Chapter Three - My Kind Of Regular
* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sometime between our hello kiss (Which turned out to be a little more than a kiss, because he was in bed, and shirtless, and how could I possibly resist that?) and our farewell for the night, I finally managed to tell Angel the news I'd been avoiding for days.

"Sweetie," I began, shifting to look at him, rolling over and pretty much lying on top of him to prevent escape.

"Hm?"

"You know how... I decided to tell Mom about - " I coughed delicately, "us?" I bit my lip, and said, "Well, I did."

He gazed at me, obviously waiting for me to continue. When I didn't, he grew visibly nervous. "She- she didn't decide you couldn't see me anymore, did she?" His eye grew wide, "This isn't your way of saying goodbye?"

"Silly," I laughed and hit him on lightly on the chest, "Even if she *did*, I'm not exactly Momma's Little Angel, am I? I know how to lie to my mother. I've made lying to my mother an *artform*." I smiled sweetly and kissed him gently on the mouth, "Nothing, *nobody*, could make me be without you."

He grinned at me, full-blown sparkle of lips and teeth and eyes, the kind that never would have graced his face just a few short months ago. "Lucky me."

"Damn straight, 'lucky you'," I said, biting at his nipple, "Don't call me 'One Girl in All the World' for nothin', buddy."

"You know, technically, with Kendra-"

I fixed him with my best 'I am the Jungle Queen' glare. "One. Girl. In. All. The. World."

He laughed, his fingers caressing my naked back. "I'm pretty sure you were approaching a point before we got sidetracked."

"I'm *always* approaching a point, but do you ever actually see me get to it?" I said, my eyes twinkling, "where would the fun in that be?"

I think maybe he could sense that my playfulness was really just a lame attempt at hedging, because he lifted an eyebrow and rubbed my back with his whole palm, gently, soothingly. "Spill, Summers. Is your mother going to have me arrested? Deported? Beaten by your father?"

"You have to have dinner with us," I said, rather pleased that compared to his suggestions, the truth was kind of a lot less of the bad.

Kind of.

Angel surprised me with his response. "Is that all?"

My eyes widened, and he laughed at me a little, his hand sliding up my back and tangling into my sweaty hair.

"What do you *mean*, 'Is that all'??" I all but shrieked, "This is a big, scary, *big* deal!"

"Not really," he shrugged. "I was raised as Irish Nobility in the 18th century," he reminded me, "I can do the polite dinner thing."

I pouted, "You're supposed to freak out and make me feel like the cool-calm-confident one," I complained. "Ruin my fun."

"Gee, honey, sorry I'm not a basket case," he said dryly.

"Bet I could make you a basket case," I challenged.

"Bet you couldn't."

"Money where your mouth is?"

"Easiest money I've ever made."

"I told her I'd been sleeping with you."

Hee. Cocky bastard's face went even paler than usual.

I poked my tongue out at him, then grinned triumphantly.

"You- you did what? Why would you do that?"

His eyes were wide.

"She asked, and I chose to be honest," I said simply. "So, I think someone owes someone an hour long massage."

Those are the regular stakes in any bets we make. Neither of us particularly minds if we win or lose.

"Oh, god, she's never going to let you out of her sight," he moaned, his arms tightening around my waist, pulling me up to bury his face in my neck. "She'll try to take you away from me. Or castrate me." His face was going a little green. "I'm not sure which would be worse."

I mock-pouted, "You'd give me up to prevent castration? Meanie."

That got a laugh out of him, and I pressed soothing kisses against cheek and chin. "Babe, it's going to be fine. I promise. For one thing, Mom is *pathetic* at wielding a knife. You'd think that as a mother of a Slayer, she'd have some talent, but alas, no. She'd be pathetic at doling out punishment to dirty old men such as yourself."

"Dirty old man, huh?" Angel huffed.

"Have to admit you were a bit of a slut, love," I said, my voice light to let him know I was teasing. "Town bicycle. Everyone's had a ride." I paused, flooded with confusion. "Did they even *have* bicycles when you were alive?"

"Weren't complaining about my sexual expertise earlier," he reminded me, his hands wandering to my hips, resting so close to his.

"Not complaining about it now," I grinned, "As long as it's reserved for me."

"Who else?"

"I love you."

His smile turned soft, tender, and he cradled me against him, his lips against my face.

We were silent, for a while, reveling in the languor that had settled over us.

