carlyinrome

“I’m a better kisser now.”

Cordelia stopped filing – her nails, not, you know, actual files – to shoot a yeah, okay, and that happened in what universe? look at Wesley.

“What, you’ve been practicing?”

Wesley straightened his spine and puffed out his chest. “Well, as a matter of fact—”

“—so, you and your little friends have, like, kissing parties at your sleepovers—”

Wesley frowned. “Now see here! That’s—that’s not—Angel!”

“He’s down in the bat cave, dumbass. Doing some kind of Chinese interpretive dance or something.”

Wesley stewed silently for a moment, then: “Your immature attempt to sully my manhood has—” He paused. “My word. Is that how you learned to kiss?”

The question caught Cordelia so off guard that she didn’t have the time or fortitude to stop the beet-red blush from rushing over her cheeks.

“No,” she said lamely.

Wesley, flustered, decided that talking the problem out was the best way to solve it. As usual, he was wrong. “That’s—well, really that’s stupendous—”

Cordelia sighed heavily, slammed her emery board to the desktop, rose, and came around the desk so that she was facing Wesley off properly, standing eye-to-eye with him from less than a foot away.

“I’ll let you regain your manhood vis-à-vis your complete foreplay ineptitude if you promise to never, ever mention that to anyone ever again.”

Wesley beamed. “Really! I—”

He leaned in to kiss her, puckered up like a cartoon. Cordelia dodged him before he was within three inches of her lips.

“And you can never think about it ever again!”

“Fine,” said Wesley, and removed his glasses. Cordelia sighed and let the rogue demon hunter kiss her.

Huh. He had gotten better.