I don't own. If I did, you can bet your life, Angel would have been wearing a lot less clothes.
Rating: G to R, depending on section
Mushier than usual. Or not, your call.
1. "Dearest, duck!"
Buffy dropped to the ground instantly, seconds later she was showered in ash. As she got up, shaking her head in an effort to remove vampire dust, she couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up. "Dearest?"
Angel stood stock still, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets, hunched over even more than usual, eyes shifting up, down, to the sides, everywhere except focusing on Buffy. Mortified Angel was quite the sight.
"Didn't that word go out of style a couple of hundred years ago?" she asked innocently.
"I was trying to be affectionate," he grumbled.
She felt a bit guilty. It hadn't been her intention to make him feel bad; it was that generally she tended to forget that he was from a time when people did say stuff like that. She took a step so that she was directly in front of him. She let her fingers follow the line of his cheek, down to his jaw. She let them softly trail across his chin and then teased his lower lip with her index finger. Angel's eyes had closed and a soft sigh escaped. She placed one hand on his chest to steady herself while she pushed herself up on tiptoe. She bit his earlobe lightly and Angel groaned. Then she whispered quietly, "my dearest studmuffin of love."
Angel's eyes flew open and saw Buffy barely suppressing a loud snicker. "Oops," she yelled as Angel got a wicked gleam in his eye and lunged for her. As he began to chase her through the cemetery, she reflected that she had learned one interesting fact. Vampires couldn't blush.