Current mood:	horny
Entry tags:	b/a, ficlets, fluff!, fluffy smut, my b/a fic

Ficlet: Happy Endings! B/A MORSH. Vaguely smutty.
I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. Unbeta-ed ficlet. ~1200 words

TITLE: Happy Endings
AUTHOR: Ducks, theantijoss 
E-MAIL: ducksfanfic@gmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, don’t sue, etc.
RATING: Hard R… ‘cause they get busy. And talk a little dirty. *G*
PAIRING: B/A, duh!
TIMELINE: A fluffy, mushy AU present.
SYNOPSIS: Angel expresses my frustration for me. And then screws Buffy on his desk. *G*
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I was warming up to do some writing today, and this happened. What? I NEEDED THE FLUFF! Please be advised it contains MAJOR SPOILERS for Kim Harrison’s A FEW DEMONS MORE – if you haven’t read it and don’t want to be spoiled, please read "no further.
FEEDBACK: Hee. Sure, if you like. :)
100moods prompt: 032. Embarrassed



Something hit the wall beside her with such force that the photo of herself, Dawn and Giles taken at Christmas two years ago fell to the carpet with a sickening thud. Buffy jumped up and sprinted at full Slayer-speed to Angel’s office, her stomach lurching, chest clenched in terror, even as she separated herself from her emotions so that she could fight. Completely prepared, yet utterly unprepared, fully expecting the worst either way. Was he hurt? Dead? Had something broken into their home? Was the world getting sucked into a demon dimension? Had The First returned? A Hell God? A dragon?

She skidded to a stop in the doorway.

He was fine. Or looked fine. Damn fine, in fact…mostly. Her gorgeous love sat slumped in his big, leather chair, face scrunched into a glower so dark, she couldn’t see his eyes beneath his furrowed brow.  His hands were clutched in his lap, his chair facing the sparkling night visible through the big picture window. He glared at it as though the stars themselves had eaten his puppy.

“Angel?”

His shoulders relaxed a little bit, loosening the steel band of dread that had wrapped around her heart. He sighed before turning around to face her.

Now he looked a lot less deadly, and a lot more embarrassed. Just what had she walked in on?

“Hey,” he greeted her softly.

The mix of pain and shame in his dark eyes pulled her around the desk, drawn inexorably by the urge to comfort him. She settled herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, cuddling up, offering her warmth. He hugged her, burying his face in her hair and breathing her in.

“What’s wrong?” she murmured into his own thick hair, reveling in the scent of him as she always did: incense and silk and the oil he used to clean weapons, undercut with the faint aroma of well-worn leather and the organic soap they both used.

Angel pulled her a little tighter, and Buffy could swear she heard tears staining his black velvet voice. “Nothing.”

She pulled away to look into his face, but he avoided her gaze. Unable to find answers there, she looked around the room. There was a new dent in the wall where she’d heard the thump… a dent shaped like something square? A quick look at the floor revealed the culprit: a copy of Kim Harrison’s book, A Few Demons More.

“Um… okay. Not a good book, I take it?”

The scowl returned, and he tried to shift her off his lap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Angel…” Funny how she could say his name in a slightly different way, and convey a completely separate meaning.  One word that was everything inside of her could express a thousand different things outside. All this time together, they had grown beyond needing a lot of talk to communicate. Only a word. A glance. A touch. She held on more tightly, refusing to be dislodged.

This time, that beloved word chastised him for refusing to share something that was obviously really bothering him, and consequently scaring her half out of her mind. Unacceptable.

He took a deep breath, still unwilling took look at her, and puffed his cheeks as he blew it out. A sure sign he was about to force himself to say something he really didn’t want to share.

He mumbled so that she couldn’t hear him. Another of his favorite stalling tactics.

“What? Did you say… ‘killed with kissing’?”

“No. I said, ‘She killed Kisten.’ My favorite character in the Hollows. The vampire guy the main character is in love with.”

Buffy blinked, shooting another glance to the book crumpled on the floor, and the hole it left in the wall when he threw it. “You’re… upset because a character in a book got killed?”

Angel gave her a nasty look. “Oh, excuse me. I seem to remember somebody sobbing hysterically when Joey chose Pacey instead of Dawson on that stupid teen soap you used to watch. So please let’s not pretend you’re above this kind of thing.”

It was Buffy’s turn to blush. “That was completely different – it reminded me of us.”

“Yeah, well. Kisten sort of reminded me of… me,” he said softly, an undercurrent of old self-loathing she’d thought long gone in his words. “I wanted him to get the girl.”

Buffy shifted to take him into her arms again, kissing the smooth skin beneath his jaw. “Well… you did get the girl. So what are you worried about?”

Shivering in spite of himself, he tilted his head back to give her better access, and tucked her more securely into his embrace as if to make sure what she said was true. “I just… I hate doom and gloom in my fiction. Don’t we have enough of it in real life? I read to escape, not to see a depressing microcosm of the real world. I like a nice romance. I mean, I enjoy… darker stuff. I just like a hopeful ending. Is that too much to ask?”

She halted her attentions and pulled away to give him an indulgent smile. “You are such a girl,” she teased.

Angel narrowed his eyes at her menacingly. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! You’re a big, squishy, soft-hearted, soap-opera-loving, Mandy-singing girl.” Buffy cracked up as she said it, unable to resist the temptation, the easy, comfortable privilege of gentle ribbing that they had gone so long without. And the look on his face was well worth it.

Then she yelped as he scooped her up with one arm, swept his desk clean with the other, set her down, ripped both their sweats to their ankles, and thrust into her in what seemed like a single, perfectly graceful, vampire-quick motion. He rocked in and out of her, fast, smooth and hard, bringing her to a peak so quickly, she had hardly realized they were joined and she was already about to come.

“Girl, huh?” Angel growled into her ear right before he bit down on the scarred flesh where his mark once lay on her throat. “You sure about that?”

“God! Yes!” she cried, then some still sane part of her brain realized what she’d said. “I mean no! No! Please, Angel!”

He had stopped moving, holding himself poised over her, buried deep inside the heat of her body, but not giving her the stimulation she needed to plunge over that edge she could seefeeltaste just over the horizon.

“Please what, my love?”

“Please… I need to! Please let me…” Her words cut off as she gasped, desperate for breath, more desperate for him to take that breath away.

“What do you need, Buffy? Tell me. What do you want from me?”

“I need to come! Please, Angel. Please, fuck me!”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said with a snarl, and complied, driving into her hard and fast until they were both screaming their release as the night exploded in bliss all around them.

They lay tangled together on top of his desk, Buffy nuzzling the top of his head in contentment.

“Girl,” he snorted.

Buffy tucked a finger under his jaw to raise his gaze to meet hers. “You’re definitely not a girl. I was just teasing you. I love that you’re so sensitive… and so hopeful. It… helps me remember to be too.”

Angel put his arms around her, resting against her breast to hear her heartbeat. “That sound is what keeps me hopeful. As long as your heart beats… almost nothing else matters. That you’re here with me is just gravy.”

“Who needs books for happy endings?” she whispered, running a gentle hand up and down his spine. “We’ve got our very own right here.”