SUBJECT: Fic. "Truffles" 1/1
AUTHOR: Lucy
DISCLAIMER: No way Joss would ever do this. But they're still his
characters.
RATING: R for suggestion.
DISTRIBUTION: CG, Charity's site, Fever of Fate
SUMMARY: Spent all day baking. Had "what-if" thoughts. Merry Christmas!
This fic is completely and in all ways unrelated to anything else I'm
currently in the middle of writing.
DEDICATION: To Kate, for her lovely pictures!
FEEDBACK: If you like my holiday fun, I'd love to hear it. And I most
always write back. Is that enough begging? *g*


Angel glanced around the room, obviously searching for something familiar.
Finding nothing, he turned back to Willow with concerned eyes. He didn't
want to go any further if she wasn't absolutely sure... She looked up at him
expectantly and grabbed his hands, drawing them up to her neck.

"Please, Angel," she begged softly. Her blue green eyes were luminous, not
tearing but still filled with urgency. The room was warm and scented with
spices and a mysterious tang he knew but couldn't match in his brain.
Candles burned steadily in various holders; simple pewter, crackled glass
votives, short tea lights, cranberry glass, star-shaped, long tapers,
beeswax, tin with punched holes to let the light out, and wire beaded cups.
There were dozens of them lit and soft music wafted from the CD player, which
meant Willow was in her "staying home Saturday" mood. She had a thing for
candles. And she had a thing for him.

Angel let his fingertips slide into her fiery red hair and slip through the
silken tresses still damp from her bubble bath. She smelled like citrus. By
the way she'd eagerly pounced on him the minute he stepped through the door
to her apartment, it should be easy to tell if she really wanted him or not.
But now, in the moment, he had a moment of hesitation. He wouldn't want to
disappoint her, let her down, not meet her expectations, which were specific
and varied from what she'd managed to tell him so far. The college Willow
was so more adventurous, so much bolder than the girl he'd had a mere
affection for in high school and he wondered how much of the "evil" version
was just latent in her, waiting to come out and play when she was in the
mood. And if the relaxed atmosphere was any indication, she was definitely
in the mood.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked kindly.

"Pft. I'm not a little girl anymore, Angel."

"I had to ask." Angel kissed her lips once, softly, barely even putting any
pressure into the kiss because he liked feeling how she'd lean into him,
seeking contact. "Willow, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, now tie the damn apron on!" she said in a playful voice.
Angel sighed heavily and made short work of the purple cotton strings. Her
major complaint was that she'd tried doing it and managed to get catch her
hair in the process, giving herself a huge snarl.

"I don't have much experience in the kitchen," he repeated for the tenth
time, giving the counter a suspicious glance. Willow had laid out all of her
baking ingredients by height as though she was doing a spell. Indeed, the
cookbook even had a silk crimson ribbon marking her place and a heavy glass
jar of marnox root weighed down one side of the book. "What do you need my
help with, exactly?"

"Well," Willow said cheerfully, dragging her unwilling friend over the
threshold from the living room into the kitchen, "fudge requires one to stir
constantly. I can't stir constantly and measure and open and pour, now, can
I?"

"No," Angel said sheepishly. Then he made a very male observation that
Willow's apron gaped in the front and made her shirt twist a little to the
left, revealing a little more flesh than her orange v-neck shirt meant to.

"You're cute when you're ogling me," she said, not missing a beat. He looked
up at her, guiltily, but saw only humor in her eyes. "You're cute when
you're all confused, too. Come on, Angel, scared of a little confectioner's
sugar?"

"Why does the confectioner get his own sugar?" he wondered, deciding to play
her little baking game. "Regular granulated not good enough for him?"

"Ha ha. It's all sweet, see?" Willow innocently wet her finger and dipped
it into the powdered sugar, holding it out for Angel to taste. The sexy
half-smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he bent his head and slowly
licked the pad of her finger and then trailed his tongue around the entire
digit. Willow laughed nervously and drew her hand away before he began to
suck.

"Chocolate takes precedence over foreplay," she informed him in a semi-shaky
voice.

"Unless chocolate *is* the foreplay," Angel suggested happily, reaching to
draw her into his arms. She sidestepped him neatly and thrust a glass pyrex
pan at him.

"Grease this," she commanded, and rolled her eyes when he waggled his
eyebrows. "Oh, for Pete's sake, Angel. Not everything has a double meaning!
Honestly, you're worse than Xander."

He let that jibe go for the moment, tucking it away for later when he'd show
her things Xander could never measure up to.


END. >:)