Training Daze

Nemo the Everbeing

Summary: Ever wonder where Wes got the skills he used on Angel? Thank Buffy. Rather fluffy.
Rating: PG
Story Notes: Spoilers through the end of third season "Buffy"
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (no matter how much I wish I did). The Almighty Joss and Company own them, and do far greater things with them than I could ever aspire to. I bow, grovel, and beg you not to sue.
Author's Note: This entire crazy story basically evolved from a conversation I had with a friend over Wesley's new found skills in both fighting and kissing in "Parting Gifts." I decided to write an addendum to "Buffy", season three, explaining these miraculous occurrences. Insanity ensued.

Chapter 1: You Want to be a What?!

I have to admit, I love the quiet, but after a while it gets on my nerves. Maybe it's just my Slayer-ness or whatever, but I get a little itchy after so long without any demonic action.

Unfortunately, ever since the Mayor went up in smoke (pretty much literally), the vampires had been lying low. The sweet part of this deal was that I finally got some nights off. I got to get full nights of sleep and do girly things. The less sweet part of this was that I mostly just sat in my room and thought about all the things that had happened in the past few weeks.

Angel leaving


Faith in a coma.

Angel leaving.

Faith's blood on my hands.

Angel leaving.


Angel leaving.

Sunnydale High getting blown to Kingdom Come.


Okay, so I was definitely still dealing with his departure. How do you just turn your back on the perfect love? How do you split up because of what the bad guy tells you? He was the bad guy, for God's sake!

The sad part was, I knew that the bad guy had been right. Angel wasn't brought back from Hell to be my boyfriend, as much as I wanted him to be. I just wished that I did know what he was brought back for.

I was patrolling that night. Even in down time, I patrol. Yeah, I know, I have no life, but at least it got my mind off all the stuff bouncing around in it.

I had ended up in the "bad" part of town, and really didn't know how. All I did know was that there was no badness. No sign of life, even. Just a whole lot of dark. Which was not good. Every time I walked down some dark street, I expected to find him there. Instead, all I'd found were two angry cats and a homeless guy who offered me a taste of his nameless alcohol.

Sometimes, being the Slayer sucks.

Then, there it was. Movement. Something to shake things up a little: a flash in the moonlight.

Maybe I was going to get some action tonight, after all.

I pounced, kicking out and catching the figure in the back, knocking it flat. In an instant, I was sitting on its stomach and raising my stake. Not much fight from my target, but maybe it would get feisty after it recovered from its surprise.

But, no. No attack. In fact, all that my shadowy figure managed was to let out a girly scream.

Now, after fighting evil professionally for four years, I can tell you that I've heard pretty much every sound that a demon or vampire might make. They don't do girly screaming. The only person I knew who screamed like that was...


From his position of cringing on the ground, my ex-Watcher's terror dissolved into a cautious peering through his glasses. Which had been what had produced that flash I had noticed. Great observational skills, Buffy. Giles would be so proud.

"Buffy?" he demanded, obviously trying to regain some of that snobby Wesley-attitude. However, lying on your back, pinned under a girl half your size really isn't helpful when going for the whole dignity thing.

So, pretty much all he managed was shocked and a little sulky, which was way more funny than intimidating. Still, his mere presence was disturbing.

"What are you doing out here, Wes?" I demanded. The dark was no place for whussy Watchers. "You're just begging some vamp to kill you."

"I'll have you know that I came prepared," he replied haughtily. I felt something bump my leg and I glanced down. Sure enough, one of the hands that my thighs were pinning to his sides was clutching a stake.

"A lot of good it did you, too," I smirked. "Let me see. You're armed, and yet you're still pinned to the ground and can't move." I felt evil, so I suddenly ducked down, stopping my lips just short of his neck. "If I were a vampire," I whispered, "I'd have drained you already."

He let out a soft squeak. Whether that was fear or anger I couldn't tell, since all I could really see was his collar and shoulder.

Wes bucked. Hard. Hard enough that I almost got dislodged. I was surprised. There hadn't been any sort of focus or grace behind that movement, but there was a distinct strength. An untapped potential.

What am I doing? I suddenly thought. Here I was, in the middle of the night, sitting on the stomach of my ex-Watcher, with my mouth about a half-inch from his neck. Ew. No. Natch. More that ew. Industrial-sized ew. With added nasty mental imagery.

I was glad for the dark as I hurriedly climbed off him, blushing slightly. I reached down to help him up, but he gave me a sulky glare from behind those glasses, and got to his feet by himself.

Fine, I thought, if he wants to be pouty, he can go right ahead. I can be just as nasty as you, Mister.

"So, you came armed, huh?" I laughed at him.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"You should have taken my advice and gone back to the merry old England," I smirked at him.

