exactly are you trying to say?"
She let out a pent up breath, ran a hand through her hair, "I don't know,"
she admitted, "I really don't know." She shook her head, gazed to her
left, her eyes falling on the Asian statue standing in a glass cabinet.
"Oh, my," she breathed suddenly, giving Angel a startled glance, then
standing up, she walked over. "This is beautiful."
He stood ad well, came to stand by her side, "Yes, I always liked it a
lot."
"Yes," she looked at the statue in awe. "It's wonderful. Do you have it
long?"
"Over a hund- ... I mean ... yes. A long time."
"So it's some sort of family treasure?"
A what? "A family ... uh ... Yes, a family treasure."
"I don't know if Buffy ever told you, but I'm sort of the co-owner of a
little art gallery here in Sunnydale. We usually sell the pieces we have,
but sometimes ..." She looked at him, Buffy obviously forgotten for the
moment, "It is wonderful to see such a beautiful piece with someone who
seems to really appreciate it." A little sigh escaped her mouth and Angel
stifled a grin.
They might do it under different circumstances, but the two Summers-women
made similar sounds of pleasure. The last time he'd heard that particular
sound from Buffy ... Bringing his thoughts to a immediate halt, Angel
smiled at Joyce and tried his best to forget about Buffy's sounds of
pleasure. An instant hard-on was certainly nothing Joyce would find
impressive.
Mrs. Summers smiled back, then she giving the statue a last glance she
tore herself away from the piece, picked up her purse. "I need to go now.
I have an appointment for lunch with someone who's interested to buy
several pieces from our gallery." She bit her lower lip, much the same way
Buffy did, and again Angel was reminded of the similarities between them.
Letting go of her lip, she sighed, "I was really determined to hate you
for seducing my teenager daughter," she said finally, laughing slightly,
"And now," she sighed again, "You're not at all what I thought."
He grinned slightly, "Is that good or bad?"
"When Buffy told me you were a college student I thought you were one of
those boys you usually find at frat parties. But now I find you entirely
different." Suddenly she straightened her shoulders, a stern look entering
her eyes, "That doesn't mean I've changed my mind completely. If you'll
hurt her, I'm going to kill you."
He stifled another grin, "Yes, ma'am."
"But ... I can see why Buffy is so drawn to you. And I have to say that I
didn't expect her to have such good taste." She took a deep breath, her
face once again softened by a smile, "So what I'm saying is ... I'd like
to know you better. How about coming for lunch next weekend?"
Lunch? Not! "Make it dinner and we have a deal," he replied, opening the
door for her. "I have to work during the days on weekends." Another lie,
but he could hardly tell her the truth.
"Oh. Of course. Yes, dinner would be fine," she smiled again. "Make the
date with Buffy. I'm sure you're going to see her soon."
"Probably."
"It was nice talking to you, Angel. I find myself looking forward to see
you again."
He chuckled, "I'm glad."
"I thought you were a monster, you know," she joked, climbing up the
stairs. "I'm glad I was wrong."
The door closed and she was gone. Angel shook his head, leaned against
his apartment door, chuckled again. But the smile slipped almost
immediately from his face. She didn't think he was a monster. She had no
idea.
... to be continued
Feedback would be treasured!
thanks so much for your feedback again! I am so very glad you like the
story. Enjoy part 7.
Love's Gift - Part 7
By Jill
Once again Angel cursed the fact that he was bound to his apartment
during daytime. Of course, it wasn't quite true. He could take a nice
long walk through Sunnydale's sewer tunnels, enjoy the sceneray of rats,
and other annoying creatures. Or maybe he'd run into Spike and Dru. Now
wouldn't that be fun?
Shaking his head over his own train of thoughts, Angel sighed. But at the
moment the fact that he had to avoid sunlight was driving him nuts. For
once he didn't like that he couldn't help the others to find the reason
behind the return of his soul. So far they didn't have a cue.
The other problem was that while he was forced to stay in his apartment,
he had time to think. Or brood. He'd perfected brooding over the last
hundred years and he was used to it by now. Still, at the moment, there
were things he didn't want to deal with, yet knew, he had to.
He'd seen Buffy regularely since his soul was returned to him, they talked,
hunted together, at night he'd gone to the library, helped with research.
