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eclectic_friendsTitle: Less and More Than Friends: Dance Me On and On
Author:tmbreck / ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eclectic_tongue / ![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
eclectic
Beta:velvetwhip
Rating: FRT (so far)
Pairing: Angel(us)/Willow
Warning: none really
Summary: Under threat from enemies old and new, Angel battles his darker impulses as he and Willow become something other than friends. (Sequel to A Brief Courtship)
A/N: Written for my ever encouraging beta,velvetwhip, who writes and corrects like a dream. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't still be trying to write.
He knew that at one time he had loved Buffy. He could clearly remember the first time he had seen her, remember the urge he'd had to save her from anything that could hurt her. It had to be love. Only love could make him want to save someone who not only didn't need his help, but would likely end his existence if he approached her.
“His name is Scott. He's a nice, solid guy. He makes me happy...
and that's what I need: someone I can count on.”
Listening to her drone on and on in an awkward and obvious attempt to make him jealous, though; that was making it hard to really believe that he'd loved her. He needed this conversation to be over before he did something he might regret. The only thing he could think of that would both get her to leave faster and not raise any suspicion that he wasn't still a perfectly trained lap-dog was to just stare at her with a pained expression.
Apparently, he did pained well enough to make her uncomfortable, because she left shortly after. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. Until Buffy had arrived bearing blood from the local butcher's, he had convinced himself that he wouldn't visit Willow's house tonight, wouldn't watch her from the shadows like a pathetically love-struck stalker. However, his frustration and disgust with the Buffy situation had torn away at his will to fight that urge. Slipping out into the darkness, he found his way unerringly toward his nightly haunt. He was relieved when he didn't sense Faith anywhere around the Rosenberg house.
Lately, Sunnydale's newest slayer had been sticking very closely to Willow. While he could only mourn the passing of Kendra in a very abstract way, all the while bemused by the irony that she had escaped being Drusilla's kill only to die in a plane crash on the way home, he did regret that her death had brought forth a slayer with such a blatant interest his witch.
When he stepped onto the patio outside Willow's room, he was shocked to find her waiting for him. He was used to her pretending as if she didn't know he was there watching her every move. This time, however, she opened the French doors, looked directly at him, and then turned and walked back into the room. Unable to take his eyes off her, he silently moved to her door and watched as she slipped behind a folding screen near the wall.
Trying not to stare at her silhouette on the thin paper, Angel let his eyes wander around Willow's room, seeing what had changed and what was still the same. Finally, he noticed a pile of clothes on her bed that he assumed were there for her to try on. Quickly steering his mind away from that potentially dangerous line of thought, he settled his eyes on the doorway in front of him. He knew there was a barrier there, knew that there wasn't a way he could get past it, but he still couldn't resist the urge to try.
Just as his hand reached out, fingertips gently testing the give of the magic at her threshold, she stepped out wearing a red and white dress that didn't truly flatter her. Given her expression, she wasn't really that comfortable in it, either.
“It's for the Homecoming dance. I'm going alone, but I should still look nice, you know? I wasn't going to go at all, but then Buffy was very persuasive. She said that Faith would be going, and if I didn't go too, she'd feel like a fifth wheel, and no one deserves that, not even overly aggressive and pushy slayers who could spend a little less time hitting on everyone around them. Not that I have a problem with sexually aggressive females or people who are gay or bisexual. I just have a problem with people who don't know when uncomfortable babbling means stop.”
While part of him, as always, marveled at her ability to talk so very much and so very quickly while still needing to breath, another part was stunned by the fact that she was talking to him. Not only talking to him, but acting as if they were friends, as if he wasn't the same creature who had brutally tormented her and killed the boy she loved – the boy she should be going to this dance with – less than two months ago.
Realizing that, although she hadn't actually asked for his opinion, she was waiting for him to say something, he did his best to be as honest as he could while not damaging this tentative peace she was offering.
“It looks... all right.”
Picking up another outfit, Willow headed back behind the screen in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, so Angel let his mind wander and a fantasy take hold, just as he would have had she not opened her doors tonight.
