The cinema lights were dimmed and the movie began. Buffy sighed and slipped down in her seat, getting comfortable. She and Angel had, by unspoken agreement, made for the back row and were lucky enough to have empty seats on either side of them for some way.
The opening credits rolled and Buffy let her left hand rest casually on the arm of the seat where Angel could accidentally brush it with his own any time he felt inclined. She kept her face turned towards the screen but let her gaze drift sideways.
Angel was watching the movie. Intent, frowning even, his classic profile displayed to good advantage but so not what Buffy wanted to see. After a while, her hand went to sleep and she moved it back into her lap, pouting slightly.
The film was subtitled, though she suspected Angel could understand the actors anyway. He was chuckling a little in advance of everyone else. Not that it was a comedy exactly. Buffy stopped leaning like a windswept willow so that Angel got the full benefit of her perfume and sat up straight.
Amelia and her lover were doing – interesting things with those grapes. Hopefully she’d counted how many went in, just in case one didn’t come back out. Buffy felt a blush heat her face and heard Angel make a sound that did more to her than removing the grapes seemed to be doing to Amelia. Her head turned and this time Angel was looking at her. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light and the Slayer package included excellent night vision anyway, so his expression was clearly visible. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so...edible. As soon as he realised she was looking at him, he looked away and she sighed, doing the same.
Sometimes she wished they hadn’t made love for more reasons than the tragedy that had followed. Like Eve, knowledge had brought her nothing but pain. She knew what lay beneath the casually elegant clothes, she knew what his lips felt like when they touched her here and there and...oh, Amelia liked that too, did she?
When Angel’s hand, cool and strong, slipped onto her lap and clasped hers she felt liquid heat replace every drop of blood in her body.
Silently, slowly, their fingers wound together, flexing and parting, thumbs rubbing against palms, tracing patterns on flesh. In front of them, the screen filled with images that heightened every stroke, every pressure, until Buffy was breathing shallowly and her free hand was opening and closing in an insistent, demanding rhythm. She needed more but she couldn’t – they shouldn’t.
Angel lifted his hand and took hers with it, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it. He lowered her hand so that her arm lay across the rest between them and then cradled it in both of his. Buffy waited, suspended, floating, anticipating. His mouth came down and he kissed her open palm, not with a brush of his lips, but with a hungry pressure, letting his tongue flick out across her skin. Buffy squirmed in her seat, biting her lip, fist clenched. You could not come from a kiss. Amelia hadn’t and she’d been kissed in places Buffy hadn’t known got kissed. Possibly the olive oil helped. Didn’t matter. Buffy could feel sweet, hot tension build inside her, itchy tingles that cried out for a touch and a need for more, much more.
As if Angel knew how he felt – and he had to; his lips were over the pulse point in her wrist and if it hadn’t just doubled, Buffy would eat a ...a cucumber? Would it even fit there? Sensing her distraction, Angel turned his head, blinked and then shrugged slightly. Buffy supposed it took a lot to shock a vampire and abuse of salad vegetables was low on the list.
Angel must have felt challenged. As Buffy’s attention wandered to the screen, he split her fingers apart and let his tongue play with her middle finger, light touches that echoed across her body so that every sensation her finger felt was multiplied a dozen times, until her nipples were laved hard and aching and she was slick and wet.
Then he sucked her finger in and bit it gently and she came, ass grinding into red plush seat, moaning in time with Amelia, dragging her finger from his mouth and darting her hand down, so that she could grip his cock, hard and eager, rising to her touch. She had to feel it, naked against her hand, had to make him feel...The music swelled, the lights went up and Buffy blinked into Angel’s face, dragging her hand away with an effort, speechless and appalled.
“So, from what Faith tells me, you and Angel were...socialising last night?”
Giles looked vaguely disapproving and Buffy swallowed, summoning up a bright smile.
“We went to the movies, Giles. Nothing more.”
Giles nodded. “I see. Well, I suppose – public place, amongst crowds, no chance of – no, of course not.”
“Giles!” Buffy said. “I didn’t even kiss him in there. We just...held hands.”
Giles watched her leave and shook his head. They'd watched ‘Le Banquet d’Amelia’ and they'd only held hands? Bloody younger generation. Just because there was no car chase and nothing exploded - well, apart from the artichoke...
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