It’s Not Possible

Visit my Angel fanfiction site, Under A Blue Night

Part: 1/1 Rating: PG Summary: Quick Cordy insight about her attraction to Angel Distribute: Wherever

God. I’m watching him again. I really need to stop this. I can’t have him like that! I can’t…be…with him. But still. Look at him. Look at how he stands. Look at how he carries himself. Look at how he…stares back at me when he catches me staring at him. Oh! Look away, Cordy! Look away! Okay. Good. Looking away, and Angel is none the wiser.

I shouldn’t even be thinking of him this way. I really shouldn’t. He’s…my best friend. He’s…a vampire. He…can’t have true happiness. Which in a nutshell means…no sex. And that can’t be good! Not for me anyway… Poor Angel. He’s trapped in celibacy. And if I got with him, I’d be trapped too. Or worse. We might not be able to stay celibate and then he might change into his evil counterpart again, and his blood lust will start up, and he’ll go on a rampage, a torturing spree…and he’d probably start with me.

No. No. Not a good idea.

I can’t have him. I know that.

But still. It doesn’t mean I don’t want him. Or wonder, some times…

Angel gets me, you know. He really, really gets me. If anyone gets the pain I go through, visions and all, it’s he who suffers worse. Angel definitely suffers worse than I do. Funny how I’m the one who’s constantly complaining. I have visions, yeah. I get headaches… But Angel. Angel is eternally tormented by his mistakes. He feels the pain of everyone. He’s cursed for crying’ out loud! The poor guy’s destined to suffer until A) He wins the war in the Apocalypse there by saving the world from damnation (no stress there) Or. B) He gets staked.

Ouch! Bad thought. Don’t want that to happen!

See, either way, he’s screwed. And I complain about headaches.

Doesn’t really seem fair when I think it about it like this. Okay. Make mental note to self: Stop complaining so much. At least to Angel. I guess it’s okay to complain to Wes and Gunn. It’s not like they have any vision induced debilitations or demon triggering soul issues. In fact, make mental not to self: Complain MORE to Wes and Gunn!

God. Look at him. He’s moving furniture. And the way he does it seems so effortless. He’s so strong…even a solid oak desk doesn’t cause him to strain…Mmm, muscles.

He’s paused now, arms crossed, one finger touching his lip in thought. Mmm, lip. He’s concentrating very hard on making the angle of his desk perfect. He messes with it at least once a week. Ever since Wesley took the big office, and stuck Angel out in front of the door like His Boy Friday, Angel’s been fidgety about the furniture.

I think it drives him crazy not being able to hide in the dark anymore. Oh well. Mr. Seclusion needs a little sunshine in his life…figuratively speaking of course. And besides. This way, I get to watch him.

My desk is across the room from his. Gunn’s is in the corner, but he’s never sitting at it. Gunn hardly ever stays in the office. So, its usually just me and Angel; me sipping my coffee, working on invoices, researching; and Angel, sitting quietly, thinking, reading, researching, staring at the wall, or…moving the furniture.

I’m guessing that there’s a glare coming across his desk from one of the far windows. It probably bothers his eyes…even reflective sunlight can cook a vamp. That or he’s just neurotic. Vampires don’t have the best track record with rationalization. Okay. He just picked up the desk and moved it again. All the pencils fell off and now he’s cursing as he bends down to pick them up.

Poor Angel!

Lucky Cordy. Cordy’s got a nice view of Angel’s ass…

Okay, he’s caught me staring at him again. You’d think the embarrassment would be enough to make me stop. But, hehe, it isn’t. I look away nonchalantly and Angel goes back about his…reconfiguring.

Unless I get a vision, he’ll be doing this all night.

Yes. I think he’s just neurotic.

Sexy. But definitely neurotic.

Ah, I hate this! I really do! It was only recently that I started to feel this way; think these…thoughts…AGAIN. Truth be told, the first time I laid eyes on Angel I thought he was just the hottest thing to walk this earth since…well, me. I envisioned a long, hot passionate relationship, he of course being rich. And then after his marriage proposal, which involved a ridiculously huge two-carat princess cut ring, a seriously short engagement and then a HUGE white wedding, I’d live a long happy life having his beautiful babies and living a life of supreme luxury, maybe in a mansion on the French Riviera, and never, ever, ever having to worry about being alone again.

Yes. I thought all of that within a matter of seconds.

But then I found out about the demon cohabitating his body, and quickly moved on with that conclusion. Man, I was such a self-obsessed brat! But that’s beside the point. Call me shallow if you will, but he was a vampire for gods sakes! If Brad Pitt were a vampire…ooh, Louie…tasty…I’d still run the other way, thank you very much!

It’s true! I would!

You can’t blame a girl for wanting to keep her neck. And anyway, I still got the best part of the deal. I mean, I still get the never having to worry about being alone again part because Angel will never abandon me…again, that is…so, that’s a good thing, right?

God, but to struggle with this overwhelming lust that I get every time I look at him…I swear its punishment. I am just too attracted to him. And it’s getting worse yet.

Angel’s still a vamp…sensitive hearing, blood diet, vamp-o-vision and all. But he’s also a really great guy. (And he’s still hot.) I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve seen ickier—puss oozing zombies with detachable limbs; large, hairy demons, some with third eyes (shiver); gang bangers with pistols as big as my purse—I don’t know, I guess the idea of the fangs just doesn’t scare me anymore.

Watching Angel, it just makes me hot.

Crap. I’m blushing now. And he’s glancing at me, and I bet he can tell my hearts just started to race a little. Okay, calm down, he’s looking back at his desk again. Did I mention Angel’s oblivious?

At least he’s always been with me. No, that’s not fair. Actually he’s not that oblivious. He’s become really good at reading into me. Like I said, he gets me.

