Author:
Pairing: Buffy/Angel.
Rating: PG13.
Setting: Pre-"Innocence."
Tonight she dreams about him. Dreams about his kisses, about him touching her face. About herself nodding and cooing because he knows where to touch her. But in her dreams, his hands are warm, and she wakes up with an icy chill on her face with him standing next to her bedside. "Angel?" She squints in the darkness at him.
"Buffy, I..." He drops his head like he always does. As if she's going to sting him by her presence. "There were some vamps, and I need stitches. They hurt me pretty bad." And now she hears the pain in his voice.
Nodding, she pops herself up. Sleep still stuck in her eyes. Bending down, she retrieves her bandages from under her bed as he sits down. His added weight on the springs almost makes her fall off.
She knows that he's watching her as she pulls her body up. He's done the liberty of taking his own shirt off, and she tries not to focus on the curve of his pectoral muscles. At least that's what she thinks boob muscles are called.
She hears him swallow as she takes out the needle and thread. "I need light." Reaching over to her nightstand, she turns on her reading lamp, the one with the ice skater carved on the pole.
He takes a moment to adjust to the light, and she suspects that his eyes close so he doesn't have to see her reaction to his wound. It's red and bleeding, deep and nasty. Something his healing will fix and leave no mark, but he doesn't want to loss that much blood.
Her hands start to shake as she presses the needle into his flesh. It's cool to the touch, a tad warmer than his hands, probably because of his clothing. He bits back a groan as she pulls the thread through all the way.
They don't talk as she works on him. Her sewing is crude, remnants of six grade home ec when they hand-sewed stuffed animals. Hers was a white rabbit with hot pink ears. The teacher told her that her stitches were too wide, but they were closer together than all the other girls who sat at her table.
"All done," she announces. As she goes to put the needle back in the box, she wonders if she should sterilize it. But vampires don't contract disease, and she slips it back into the container.
Putting back on his shirt, he then turns to her. "Thank you." He leans forward and kisses her.
His kisses make her feel like she's going to float off the bed, and she wraps her hand around his head trying to pull him in for more. But he moves back.
"I should go." His hand reaches up to touch his lips as if he's protecting her taste from washing off his lips.
"You don't have to." The words come crashing out of her mouth before she stops them. "Probably." She gives him a half-smile.
"See you tomorrow night?"
"Yeah," she nods and watches him climb out her window. Pulling her sheets up around her, she settles back into bed. Her hand reaches for lamp, turning it off.