Pairing: Willow/Angel
Genres: Drabbles and Ficlets, Angst
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
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It was too damn hot. And Angel hated hot weather. Or at least he did now. As a vampire, he was immune to temperature and hadn’t really bothered much about whether it was hot or cold in centuries. Except for dressing appropriately to blend in with humanity, of course. But now, he hated hot weather.
He was used to the sight of Buffy’s legs. The girl he considered the Juliet to his Romeo had never worn a skirt longer than mid-thigh in all the time he’d known her. He never really noticed her legs any more. But her best friend was a different story. Willow always wore baggy jeans, flowing skirts or colorful tights under skirts that were knee-length. He had never seen her bare legs before. But now, due to an unseasonable heat wave that had caused Willow to forgo tights under her miniskirt for a night at the Bronze, he was seeing them for the very first time. And he was enjoying the sight far too much.
This was Willow, he reminded himself, the best friend of the love of your un-life. You should not be looking at her legs like this. But he was. And he was more turned-on than he could ever remember being turned on by anything in his whole existence. Perhaps it was because she had always kept her legs so carefully concealed and therefore seeing them was such a novelty. Perhaps it was her utter innocence of the appeal her legs might have to the opposite sex. Whatever it was, those long, perfectly-shaped legs made him think all the wrong things about the wrong girl.
He wanted to kiss his way up from those slender, well-turned ankles to the backs of her dimpled knees. And then up her smooth thighs to the auburn curls he was sure were at the apex of her sex. He longed to feel those legs wrapped around him as he pounded into her against the back-alley wall of the Bronze, feeling her teeth biting into his shoulder as she struggled to contain her screams as she came with his cock emptying inside her, while Buffy waited unknowingly at a table just inside.
These thoughts had to stop. He loved Buffy…Buffy…Buffy, he chanted to
himself, desperately trying to will away his erection. He was supposed
to be here gazing longingly at the love of his un-life while she bumped
and grinded on the dance floor in a way calculated to turn him on, not
lusting after her shy best friend as she stood at the bar getting sodas.
But it was no use. He had to leave right now before anyone, meaning Buffy,
caught on. He had to get home and take a long, cold shower. It was just
too damn hot.
The End