Just not the huge, passionate crush stuff.

“How’s that?” He asks with a frown.

“Fine.” I conclude with a smile.

I don’t bother to tell him that his desk is in the exact same position it was in before he started. But then it always is, week after week. Like I said, neurotic. Fidgety. I don’t think it’s the position of the desk so much as all the open space that bothers him. Maybe I should just break down and suggest dividers. Give him the security of seclusion with partioned off areas…

Nah. Cause then what would I stare at all day? I’d get bored.

Finally satisfied with the desk (for now), Angel seems to relax a little. He’s sitting down now, smoothing his hands over the clean, polished surface of his desk. I look down at mine. It’s cluttered with paper. And there’s a big coffee stain in the wood…isn’t varnish supposed to resist stuff like that? And I’ve got crumbs from yesterday’s sandwich still sprinkled over my workspace. Eh, so I’m a slob. Sue me.

Angel, on the other hand, is a neat freak.

He’s still running his hands over the desk in long, outward circles. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s doing it absentmindedly. He’s thinking about something else, something deep, something… Did I just see him smile?

“Hey! Angel!” I say suspiciously.

His head snaps up and he looks at me dumbly. I try to cover my nosiness, err, curiosity, with concern, and wrinkling my nose, ask,

“What are you thinking about? You look all…tense.”

“Tense?”

He looks confused. And then all of a sudden he does look tense. And he starts stammering and shifting and speaking uneasily,

“No. No. I’m not tense!”

“Things are good?” I raise my brow.

“Y-Yeah. Things are…fine.”

“Then why do you look so tense all of a sudden?”

This gains me a shrug and silence. I get up from my chair, circling my desk and walk towards him. My arms are crossed and I’m surveying him with a look of determination. He almost recoils, and I see him swallow as I approach. I circle him now, and his head follows me, and then as I come back around, I take the opportunity to really incite him, and I plop my behind down on the top of his clean, smooth desk. It’s dangerously close, and to my amusement, he looks really nervous now. I’m wearing a skirt, and it’s ridden up a little on my thigh. I don’t mind…he looks like he might.

He slides back in his chair and peers up at me. I swear; if his blood circulated, he’d be blushing right now. Now I’m really curious as to what he’d been thinking about.

I start to feel a little nervous myself; he looks so uncomfortable and all, what with my butt on his desk…

Have I always had this effect on him? Wow. I should try to get close more often…

Sure, it’s probably not ordinary office etiquette, but then this isn’t an ordinary office.

I decide to have some fun with it.

So, I lean across his desk, and I mean, like WAY over, all the way to the other side while he sits there, shell shocked; and I make sure to lean low and maybe let my top fall open a little…AH HA! His have narrowed. He’s going for a look! I grab a pencil and then quickly sit up straight.

He’s eyeing me without trying to look directly at me, and now he’s leaning back, waaaay back, in his chair, trying to get some distance. I finger the pencil tentatively, rolling it between my fingers and then touching its eraser to my lips boredly, which by the way, I just licked. Wet lips are a sure sign of lust. And guys respond to objects near mouth. Well, most guys; probably not Angel…

“Angel,” I say loosely, letting my gaze linger gingerly on the pencil. “Don’t get all broody again. I don’t like the broody…it makes me all…broody.”

“I’m not broody,” He claims self-consciously.

“Are you sure?” I ask, knowing damn well that he’s not. He hasn’t been broody for a while now. Let me rephrase: Angel is always broody. But he hasn’t been that broody for some time. And it’s been great. Because less broody is more fun, and fun Angel is…in all truth, pretty fun! I know he’s not broody; I just like to accuse him of it. I don’t know why, it just amuses me…

“Yes, Cordy, I swear,”

“Hmn…” I say skeptically. “Then prove it.”

“Huh?” He’s taken aback.

“Prove it!” I simply say. “Put your feet up. Relax. Stop fidgeting with your desk. Stop…” I eye the clean surface where his hand still moves in a neurotic circle. “Stop rubbing your hand over your desk! You’re going to wear off your fingerprints!”

He’s looking at me strangely. “Um…” He clears his throat. “Okay.”

I see him make the effort. I see him switch his demeanor to cool and calm. His shoulders relax; he sits back in his chair; he exhales a heavy, unneeded breath, raising his brows slightly in the process; his hand stops the neurotic rubbing, and twisting his in chair a bit, giving himself more leg room, he raises his feet carefully, resting them on the top corner of the desk. He crosses his legs, one over the other, and leans back very casually, resting his hands behind his head.

“How’s that?” He says in all seriousness. And I realize he’s trying to humor me.

I start to laugh, and he grins. He leans back further, too far I guess, because the next thing I know, his chair has toppled over and dumped him onto the floor, and he’s desperately scrambling to his feet trying to recover from a really embarrassing fall.

I jump to help him, and he lets me, letting me take his arm and pull him upright. He looks flustered. I really start to laugh now, and squeezing his arm, I start to head back to my desk. But then his hand clamps over mine, just briefly, and when I pause to look back at him, there’s just a hint…a tiny hint…I don’t know, that he’s teetering on the decision to share something with me?

Could it be? Could he be…?

I’m wondering if he’s had some of the same thoughts that I’ve had in the past few weeks, and I almost convince myself that he has. But then he lets me go and the hint in his eyes is gone and an obvious smile has taken its place and he’s saying “Thanks” and turning away.

It’s not possible.

I revert back to my original conclusion; that I’m a human and he’s a vampire with a soul, and as oblivious as he is; as hot as he is; as scorching a couple we could make; what with the curse and all…

I can never have him like that.

I sigh. And then I hear a thump as Angel runs into the desk and bangs his knee. He winces and as I turn to smile at him, he gives another embarrassed look.

God, he’s such a goof.

Did I mention he’s a klutz?