It was so good to be with her, be close, but it was also, slowly, driving
him insane.
Whenever they were touching each other, they flinched, they were careful
not to initiate anything they might not be able to control. Hell, he hadn't
even dared to kiss her the last three nights, afraid he might lose control.
Angel wasn't stupid. He was old enough to understand that it couldn't go
on like this forever. Being close to her, but not being able to touch her,
to express his feelings ... Sooner or later it would destroy the wonderful
feelings between them and finally lead to misery. He knew without a doubt
that if they didn't find out why his soul came back, and what it meant, he
had to leave.
The only problem was, even thinking it was like ripping his heart out of
his chest. The mere idea of leaving her had his gut twisted into one
gigantic knot. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.
But as painful and unthinkable it was, he knew that somehow he would be
able to deal. He was used to guilt, shame, loss, and pain. All those
feelings were like old pals for him, had accompanied him for hundred
years after all. Somehow he would find a way to go on.
He wasn't so sure where Buffy was concerned.
Angel wasn't vain enough to think he was the only man on earth to make
her happy. But he had also seen the look in her eyes when she'd realised
his soul was back. They'd been lighting up like beams, staring at him
with such disbelief and hope, it had almost broken his heart.
And he also remembered the way she'd clung to him in the library after
Xander's attack, after questioning her choice of letting him live. There
had been such despair in her voice, and in the way her hands had encircled
his neck.
Being as old as he was he had dismissed her interest for him at first,
thought it was nothing but teenage infatuation, only to realise that it
went far beyond. He knew she loved him, and he also knew that her love
was true, strong, and deep. But that was only a part of their connection.
With Angel being a vampire with a soul, he was an outcast amongst his own,
a freak, much the same way Buffy felt inbetween normal human beings. She'd
been fifteen years old when a stranger had told her she wasn't just a girl,
but the Slayer, meant to fight evil, forced into a secret identity, to lie
to her friends and family.
She had friends now, Willow and Xander, and Giles, her watcher. They knew
who she was, but they would never, not ever, be able to understand what
she was going through. They had no idea what it meant to be a Slayer, that
it was more than some weird secret identity. That there was a dark side
to her, she herself just started to discover. That she couldn't just shake
off the whole deal and quit.
Angel knew it scared her, he knew that there were times she just wanted to
scream and pretend her life wasn't real. He understood that sometimes all
she wanted was for it to end, that she'd already been tempted to give in,
had seen it in her eyes, more times he wanted to admit even to himself.
The night when she'd found out about the prophecy of her own death had only
been a peak, but there were countless other times, when only her strong
will, her determination, had saved her from surrender.
And without giving himself too much credit, he knew without a doubt that
part of her success so far was his presence in her life. Not just the love
they shared, although it was undoubtedly powerful, but first and foremost
because he was able to understand her. In a way none of the others could.
He knew all about dark sides, wrong choices, death, and destruction. He
knew what it meant to alone, deep inside, in a place nobody else could
touch. It was slowly eating you up, scaring your soul, letting it shrivel,
and if you weren't careful it could be so damaged after a while, you'd
never recognize it again. You'd end up an emotional cripple without even
noticing.
He'd been close, living off the rats in New York, or rather existing in a
way he didn't care to remember. And then Whistler had stepped into his
life, had shown him Buffy, and on a bright sunny day, a blond girl had
touched that dark spot deep inside, has pulled him back from the edge,
back into life, had given him hope and purpose in a way he'd never
thought possible.
She had touched him. And in a way he couldn't explain, he knew without
doubt he had touched her, too. They filled each other, completed each
other like two halfs of the same coin. Angel had never believed in fate
or destiny before, but ever since Buffy had stepped into his life, he was
beginning to.
So how could he even contemplate leaving her, knowing all this? And how
could he not, knowing that one wrong move might lead to destruction?
Trying to distract himself, he walked to the fridge, stared at the blood
stocked there, a sharp reminder of the differences between him and Buffy.
Don't even go there, he ordered himself. There were enough problems
already without adding the fact that there were more than 200 years
between them. Maybe he should just sleep for a while. But sleeping wasn't
so attractive these days either.
Angel had always been haunted by dreams. But now, after his recent slip
into soullessness, they were more frequent. They were horrible dreams.
