Title: Thinking Non-Thoughts
Author: Ankhet
Email: snm2761@cub.uca.edu
Distribution: Just keep my name attached and you can post it.
Spoilers: Dopplegangland Rating: PG-13
Content: some language, Willow/Angel
Summary: The scene from Dopplegangland where Willow's in leather from Angel's POV
Disclaimer: If they were mine, why would I still be writing fanfic? I'd be on a beach somewhere with Spike and Angel serving me drinks with little umbrellas in them (the drinks, not Spike and Angel). Joss owns 'em, not me.
Author's Note: This is the Author's first attempt at Angel's POV, so if it sucks, please tell the Author so she'll never write it again. Oh, and the Author likes referring to herself in the third person; it makes her feel like Bob Dole.

The roof's a good place to be. Good view of the town, good place to check out the positions of various vampires in the Bronze, and a perfect place not to be able to see Willow. Not that I usually don't mind looking at Willow, mind you, but tonight it's different. She's wearing Other Willow's outfit, and it's highlighting certain....um, attributes that I'd like to keep hidden from the general population.

I've been up here for ten minutes already, and I'm starting to hope that everybody's already gone inside, and nobody's waiting for me, and I can go home, take a shower, and get the image of all things involving leather out of my head. So I'm peaking over the edge of the roof to see if they're gone, and I get an eye full of the previously mentioned attributes.

I'm in Hell. That's it. I never got out, and now I'm being tortured with images of a red-haired goddess I can never touch. Great. Just _fucking_ great. Anyway back to the roof and the suddenly uplifting view. Buffy catches my eye and signals me to get down there, so I take a few deep breathes and try to calm my, uh, self.

I jump down onto a few boxes and try to face the gang with some semblance of decorum and every body part in its proper place.

"They're still in a holding pattern. That's good. It means they must really be afraid of you." That's good, Angel, make some assinine comment and try to look anywhere but at Willow. The conversation progresses, but I stop listening, running over baseball stats from the 1920s in my head trying anything to get my mind off Willow and peeling that leather off her body slowly.....I almost have it under control when Willow drops the bombshell.

"Gosh, look at those." So I do; I mean, hey, she offered. Blood rushes to various appendages, and I turn away quickly, looking up at the overhang I'm standing under. Gee, the Bronze management really needs to clean up there; that could be a fire hazard. God, she's coming towards me, and the way her muscles are moving makes me wonder what she'd feel like under me as I pound.....

Overhang. Dirty, dirty overhang. Fire hazard. Yeah.

God, she's got a great ass. I shake myself and stare back up at the overhang willing my body to regain composure. The metal door slams shut behind her and Buffy looks at me as she heads to our position.

"You coming?" she tosses over her shoulder.

Not yet. Later. When I'm alone. Or not alone.

*FIN*

The Author would like to thank you for reading this far, and for not sending hired assassins after her just yet. Feedback will be rewarded with a cookie, well, actually, not.