They are in his room at the mansion and she's getting ready for some party Drusilla insisted they throw. Teasingly, she refuses to let him see her slip in and out of the dresses she's trying on for his approval, knowing how much anticipation it was building in him. His sweet Willow knows so well how to play at being an innocent for him.
When she came out again, she was wearing a black, full length dress with some flower and sunshine theme. More relaxed, but still unwilling to be blunt and potentially hurt her feelings or bring this surreal scene to an end, Angel nodded his head and simply said, “Nice.”
Now leaning against her door jamb, he trailed his fingers idly along the invisible barrier separating him from her room and watched her slip behind the screen with another dress. While she still didn't say anything, this time she was humming quietly to herself and Angel was once again back in his room where watching her get ready for a party, the tune she was humming transformed into some classical record he was playing for background noise.
He was so engrossed in the fantasy that it took him a few moments to realize that she actually had stepped back into view wearing a strapless, black, full-length dress. At his prolonged silence, Willow gave a small smile and rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess. 'Okay'?”
Straightening up, Angel slipped both hands into his pockets to stop himself from making a fool of himself by trying to reach through the door to touch her.
“I was going to say 'perfect', actually.”
It was her small smile and blush which haunted him the next day. He knew it wasn't wise to indulge himself like this. She was better off pretending he wasn't there, better off not thinking they could be anything like friends. Friendship led to trust, and trust led to dark school hallways where little girls trembled in the arms of monsters still believing that their friend wouldn't actually hurt them.
He would hurt her, though. He couldn't fool himself into thinking otherwise. Even as he had talked to her through the safety of a magical barrier, in the back of his mind he was figuring out ways to get her to cross the threshold to where she had no defense against him. He wouldn't go through with it while he had the soul, of course. He'd already been shown, however, how easily he could lose that soul.
If he were wise, if he were noble, hell, if he were decent, he would stay away from her. But one thing he had never been, not as Liam, Angelus, or Angel, was decent. So he went to her again the next night.
While part of him had been hoping she would what to spend time with him again, he definitely hadn't anticipated she would look so sad as she waited for him.
Her door was open and she was sitting on the floor with her back to the bed. Knees drawn up with her arms wrapped around them, she was the picture of guilt and misery. Pulling a patio chair near the door, he sat down and waited for her to speak. He didn't have long to wait.
“I'm a horrible friend.”
Willow didn't appear to need a response from him, which was a good thing, because he didn't actually have one that went beyond automatic denial. All she really seemed to need was for Angel to sit where he was and listen as she spilled her tale of Buffy becoming obsessed with being Homecoming Queen, Cordelia roping Willow into helping her in her fight against Buffy, and somehow this being all Willow's fault. He was unclear on how that last part worked.
He was clear, however, on the fact that Willow and Xander's plan to get Buffy and Cordelia back on semi-friendly terms was doomed to failure. Putting those two in a closed space together and hoping they somehow worked it out was just asking for someone's funeral. Angel didn't have the heart to tell Willow that, so he told her that he hoped it all turned out all right, then wished her sweet dreams.
It turned out that he was wrong. Well, in a way. While the limo ride itself didn't magically make Buffy and Cordelia best friends, the part where they had to fight off various demons together then watch as two random girls shared the crown they were both fighting for did make them friendlier. Still laughing quietly over Willow's description of their disappointment, Angel didn't stop to think before he asked if she had enjoyed dancing.
He could see the sadness appear in her eyes, and felt even guiltier when he heard it in her voice as she told him she hadn't danced. He tried to tell himself that he had only asked her to dance because he wanted to chase away some of that sadness, that he didn't thrill the naïveté in her acceptance or the fulfillment of plans he'd only half formed as he was talking to her last night. As he lightly rested one hand on her waist and held one of her hands in the other, however, he didn't stop himself from imagining how easy it would be to lean down and sink his fangs into her trusting throat.
He hummed some long-forgotten melody as they swayed on her patio, peace and contentment flowing through him for the first time since he was human, almost banishing the dark fantasies. He would have stayed like that forever if he hadn't felt the approaching dawn. As he started to pull back, Willow tightened her hold on his shoulder and stared up at him, confusion clearly visible on her face.