Vivid dreams. They were about Buffy, the pain and hurt in her eyes, about
the people he'd killed, and there were the images of Dru, and all the
things he had done with her.
He didn't want to think about it, but dreams rarely asked for permission.
They came, if you wanted them or not.
Realising he'd been staring at the blood in his fridge for at least five
minutes, Angel shut the door with a disgusted sound and was about to find
a book when he heard a knock at the door.
The only person knocking at his door was Buffy these day, but it was not
even noon, which meant she was in school, unless ...
He was at the door with two steps, images flashing through his mind of
Buffy being injured or worse, tore it open, only to freeze the moment his
eyes fell on his unexpected visitor, "Mrs ...," he gulped, cleared his
throat, "Mrs. Summers?"
He saw her struggle, and then a faint smile appeared on her lips, "Angel,
right?," she said, her voice slightly rough, betraying the nervousness she
was so determined to hide. "I ... uh ... I'd like to talk to you, if it's
possible."
Realising he was staring at her, Angel stepped back, inviting her with a
gesture. "Sure, come in." When she cautiosly stepped inside, he asked, "Can
I get you something? Tea? Some juice? I don't have coffee, I'm afraid."
"No," she shook her head, her hand fidgeting with the straps of her purse.
"Thanks, I'm fine. Can we ... could we sit down?"
"Oh." Embarrassed with his lack of manners, he showed her to his sofa,
glancing at the curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of his
apartment, glad when he found it closed. "Of course. I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's alright. I realise this is ...," she sighed, laughed
slightly, "I know this is awkward, and certainly," she nodded, when they
reached the sofa, sat down, "unexpected. Maybe it helps if you know, I
didn't expect to find myself here with you when I woke up this morning.
It was rather ... spontaneous."
Her eyes darted nervously around, seeing everything, yet seeing nothing.
They were the same colour as Buffy's, just older, and for a moment Angel
wondered if Buffy's eyes would look like hers in about twenty years. He
liked the idea. There was something in Joyce's eyes he felt instantly
connected to. Maybe the knowledge that life wasn't easy and that things
rarely happened the way you wished them to.
"That's no problem," he said, giving her a smile of his own, doing his
best not make her more uncomfortable. "I've got time."
"I thought you were in college," she remarked, eyeing him suspicously.
"Not today," he said quickly. "No classes today." He was glad the lie went
over his lips so easily. He hated lying, especially to Buffy's mother. But
what was he supposed to say? She didn't even know her daughter was the
Slayer. Angel had a feeling she wouldn't be so pleased to hear that her
daughter was dating a vampire.
"I see. That's fortunate ... for me. Otherwise," she gave another
nervous laugh, "we wouldn't be able to talk." Placing her purse at her
side, she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, her eyes suddenly
serious. "We need to talk. I ... I'm concerned," she began.
"I realise that-," he replied, but she cut him off, by holding up a hand.
"Please, let me finish."
"Of course," he smiled, "Go on."
"You are ... older than Buffy. I know she seems mature for her age, but
she's still a minor, still only seventeen. You are ... what ...
twenty-three? I know it doesn't seem much, it's only six years after all,
but at your age, it's ... like a lifetime. Experiences are different,
expectations too...," she sighed, "I know I'm not handling this well,"
she said finally, a disgusted expression on her face.
"No," he said softly. "You're handling it just fine. I understand. You're
afraid I'm going to take advantage of her. That I might use her and ...
hurt her in the end." He smiled when he saw her the startled look in her
eyes, "Mrs. Summers, I'm never going to take advantage of Buffy, and I
will never use her. I can promise you that. But I cannot promise you I
won't hurt her. Because even if I don't want to, it might happen
unintentionally, and quite frankly, it scares me to death.
"Buffy is so precious to me, the mere idea of hurting her, makes me sick.
But I also realise that it might happen, and that I might not have the
power to prevent it. But I love her. I love her very much."
He saw the surprise in her eyes, the uncertainty, the doubts. "That
sounds all very nice," she said finally, "And I'm sure today you mean all
those things. But what about tomorrow. What if ... Buffy is only seventeen.
You're a grown man...," she trailed off and Angel saw her blush, saw her
shift on his sofa.