Wesley's cheeks suddenly flushed. "Oh, believe me, I would love to. I would love nothing more than to leave this abysmal country. Unfortunately, because of you, I can't."

That stopped me. "What?"

He looked away, fussily straightening his suit. "Nothing."

I stared at his suit. Some God-awful cream-colored number. Since when did he own clothes that didn't fit him? He was, like, Mr. GQ, not Mr. Goodwill. "No, you don't just say that and then weasel out of it. What do you mean, because of me? What did I do?"

"You rebelled against the Council, you went against orders, and they . . . they . . ."

"Did they do something to you?" I asked. Okay, I didn't like the guy, but I didn't want him hurt because of me, either. If he was going to get hurt, it at least needed to be his own fault.

"They fired me." Wesley stood there, and for a second all of that arrogance and that nastiness was gone. His shoulders were sort of hunched, and he suddenly looked too young for that suit and that job.


He looked at me, and I swear that he hated me at that moment. "Oh, let's see. One of my Slayers is a rebel, and the other is in a coma. Now, why would they possibly have fired me?"

"You didn't do anything."

"That's rather the problem, isn't it?" he asked bitterly.

"Wes, I'm sorry." He glanced at me, and I felt the need to clarify, "I'm not going back, though."

"No," he whispered. "I rather think that things would go poorly for you if you did."

"Are they going to try to kill me?" It hadn't even occurred to me. The thought that they would try to hurt me was too insane. I was the Slayer. The Slayer.

"I don't know," he admitted. He smiled slightly. "I somehow doubt that they would dare."

That, at least was a comfort.

Something hit me then, as I looked at him: a gangly, pathetic man with nothing but a stake. "Were you . . . were you out here looking to get killed?" I gasped. I had thought that Wes was a lot of things (arrogant, a pain in the ass, a complete bastard, and a few other things that I really couldn't say in polite circles), but I had never pegged him for suicidal. Yikes. That would be completely the last thing I needed.

However, Wesley seemed surprised by my question, rather than guilty. Definitely a good sign. He blinked and stared at me. "No," he insisted. "I was . . . I'm going to be leaving Sunnydale. And I plan to hunt demons professionally. I was training."

I laughed. I know it was mean, but . . . it was damn funny.

"What?" he demanded.

"You . . . are going to hunt demons? How? Getting knocked on your ass and screaming like a girl?"

"I'll manage."

"You'll die," I corrected him.

"Either way, I'll be out of your way, so why do you care what I do?"

"Because you suck, but I don't want you dead."

"Not really your choice to make, is it?" Wesley snapped, and turned on his heel.

Call me crazy, but I wouldn't just let him go and die. Sure, he pissed me off, but he was still human . . . more or less. I suppose I did have my doubts that the colossal prick was completely human, and didn't have a pinch of demon in him. But, that was beside the point. He had worked with me, and was in my town. That made him my responsibility. I ran after Wesley and grabbed his arm, swinging him around.

"I think it is my choice."

"Let me go."


He pushed at my hand, and I just held on harder. "Come on, Wes. If you can make me let go, you can leave."

He wrenched himself to the side, and I grabbed his other arm.

"And if I can't?"

"You stay until I think you're ready to fight."

He squirmed all the harder, and I wouldn't let go. I don't know how long he struggled, but slowly, his body gave in. Wesley sort of sank down to his knees, and looked up at me, mouth set stubbornly and eyes narrowed.

"Will you let me help you?" I asked, still holding his arms.

"Do I have a choice?" he growled.

I smiled slightly. "Not really."

"Fine," he spat.

I let his arms go and offered him my hand again. He glared at me, but ended up taking my hand, all the same. I hauled him to his feet.

"Come on, Wes," I joked gently, praying that I could tease him into a better mood, "I'll walk you home."

He sniffed at me, but I managed to get him there with no incidents. When we reached his hotel, I told him to meet me in this abandoned warehouse. It took me a few minutes to make sure he knew which one I was talking about, but eventually he got it. Then, as an afterthought I said, "Oh, and Wes? Get some sleep tonight. You're going to hate yourself tomorrow if you don't."

Chapter 2: How to Open a Can of Whoop-Ass

I should have known that Wesley would be extremely punctual. I arrive five minutes past our time, and he's glaring at me like I'm some sort of delinquent.

It was sort of funny, though. He was standing there glaring at me like Giles used to do, and in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, no less. Both of which looked like they had seen the second-hand stores several times over. After the James Bond wannabe look I had seen for several months, it was a priceless sight.

"Nice, Wes," I laughed, loving the way he bristled. Yeah, I know, he was fired because of me, but this was payback for him being a jerk. It's only fair, you have to admit. "It's a good look on you. Sort of P. E. meets homeless guy, you know. Very chic."

