Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Ficlet: I Ain't Him
by Lar

EMAIL: HERE
RATING:R
PAIRING: Angel/Lindsey implied
DISCLAIMER: Characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, no profit is made from this story.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: for menomegirl. She requested:Angel, Cordelia, "God, do I LOOK like Lindsey?"

As if Angel being the broody and forehead-heavy lurking thing that he usually is is not bad enough, Cordelia is dismayed to realize that there are worse things. There is Angel being all that and sleep-deprived on top. What this makes for is a delerious vampire with no impulse control.

Yesterday he launched into an impromptu discourse on the mating habits of gypsies he had known and eaten. Two days before that he made Wesley shriek like a girl by whipping open the bathroom door and sticking his head in because Angel just had to know right then and there where Wesley was keeping the DeGroot Codex.

Cordelia is never going into THAT bathroom again.

At the moment he's sitting in the lobby holding the shredded remains of a very expensive shirt that Cordelia is willing to bet belongs to their least favorite little lawyer man. There's something on the rich burgundy silk that she is disavowing all knowledge of and pretending with every fiber of her being that she so did not see. In fact she's so deep into her denial that she doesn't hear Angel leave his perch and stealth his way over to the spot directly behind her chair as she scans the computer for the outstanding invoice file.

One moment she's happily cross referencing excel files and the next there is the heavy pressure of Angel's face rubbing against her hair. Cordelia sits absolutely still for approximately three tenths of a second before the reaction sets in. Then she sits up straight, hoping she doesn't break his nose if only to spare her the experience of yet more demony excretions ending up on her person. Her hands raise but not to flail at him or push him away, just to point out that once again he is into her personal bubble and she is so over trying to make this point in a polite manner.

"Hey," she snaps. "Hello? God, do I LOOK like Lindsey? And in case you've lost all ability to understand, let me just add in ew and a request for you to stop bringing home souvenirs of your tacky one night stands."

She pushes her chair back, rolls over Angel's left foot and stomps off to use the bathroom upstairs, the one with the bolt on the inside.

--end



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