How did I know?
By Lisa Hughes
Summary: Buffy answers a question.
Spoilers: None, really. AU, at least for now :)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Joss owns all, I own nothing.
Other: B/S
****
How did I know? I can't answer that. I don't think anyone could tell you how they knew they were in love. You just know.
I can tell you when I knew. I can tell you the exact moment…
It was one morning a few months ago. He wasn't next to me when I woke, but I could hear him moving around downstairs. I found him in the kitchen.
He was trying to make pancakes. Every mixing bowl was out, full of a batter-like substance, some watery, others like paste. Every pan was out, either on the stove or piled in the sink, some with burnt pancake stuck to the bottom, others filled with some sort of soupy substance. Flour dusted everything, eggshells were on the on the counter and the floor. A mostly empty milk carton was lying on its side, slowly dripping the rest of its contents onto the counter.
I was just about to say something… well, scream something, when I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was standing in the midst of this chaos staring at a cookbook, swearing under his breath and gesturing with a spatula in the air. He was wearing jeans and an unbuttoned white cotton shirt, and he was barefoot. His hair tousled and just a little bit wet still from his shower. And he had a streak of flour that ran over his nose and across his cheek.
That was the moment. Trying so hard. Heedless of the cost, and completely single-minded. Trying again and again. And again. It just hit me: I am so in love with this guy.
What did I do? Well, the way he looked right then… he was absolutely the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. So I made him put down the spatula and hustled him back to bed. We cleaned up the kitchen later. A lot later.
By Lisa Hughes
Summary: Buffy answers a question.
Spoilers: None, really. AU, at least for now :)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Joss owns all, I own nothing.
Other: B/S
****
How did I know? I can't answer that. I don't think anyone could tell you how they knew they were in love. You just know.
I can tell you when I knew. I can tell you the exact moment…
It was one morning a few months ago. He wasn't next to me when I woke, but I could hear him moving around downstairs. I found him in the kitchen.
He was trying to make pancakes. Every mixing bowl was out, full of a batter-like substance, some watery, others like paste. Every pan was out, either on the stove or piled in the sink, some with burnt pancake stuck to the bottom, others filled with some sort of soupy substance. Flour dusted everything, eggshells were on the on the counter and the floor. A mostly empty milk carton was lying on its side, slowly dripping the rest of its contents onto the counter.
I was just about to say something… well, scream something, when I looked at him. Really looked at him. He was standing in the midst of this chaos staring at a cookbook, swearing under his breath and gesturing with a spatula in the air. He was wearing jeans and an unbuttoned white cotton shirt, and he was barefoot. His hair tousled and just a little bit wet still from his shower. And he had a streak of flour that ran over his nose and across his cheek.
That was the moment. Trying so hard. Heedless of the cost, and completely single-minded. Trying again and again. And again. It just hit me: I am so in love with this guy.
What did I do? Well, the way he looked right then… he was absolutely the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. So I made him put down the spatula and hustled him back to bed. We cleaned up the kitchen later. A lot later.