"Well it's functional. And how, might I ask, is yours? Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, Miss Summers?" His eyes flicked up and down, taking in my tight, midriff tank and biker shorts.

"So much not," I countered, and then lunged forward, grasping his shirt and flipping him to his back. "No handholds on mine. Totally functional."

"Well, I'd imagine you'd rather I kept my shirt on, and it is the only training shirt I own," he snarked.

I grinned. "Strip it off, then."

Those huge blue eyes of his (I had never actually noticed his eye color until that moment) widened in shock. "I beg your pardon? I hardly think that's appropriate behaviour . . ."

"You want me to do it for you?" I threatened, grabbing the hem for emphasis. I absolutely loved this new power I had over my ex-Watcher.

Glaring, he stood up and slipped the shirt off. I looked him over. I wouldn't have been a teenage female if I hadn't. Definitely on the skinny side, with visible ribs and really pale skin. However, there was some muscle there. Something to work with, at least. I swear I did not check out Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Yuck.

"Okay, Chicken Little," I said, smiling as he glared daggers at me, "what do you know?"

"A great deal more than you, I'd wager."

"Hey, snarkiness gets you nowhere." Then, I smiled. "Well, actually, no, it does get you somewhere." I slammed the heel of my hand into his chest and knocked him flat. "Pretty much, on your ass."

He gasped for breath. "Why . . . in God's name . . . do you keep hitting me?!"

"Because I shouldn't be able to, Wes," I told him. As much as I loved pissing him off, I also wasn't going to mind seeing the last of him. Down to business, then. "You should see a blow like that coming, and you should block. That's the first thing I'll teach you. Blocking. Now, get up."

He stood up and I knocked him back down. "You're not fast enough, Wes. You should always expect an attack, no matter who's around."

He got up again, and I struck out, only to have him dodge. I moved in, ready to get into things a little more intensely. I swung a punch at him and he ducked. I kicked out at his legs, and he jumped, but I kicked up, tangling his legs and bringing him to all fours.

"Better. Now, how about some blocking thrown in with the dodging."

"It's rather easier to dodge."

"But not as effective. You're still on the ground. That means that, in a real fight, you're still dead."

"How am I supposed to block someone like you, pray tell?" he growled, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "If you haven't noticed, you're a bit stronger than I am."

"Yeah, well, life sucks that way. If you want to live, you have to fight. No two ways around it. Especially if you plan on being some sort of rogue demon hunter or something."

"Rogue demon hunter?" he asked, looking at me with sudden interest.

"I just made that up. If you use that as your handle, well, it'll be good for a laugh, but probably not business."

"We'll see," he challenged.

I chuckled at the thought of this scrawny guy introducing himself as a "rogue demon hunter." Too funny. "Whatever you say, buddy," I snickered.

"I am not your buddy."

"Got that right."

I swung towards him again, and again he dodged. I watched his eyes this time. When he dodged, there was a flash of something in them. Recognition, gratification, something.

"You know, blocking is a lot more fun," I wheedled, and swung again. This time, my arm was intersected by a hand, which spun me around even as the other arm came around my throat.

"You're right," he said, sounding a little winded. "It is more fun."

I grabbed his shoulders and swung my legs up to wrap around his neck and toss him to the ground.

"Don't get cocky, Mister."

After three hours, Wes looked nearly dead on his feet, but his blocking was getting pretty good. He still had some trouble with kicks, but I guessed that he was the type that would drill everything we did that night to make sure he had it in the morning. Wes was just an over-achiever like that.

"You're okay," I told him. "You've got some strength, at least. Sort of lacking in the grace department, but that's what happens when you're tall, pale and skinny, right?"


"Another thing we should work on is your sense of humor."

"My sense of humor is deep and intelligent."

"And the English translation of this would be boring."

He snorted and looked at me, mustering up all of the haughtiness he could. Which, for a skinny guy with no shirt and ugly pants, wasn't much.

* * * *

The next day, he was there again, and still on time. And, just like I'd figured, he had practiced. His blocks had risen from passable to pretty good.

"Okay, want to work on a little offence?" I asked.

He looked a little nervous about that. I figured so. Wes was the kind of guy who naturally took to defense. I figured that he must have been beat up on a regular basis by the kids at school. When that happens, a kid learns to dodge first and ask questions later.

"How about punching? You do much of that in your many Watchers' training programs?"

"Actually, nothing so . . . mundane."

I snorted. "Yeah, I bet they had you learning forms, didn't they?"

"Well . . ."

"Forms aren't going to do anything to a charging vampire. A fist in the face, on the other hand, gets the job done pretty well." I held up a hand, palm out. "So, punch the hand."