"You mean what happens if I want more? Mrs Summers, nothing is going to
happen if Buffy doesn't want it." And nothing had happened so far. Nothing
she didn't want, Angel amended guiltily. The first time she'd initiated it,
and the second time ... they had both lost their minds, but it had been
consensual again. Both times had been wonderful, mind-blowing, deeply
satifying.
And they might have been everything they'd ever get.
The thought was like a sudden stab wound through his heart. He didn't want
to think about the possibility of never being able to touch her again, of
never losing himself in her, of never being able to give her passion, to
see her face go slack in the aftermath of a climax, to see her eyes shine
with pure pleasure.
Suddenly realising that her mother was still sitting opposite to him, he
cleared his throat, hoping that none of his thoughts were mirrored in his
eyes. It wouldn't exactly help if she knew he was having lusty thoughts
about her daughter, while he tried his best to reassure her.
"The problem is," she said slowly, "As I said, Buffy is only seventeen.
I'm not sure she always knows what she wants. Or rather, she doesn't
always know what's good for her. She's *not* twenty-three, she's a
teenager. There might be times when you have to be responsible for both
of you."
He tilted his head, "What exactly are you trying to say?"
She let out a pent up breath, ran a hand through her hair, "I don't know,"
she admitted, "I really don't know." She shook her head, gazed to her
left, her eyes falling on the Asian statue standing in a glass cabinet.
"Oh, my," she breathed suddenly, giving Angel a startled glance, then
standing up, she walked over. "This is beautiful."
He stood ad well, came to stand by her side, "Yes, I always liked it a
lot."
"Yes," she looked at the statue in awe. "It's wonderful. Do you have it
long?"
"Over a hund- ... I mean ... yes. A long time."
"So it's some sort of family treasure?"
A what? "A family ... uh ... Yes, a family treasure."
"I don't know if Buffy ever told you, but I'm sort of the co-owner of a
little art gallery here in Sunnydale. We usually sell the pieces we have,
but sometimes ..." She looked at him, Buffy obviously forgotten for the
moment, "It is wonderful to see such a beautiful piece with someone who
seems to really appreciate it." A little sigh escaped her mouth and Angel
stifled a grin.
They might do it under different circumstances, but the two Summers-women
made similar sounds of pleasure. The last time he'd heard that particular
sound from Buffy ... Bringing his thoughts to a immediate halt, Angel
smiled at Joyce and tried his best to forget about Buffy's sounds of
pleasure. An instant hard-on was certainly nothing Joyce would find
impressive.
Mrs. Summers smiled back, then she giving the statue a last glance she
tore herself away from the piece, picked up her purse. "I need to go now.
I have an appointment for lunch with someone who's interested to buy
several pieces from our gallery." She bit her lower lip, much the same way
Buffy did, and again Angel was reminded of the similarities between them.
Letting go of her lip, she sighed, "I was really determined to hate you
for seducing my teenager daughter," she said finally, laughing slightly,
"And now," she sighed again, "You're not at all what I thought."
He grinned slightly, "Is that good or bad?"
"When Buffy told me you were a college student I thought you were one of
those boys you usually find at frat parties. But now I find you entirely
different." Suddenly she straightened her shoulders, a stern look entering
her eyes, "That doesn't mean I've changed my mind completely. If you'll
hurt her, I'm going to kill you."
He stifled another grin, "Yes, ma'am."
"But ... I can see why Buffy is so drawn to you. And I have to say that I
didn't expect her to have such good taste." She took a deep breath, her
face once again softened by a smile, "So what I'm saying is ... I'd like
to know you better. How about coming for lunch next weekend?"
Lunch? Not! "Make it dinner and we have a deal," he replied, opening the
door for her. "I have to work during the days on weekends." Another lie,
but he could hardly tell her the truth.
"Oh. Of course. Yes, dinner would be fine," she smiled again. "Make the
date with Buffy. I'm sure you're going to see her soon."
"Probably."
"It was nice talking to you, Angel. I find myself looking forward to see
you again."
He chuckled, "I'm glad."
"I thought you were a monster, you know," she joked, climbing up the
stairs. "I'm glad I was wrong."
The door closed and she was gone. Angel shook his head, leaned against
his apartment door, chuckled again. But the smile slipped almost
immediately from his face. She didn't think he was a monster. She had no
idea.
... to be continued
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