"Buffy?"

Quiet voice, cotton-soft in the amber of his apartment.

"Mm?"

Kiss pressed to my hair, a hug, huge and soft and satisfying against his hard chest.

"I'd chose castration over losing you any day."

--

"You're not going to be awful to him, are you, Mom?" I asked, my hands flowing in panicky lines down my dress. "Because then I'd have to hurt you. I'm kinda protective, and - "

"Buffy," my mother said sternly, steering me away from the mirror, "I promise not to be awful if you promise not to wear holes in your new *expensive* silk skirt."

Angel had given me kind of a fetish for the feel of silk on skin.

"Really, mom. He shouldn't have to deal with 'awful'. I mean, it's not his fault I fell in love with him."

"It's his fault you were lured into his bed."

"Hey, if *anyone* was lured, it was *him*!" I exclaimed, then blushed bright red.

Kinda didn't mean to divulge that information. To my mother, of all people. God. Open mouth, insert really embarrassing body part. Good one, Buffy.

My mother just stared at me, kind of pale, and then said, "Oh."

I blushed, squirming guiltily. She kept staring at me, and I felt my stomach bottoming out in panic.

"*Please* don't be awful to him."

--

When Angel rang the bell (a completely new adventure for him, it seems - when I opened the door, he was still gazing at the little white box with interest and confusion, as it played 'Uptown Girl' when pressed) I bolted to the door before my mother could, giving him only a moment to register my presence before kissing him on the cheek and leading him inside.

"Hi, love," I said softly, squeezing his hand. I looked at my mother, and my voice shook as I said, "Mom, this is Angel."

"Hello, Angel," Mom said, in that way all moms have that says, 'I know you've done unspeakable things to my daughter and you'll be paying for it in the near future'.

Maybe it's just my mom that has a way of saying that.

I rarely see Angel tremble from nervousness, so when I felt his hand quiver a little in mine, I looked at him with wide eyes. Only I could pick up on the fear in his voice when he said, "Good Evening, Mrs Summers," in his most extra-polite fashion.

Sometimes Angel can be so polite, it's almost bizarre. I remember the first time he ... ((oh, god, oh, god, can't say it))... wentdownonme..., he looked up at me with these wide, hopeful eyes, and said, "May I?", as if I was really going to stop him.

Trust me, no woman would *ever* want to stop him.

Ooh, there goes that jealous little monster in me. I swear, just the *thought* makes me...

Well, it's unspeakable.

"Buffy tells me that you..." Mom trailed off into awkward silence, and then she laughed, "Actually, she didn't really tell me much about what you do at all. Are you a student?"

Angel shifted his feet; he hates lying. "I was. Lately I've been doing some... investing."

"Angel's from old money," I sid, managing to stifle a giggle. He glanced at me, and I caught the microscopic roll of his eyes he sent my way.

"Oh?"

"My family were... killed," Angel bit out, and I could see the effort it took for him to say that, "I've been managing the finances since then."

Thankfully, my mother sensed not to press the whole orphan issue, and said, "What made you leave school?"

Angel shrugged, "I have no idea."

Wonderful, Angel. Just great. Come off as a directionless layabout.

"I think I just decided it wasn't taking me down the road I wanted to go down," he added, and I bit my lip, barely daring to hope, "It felt like I wasn't doing what I should be doing."

I know it sounds incoherent, but I could tell he was thinking of his pre-Sunnydale days, first as a madman, and then as a bum.

The thought of Angel living in an alley makes me want to cry.

"That's very...vague," my mother laughed, and I could tell she was actually warming up to him. "But I think I know what you mean. I felt the same when I left LA with Buffy."

I guess they both kinda left LA 'with Buffy'. I just didn't know Angel was with me at the time.

I remember when he told me about the first time he'd seen me. We were lying side by side on his bed, wrapped in sweaty sheets, the air heavy with love and sex and sleep around us. I remember, he smoothed his hand over my brow, and told me about how I gave him hope. How I made him want to protect me.

How I made him love me.

I remember curling into his body, and telling him that I love him, and that I was his, and that just the thought of him being with me since the beginning made me feel less alone.

He made me feel less alone.

Smiling sweetly up at my lover, I followed my mother into the lounge, tugging Angel along behind me. I sank onto the sofa, snuggling into Angel's side immediately when he joined me. Mom sat in an armchair across from us, and I could see her watching us thoughtfully for a few moments. For a moment, I worried that we were being too couple-y for her, but then I shrugged it off. My newfound philosophy is that honesty is best, wherever possible.

