Part: (16/?)
Writer: Az K Mello
Summery: Things get discussed. Angel *doesn't* put his foot in it.
Warning: mega angst. Buffy bashing, don't read it and don't flame. I've warned you, only idiots don't read the liner notes and then bitch.
Disclaimer: Yeats owns the poem. . . is it bad that I would so lick a dead poet if I could? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel smiled when Xander leaned up against a tree in a very "James Dean Cool" kind of way. He saw fear flicker across the boy's face and wanted to stake himself for it. He placed a hand on the trunk of the tree next to Xan's face. "Hi," he said at a loss for words when he looked at his beautiful mortal. Quickly he reminded himself that Xander wasn't his yet. He realized it was time to throw himself at the alter of love and hope it didn't hurt. Of course in a few hundred years he had picked up a modicum of tact and knew not to mention Spike that much. He was going to go down the road of, "I'm confused, love me please".
"I lied." He spoke flatly and ignored the quick flash of hurt, "I told you I didn't want you to get hurt. But what I want is to have you forever. I don't want anything else. You're where it ends for me. And when I think about what that bastard did to you I get so angry. I want you to *never* hurt. I want to make you happy. And I want to keep doing it forever. And then tonight you left, I don't want to force you into anything you don't want." His gaze met big brown eyes. "I would hate to think I had coerced you into something. "Had I the heavens' embroided cloths,. Enwrought with golden and silver light. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths. Of night and light and the half-light. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." Say something."
"Pretty, d'ya make it up yourself?"
Angel laughed, upon seeing the boy's honesty in the remark he sobered and played down the fact that it was an extremely famous poem. "No, some poet wrote it."
Nodding Xander asked in a rushed voice, "Will, y'claim me?"
Smiling Angel said, "God, yes. Do you have *any* idea how *precious* you are?" Xander just looked at him oddly with one eyebrow quirked. "What happened earlier?" He wanted to hear Xander's words. Not Spike's explanation of the teenage mind.
"Got scared." He looked down to the grass.
"Of what? Of me?"
"You got all pensive and I figured it was best to beat you to the punch."
"I could never leave you. I would have a hard enough time letting you go." His face loomed over Xander's. Their lips brushed as he talked. "I brood. I was planning painful deaths for your father and hating myself because I did much worse things in my time."
"At least your honest." Xander smiled wryly as he pulled Angel to himself for a sweet kiss. It was passionate in the quietest form: slow, and timid, and filled with unspoken emotion. "Claim me?"
Angel shook his head sadly. "Willow's dad is watching us. He'll think I'm biting you. He'll be right too."
"What?!" Xander looked over Angel's shoulder and sure enough Ira Rosenberg was standing in the window.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ira?" Sheila asked as she walked down the stairs in her dressing gown. "It's late, come to bed."
"In a minute. I heard a noise and. . ." His words were absent as though he wasn't truly aware of her presence.
"What are you looking at?" she asked as she came to stand next to him, "Xander has a friend," she said with a soft tone, "That's nice. I mean, I know he has Willow but he needs a boy friend to relate to about man stuff." They watched as Angel leaned over and kissed the boy, "I suddenly feel like an unwelcome voyeur." She turned away from the window.
"You were the one who said he needed a boyfriend." Ira said with a wry smile.
Sheila leveled her face to him with an expression that reminded him of his daughter's "resolved face". "Don't do anything stupid. That boy deserves a reprieve in his life and he certainly doesn't need *you* saying anything unkind to him. If he's happy you're gonna leave him alone!"
"What would I say?" asked Ira feeling genuinely hurt by his wife's accusations. "If he's happy so am I! I wonder," he said introspectively, "if Xander's friend would like some coffee, it's awfully late. . . why is Xander up at this time of the morning?"
Writer: Az K Mello
Summery: Things get discussed. Angel *doesn't* put his foot in it.
Warning: mega angst. Buffy bashing, don't read it and don't flame. I've warned you, only idiots don't read the liner notes and then bitch.
Disclaimer: Yeats owns the poem. . . is it bad that I would so lick a dead poet if I could? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Angel smiled when Xander leaned up against a tree in a very "James Dean Cool" kind of way. He saw fear flicker across the boy's face and wanted to stake himself for it. He placed a hand on the trunk of the tree next to Xan's face. "Hi," he said at a loss for words when he looked at his beautiful mortal. Quickly he reminded himself that Xander wasn't his yet. He realized it was time to throw himself at the alter of love and hope it didn't hurt. Of course in a few hundred years he had picked up a modicum of tact and knew not to mention Spike that much. He was going to go down the road of, "I'm confused, love me please".
"I lied." He spoke flatly and ignored the quick flash of hurt, "I told you I didn't want you to get hurt. But what I want is to have you forever. I don't want anything else. You're where it ends for me. And when I think about what that bastard did to you I get so angry. I want you to *never* hurt. I want to make you happy. And I want to keep doing it forever. And then tonight you left, I don't want to force you into anything you don't want." His gaze met big brown eyes. "I would hate to think I had coerced you into something. "Had I the heavens' embroided cloths,. Enwrought with golden and silver light. The blue and the dim and the dark cloths. Of night and light and the half-light. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." Say something."
"Pretty, d'ya make it up yourself?"
Angel laughed, upon seeing the boy's honesty in the remark he sobered and played down the fact that it was an extremely famous poem. "No, some poet wrote it."
Nodding Xander asked in a rushed voice, "Will, y'claim me?"
Smiling Angel said, "God, yes. Do you have *any* idea how *precious* you are?" Xander just looked at him oddly with one eyebrow quirked. "What happened earlier?" He wanted to hear Xander's words. Not Spike's explanation of the teenage mind.
"Got scared." He looked down to the grass.
"Of what? Of me?"
"You got all pensive and I figured it was best to beat you to the punch."
"I could never leave you. I would have a hard enough time letting you go." His face loomed over Xander's. Their lips brushed as he talked. "I brood. I was planning painful deaths for your father and hating myself because I did much worse things in my time."
"At least your honest." Xander smiled wryly as he pulled Angel to himself for a sweet kiss. It was passionate in the quietest form: slow, and timid, and filled with unspoken emotion. "Claim me?"
Angel shook his head sadly. "Willow's dad is watching us. He'll think I'm biting you. He'll be right too."
"What?!" Xander looked over Angel's shoulder and sure enough Ira Rosenberg was standing in the window.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ira?" Sheila asked as she walked down the stairs in her dressing gown. "It's late, come to bed."
"In a minute. I heard a noise and. . ." His words were absent as though he wasn't truly aware of her presence.
"What are you looking at?" she asked as she came to stand next to him, "Xander has a friend," she said with a soft tone, "That's nice. I mean, I know he has Willow but he needs a boy friend to relate to about man stuff." They watched as Angel leaned over and kissed the boy, "I suddenly feel like an unwelcome voyeur." She turned away from the window.
"You were the one who said he needed a boyfriend." Ira said with a wry smile.
Sheila leveled her face to him with an expression that reminded him of his daughter's "resolved face". "Don't do anything stupid. That boy deserves a reprieve in his life and he certainly doesn't need *you* saying anything unkind to him. If he's happy you're gonna leave him alone!"
"What would I say?" asked Ira feeling genuinely hurt by his wife's accusations. "If he's happy so am I! I wonder," he said introspectively, "if Xander's friend would like some coffee, it's awfully late. . . why is Xander up at this time of the morning?"