“Angel, what are we doing?”
Author:
tmbreck / eclectic_tongue / eclecticBeta:
velvetwhipRating: FRT (so far)
Pairing: Angel(us)/Willow
Warning: none really
Summary: Under threat from enemies old and new, Angel battles his darker impulses as he and Willow become something other than friends. (Sequel to A Brief Courtship)
A/N: Written for my ever encouraging beta,
velvetwhip, who writes and corrects like a dream. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't still be trying to write.He knew that at one time he had loved Buffy. He could clearly remember the first time he had seen her, remember the urge he'd had to save her from anything that could hurt her. It had to be love. Only love could make him want to save someone who not only didn't need his help, but would likely end his existence if he approached her.
“His name is Scott. He's a nice, solid guy. He makes me happy...
and that's what I need: someone I can count on.”
Listening to her drone on and on in an awkward and obvious attempt to make him jealous, though; that was making it hard to really believe that he'd loved her. He needed this conversation to be over before he did something he might regret. The only thing he could think of that would both get her to leave faster and not raise any suspicion that he wasn't still a perfectly trained lap-dog was to just stare at her with a pained expression.
Apparently, he did pained well enough to make her uncomfortable, because she left shortly after. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. Until Buffy had arrived bearing blood from the local butcher's, he had convinced himself that he wouldn't visit Willow's house tonight, wouldn't watch her from the shadows like a pathetically love-struck stalker. However, his frustration and disgust with the Buffy situation had torn away at his will to fight that urge. Slipping out into the darkness, he found his way unerringly toward his nightly haunt. He was relieved when he didn't sense Faith anywhere around the Rosenberg house.
Lately, Sunnydale's newest slayer had been sticking very closely to Willow. While he could only mourn the passing of Kendra in a very abstract way, all the while bemused by the irony that she had escaped being Drusilla's kill only to die in a plane crash on the way home, he did regret that her death had brought forth a slayer with such a blatant interest his witch.
When he stepped onto the patio outside Willow's room, he was shocked to find her waiting for him. He was used to her pretending as if she didn't know he was there watching her every move. This time, however, she opened the French doors, looked directly at him, and then turned and walked back into the room. Unable to take his eyes off her, he silently moved to her door and watched as she slipped behind a folding screen near the wall.
Trying not to stare at her silhouette on the thin paper, Angel let his eyes wander around Willow's room, seeing what had changed and what was still the same. Finally, he noticed a pile of clothes on her bed that he assumed were there for her to try on. Quickly steering his mind away from that potentially dangerous line of thought, he settled his eyes on the doorway in front of him. He knew there was a barrier there, knew that there wasn't a way he could get past it, but he still couldn't resist the urge to try.
Just as his hand reached out, fingertips gently testing the give of the magic at her threshold, she stepped out wearing a red and white dress that didn't truly flatter her. Given her expression, she wasn't really that comfortable in it, either.
“It's for the Homecoming dance. I'm going alone, but I should still look nice, you know? I wasn't going to go at all, but then Buffy was very persuasive. She said that Faith would be going, and if I didn't go too, she'd feel like a fifth wheel, and no one deserves that, not even overly aggressive and pushy slayers who could spend a little less time hitting on everyone around them. Not that I have a problem with sexually aggressive females or people who are gay or bisexual. I just have a problem with people who don't know when uncomfortable babbling means stop.”
While part of him, as always, marveled at her ability to talk so very much and so very quickly while still needing to breath, another part was stunned by the fact that she was talking to him. Not only talking to him, but acting as if they were friends, as if he wasn't the same creature who had brutally tormented her and killed the boy she loved – the boy she should be going to this dance with – less than two months ago.
Realizing that, although she hadn't actually asked for his opinion, she was waiting for him to say something, he did his best to be as honest as he could while not damaging this tentative peace she was offering.
“It looks... all right.”
Picking up another outfit, Willow headed back behind the screen in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, so Angel let his mind wander and a fantasy take hold, just as he would have had she not opened her doors tonight.