Of course, telling Mom about my slaying falls into the realm of the impossible. I have to keep reminding myself not to crack jokes about Angel's ... extracurricular activities.

Actually, that euphimism doesn't fit, because Angel doesn't have any *curricular* activities.

Oh, forget it.

We talked with Mom for a while, the fear in Angel's eyes lessening more and more with every passing question. Mom hadn't brought us sleeping together up, and Angel was clearly avoiding the topic. We didn't discuss the fact that I'd hidden him from her for almost a year. It was actually kind of ... nice, in a nerve wracking way. I felt like a normal girl, nervous about her boyfriend meeting her mother, but proud, too, in a way. It felt... regular.

Only, not. Like, I used to put all this emphasis on being regular, but lately, I've realised that normal is relative. Angel and I were doing something everyone else eventually went through, too, but we didn't change ourselves to do it. I kinda liked that I didn't have to be different for him.

I like that he's a freak, like me.

Later, we sat down to dinner (roast chicken and mashed potatoes, with those carrots that taste like honey) and talked about random stuff, and beyond those first few awkward attempts at 'getting to know you' style conversation, there was comfort.

The scariest thing I've ever seen is Mom and Angel bonding over art.

'Post-Modernism! Oh, ho, ho, ho. Proto-Renaissance, A, ha, ha, ha. Aren't we arty and intelligent!'

Okay, so maybe they weren't that bad, but after 20 minutes of sitting there listening to them talk, and still having no idea what they were on about, I started to get a little bored.

I usually like listening to Angel talk about stuff. We'll curl up together, and he'll tell me all about the places he's been, the things he's seen, or done, or heard or felt. All the stuff I'll never have a chance to experience... but it doesn't matter, because I can live it through him.

This was different, though, because I felt like I couldn't stop him and ask questions. I felt like I was sitting outside and watching them through a window, or something. Like an outsider.

The feeling was dispelled, though, when Angel glanced at me mid-sentence, grinned, and reached out to take my hand in his. He held it through the rest of the conversation, and that made me feel... connected, somehow.

"Angel draws," I managed to tell my mother proudly, remembering the time a few days before when he'd drawn me ((like one of your french girls)) in the nude, and I'd laughed and cracked jokes about how I would have to pay him with sexual favours because I clearly had nowhere to keep a purse.

Obviously, I didn't mention any of that last part to Mom.

All in all, I think the dinner went fairly well. Mom even let me leave the house with Angel once it was over, supposedly to join my friends at the Bronze.

In reality, we went back to Angel's apartment for a nice long massage.

Only, you know, once he gets his hands on me, we just can't help ourselves. There wasn't much massaging getting done.

*^*^*^*

"I think she liked you," I told Angel honestly, sweeping my hand over his chest. "Her eyes did this glow-y thing. It was like, 'Thank God, Buffy snagged a boyfriend who isn't a moron!'"

"You wiled me with your feminine charms," Angel teased.

"Yeah, well, you wiled my *mother* with your art-nerd-ish ones," I shot back.

"You think I'm a nerd? I'm wounded."

"You're a sexy nerd," I grinned up at him. "Like... I don't know. I've never met a nerd as sexy as you before." I nipped at his shoulder, "Of course, I've never met *anyone* as sexy as you before, so that's not really surprising."

"Likewise."

"Aww, really?" I said gleefully. "I'm sexy than all your bad girls?"

"Way sexier," he confirmed. "They're like... Jerry Lewis, to your Dean Martin."

"I'm Dean Martin?" I grinned, "Why, Angel, I didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

He groaned and rolled over so I lay beneath him. "Funny."

"Seriously, I have to be Dean Martin? I can't be like, Marilyn Monroe, or Bette Davis? Or Michelle Pfeiffer? Michelle Pfeiffer is sexy."

"Okay, then. You're Michelle Pfeiffer," he allows. "Does this mean I get to see you in a patent leather catsuit?"

I'd made him watch 'Batman Returns' with me the week before. Apparently it'd made an impression.

"Play your cards right," I breathed seductively, sliding my hands over his shoulders teasingly.

Trust me, he played his cards *very* right. Remind me to stop by the costume rental place later in the week.

Meow.

:: Chapter Four ::