Another sigh, - I seem to be doing that a lot lately - gets out when he tries to bring logic in to this discussion. Logic has nothing to do with this. He’s the one who insisted on us being honest to each other. He’s the one who insisted I tell him how I feel. I am, telling him how he makes me feel when he does that. Logic, for one, has nothing to do with it. The fact that I am extremely uncomfortable telling him al this, does. The fact that I’m laying here like an idiot, going against everything I was brought up to believe, because I want to be honest with him, that’s the important part. But he doesn’t understand that.
I let him talk on and close my eyes in a sign of frustration. Not the point, Angel. *Not* the point. I’m about to reach up to grab my glasses when his hand slips over mine. My heart skips a beat for some reason. As if you don’t know the reason. He’s the reason. My lips twitch a bit, a shimmer of a smile threatening to break out. His words however make it stop before it’s all out, herding said smile behind the gate of
( ... )
Hmm. He doesn't look happy. I'm trying to explain this the best I can, but all I'm getting is a look of utter frustration. Not sure if he was tossing his glasses at me, but they seem to land on his the nightstand anyway, without hitting me. And there's yet another sigh. Okay. Go ahead, Wes. I don't know what else to say
( ... )
There's a teeny little smile on his face when I lace our fingers together. That's a good sigh, that means I've managed not to screw this up too badly. Unless... Unless what? Stop listening to those voices in your head, Pryce. They're not going to help you now, they only tend to lie at you. You know that, so knock it off
( ... )
Well, at least he realizes he was being a "prat," as he puts it. Yeah. Not your punching bag, Wes. I mean, I want to be there for him, but I don't want to be walked all over either, especially when I have no idea why I'm being walked on. Never really was one for getting walked on, and Angelus certainly wasn't. But, I don't want to make him feel like he can't talk to me just because he thinks it won't go over well. I guess we got past that, but still, I would have preferred going the talking route without the snapping in between
( ... )
Part of me was afraid he’d pull away from the kiss. That I’d angered him with my behavior, my frustration about his behavior. Talking, oddly enough, when it comes to these kinds of things are not my strong point. Far from it in fact, they are a weak point. I’ve never had to do it before, my family certainly wasn’t one for sharing any feelings. Or showing them for that matter, heaven forbid anyone showing some kind of affection or love. Couldn’t have that, would make one weak. But the thing is, I feel vulnerable when telling him this, not weak
( ... )
It's a relief when I notice the corners of his mouth twitch. I was getting worried that we were going to go another twenty rounds and still be nowhere, or actually, I was more worried mentioning him not pushing himself so much
( ... )
It's not until one actually lets out a rush of air that one notices one is holding it. Which would be the case with me. It's not until I slowly let my breath out that I notice I was holding it. Half afraid he's wanted to talk some more. Half afraid he wasn't buying my explanation or my words, or didn't believe them. I mean, not like that was surprising, most people hardly listen to what I say at any rate. But I seem to be forgetting that Angel is about as much as a talker when it comes to these things as I am. Probably even worse then I
( ... )
I wait for him to get off the bed, so he can lead the way. I don't even have to fight back the urge to help. Well, not much anyway. He does seem to be doing better, I'll admit that. Standing, I follow, and feel what can only be described as a little flutter when his hand brushes mine. I remember when I used to have to force myself not to think about little touches like that
( ... )
“Uh yes,” I stammer. “Blood. I ah, h-had some blood in there but it’s gone sta- anyway, I-I need to get you some new.” Lord, I wish I’d stop stammering like some idiot. What is it about him that makes me so nervous at times? The fact that I want things to be perfect? Need them to be perfect if I’m honest here. If they’re not perfect he’ll realize that I’m not what he wants or needs and he’ll be out of here so fast. I don’t think I could… alright, ‘live without him’ would be overly dramatic, but it’s pretty damn close
( ... )
Blood? He had blood for me? Huh. That's umm, good? I think. I'm about to tell him he doesn't need to get me any but that sounds like a pointless argument waiting to happen. Not being controlling, remember? It would be ridiculous to argue. He's just being thoughtful. He's not trying to suggest that you always need blood, or emphasize that you've got a different diet. Just being thoughtful.This kiss had better do the trick. I don't want him to be so nervous with me all the time. I like hearing his heartbeat, but I don't like hearing it do that. His mouth meets mine easily, and I'm happy to take advantage of that. His mouth is sweet, and I slide closer without thinking. Seems to distract him a little. Distract him enough that he gets this fuzzy look on his face and doesn't seem to realize a word of what I'd said
( ... )
I let him talk on and close my eyes in a sign of frustration. Not the point, Angel. *Not* the point. I’m about to reach up to grab my glasses when his hand slips over mine. My heart skips a beat for some reason. As if you don’t know the reason. He’s the reason. My lips twitch a bit, a shimmer of a smile threatening to break out. His words however make it stop before it’s all out, herding said smile behind the gate of ( ... )
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