They are in his room at the mansion and she's getting ready for some party Drusilla insisted they throw. Teasingly, she refuses to let him see her slip in and out of the dresses she's trying on for his approval, knowing how much anticipation it was building in him. His sweet Willow knows so well how to play at being an innocent for him.
When she came out again, she was wearing a black, full length dress with some flower and sunshine theme. More relaxed, but still unwilling to be blunt and potentially hurt her feelings or bring this surreal scene to an end, Angel nodded his head and simply said, “Nice.”
Now leaning against her door jamb, he trailed his fingers idly along the invisible barrier separating him from her room and watched her slip behind the screen with another dress. While she still didn't say anything, this time she was humming quietly to herself and Angel was once again back in his room where watching her get ready for a party, the tune she was humming transformed into some classical record he was playing for background noise.
He was so engrossed in the fantasy that it took him a few moments to realize that she actually had stepped back into view wearing a strapless, black, full-length dress. At his prolonged silence, Willow gave a small smile and rolled her eyes.
“Let me guess. 'Okay'?”
Straightening up, Angel slipped both hands into his pockets to stop himself from making a fool of himself by trying to reach through the door to touch her.
“I was going to say 'perfect', actually.”
It was her small smile and blush which haunted him the next day. He knew it wasn't wise to indulge himself like this. She was better off pretending he wasn't there, better off not thinking they could be anything like friends. Friendship led to trust, and trust led to dark school hallways where little girls trembled in the arms of monsters still believing that their friend wouldn't actually hurt them.
He would hurt her, though. He couldn't fool himself into thinking otherwise. Even as he had talked to her through the safety of a magical barrier, in the back of his mind he was figuring out ways to get her to cross the threshold to where she had no defense against him. He wouldn't go through with it while he had the soul, of course. He'd already been shown, however, how easily he could lose that soul.
If he were wise, if he were noble, hell, if he were decent, he would stay away from her. But one thing he had never been, not as Liam, Angelus, or Angel, was decent. So he went to her again the next night.
While part of him had been hoping she would what to spend time with him again, he definitely hadn't anticipated she would look so sad as she waited for him.
Her door was open and she was sitting on the floor with her back to the bed. Knees drawn up with her arms wrapped around them, she was the picture of guilt and misery. Pulling a patio chair near the door, he sat down and waited for her to speak. He didn't have long to wait.
“I'm a horrible friend.”
Willow didn't appear to need a response from him, which was a good thing, because he didn't actually have one that went beyond automatic denial. All she really seemed to need was for Angel to sit where he was and listen as she spilled her tale of Buffy becoming obsessed with being Homecoming Queen, Cordelia roping Willow into helping her in her fight against Buffy, and somehow this being all Willow's fault. He was unclear on how that last part worked.
He was clear, however, on the fact that Willow and Xander's plan to get Buffy and Cordelia back on semi-friendly terms was doomed to failure. Putting those two in a closed space together and hoping they somehow worked it out was just asking for someone's funeral. Angel didn't have the heart to tell Willow that, so he told her that he hoped it all turned out all right, then wished her sweet dreams.
It turned out that he was wrong. Well, in a way. While the limo ride itself didn't magically make Buffy and Cordelia best friends, the part where they had to fight off various demons together then watch as two random girls shared the crown they were both fighting for did make them friendlier. Still laughing quietly over Willow's description of their disappointment, Angel didn't stop to think before he asked if she had enjoyed dancing.
He could see the sadness appear in her eyes, and felt even guiltier when he heard it in her voice as she told him she hadn't danced. He tried to tell himself that he had only asked her to dance because he wanted to chase away some of that sadness, that he didn't thrill the naïveté in her acceptance or the fulfillment of plans he'd only half formed as he was talking to her last night. As he lightly rested one hand on her waist and held one of her hands in the other, however, he didn't stop himself from imagining how easy it would be to lean down and sink his fangs into her trusting throat.
He hummed some long-forgotten melody as they swayed on her patio, peace and contentment flowing through him for the first time since he was human, almost banishing the dark fantasies. He would have stayed like that forever if he hadn't felt the approaching dawn. As he started to pull back, Willow tightened her hold on his shoulder and stared up at him, confusion clearly visible on her face.
“Angel, what are we doing?”