"I don't wish to hurt you."

"Believe me, Wes, you won't."

He punched my hand. I was proud that he at least had good aim.

"Your problem is, you don't let yourself go," I informed him. "That and your technique sort of sucks."

"Yet, I am comforted in the knowledge that you're about to teach me," he said, just dripping sarcasm.

I answered this with a swing to his head, which he did manage to block.

The punching took longer than the blocking had, and the kicking was an endurance trial for both of us, I kid you not.

Somehow, though, we got it done, and Wesley was a decent fighter. He wasn't good, and he hadn't been tested on the field, but he was decent, and that was something.

At the end of five days of training like that, we were, dare I say it, tolerating each other. I just couldn't bring myself to hate the guy, you know? Not that we didn't snip at each other. No, never that. That was actually pretty much all that our conversations consisted of: lecture, squabble, snipe, train, lather, rinse, and repeat.

However, no matter how much I was tolerating his company, that didn't mean I told anyone else about our meetings. I made up various excuses, but all of my friends, not to mention my mom, were getting a little suspicious.

So, due to these factors, on the sixth day I decided to take things to the next step. We were going to patrol, and Wesley was going to get his first taste of actual combat.

God help us both.

Chapter 3: One-Legged Man in a Butt-Kicking Contest

Field training. Nothing really prepares you for it. You can train in the gym all you want to, but it's different on the field. It's different when it's your ass on the line, and not just your pride. Trust me on this one.

Or, for better perspective, trust Wes. We walked through the graveyard, and he looked like he was about to have a heart-attack, I kid you not.

I think that we must have made a really funny sight. There I was in a nice, summery skirt, strolling along, looking like I was completely comfy with the world. Wes, on the other hand, was a mess. He clutched that stake of his like someone was going to snatch it from him at any moment. At the slightest rustle of leaves, he would jerk. He did manage not to yelp more than three times, though, which was pretty good for him.

"Wes," I said after about fifteen minutes of this. "You're making coffee look calm. Stop jittering."

"But, you said I should always be ready for an attack," he snapped.

"Always prepared is one thing. Hyperventilating is another. Now, relax, or you're going to be as useful as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest."

Wes glowered at me, but stopped jerking.

At two AM, I was getting a little worried that this would be a completely wasted night. There was absolutely nothing out there. Even Wesley was looking bored.

Of course, that was when we got hit, and hit hard.

Five vamps, all dressed like they thought they were going to the sock-hop or whatever, dove out of the bushes.

Wes screamed and froze in his tracks. I saw the blankness on his face as every lesson I had taught him dribbled out of his ears, leaving him a quivering, scared puddle.

I tore into the pack of vamps, expecting no help from Captain Courageous, but something was off almost as soon as I hit them. They were expecting me.

To this day, I don't know what they did to prepare, but I can tell you, it worked. They weren't nice, didn't take turns, and didn't give me a chance. As one of them distracted me with a frontal assault, another ran at me from behind, cracking me with a log on the back of the skull.

I saw stars.

When my vision cleared, two of them had me by the arms. Another had me by the throat, and had wrenched my head to the side, and still another was standing guard next to me.

Wes still hadn't moved, except to shake. I was beginning to think he was more of a liability than he was worth.

The fifth vamp, a girl in, I swear to God, a poodle skirt, was walking up to Wes, who looked too scared even to run. The Sandra Dee look-alike smiled at him with a full set of fangs and I thought he was going to drop in a dead faint then and there. Emphasis on the "dead."

"Look, boys," Sandy cooed, "two lovebirds takin' an evening stroll. Ain't that cute?"

Even through the peril, I had to take a stand at that. "Lovebirds?" I demanded. "Me and Wesley?! Ew!"

"Don't play coy, sweetie," she simpered, not even glancing at me. "You think I care about the age difference? Doesn't make no never mind to me." She had reached Wes, and ran a hand down his cheek. He shook even harder. "Me, though, I would have found me a man who could stand up for me."

I didn't move. I wanted to, but the vamp behind me had a good grip on my throat. If I tried anything, I'd wind up with a broken neck. "Wesley!" I shouted, hoping to snap him out of whatever haze he was in. "A little help would be nice!"

I don't think he even heard me. He was a little too busy staring death in the face.

Sandy laughed sweetly. I swear, that girl was pure sugar. That is, if sugar had teeth. "Wesley, huh? Cute name, honey. Fitting and all. Well, you might not be much of a fighter, Wesley, but I'm sure you have it where it counts." With that she reached down and grabbed him. I winced. Not anything I ever wanted to see.

However, it seemed to do the trick. I couldn't see what happened, except that Wesley's mouth snapped closed, and he jerked. At first, I thought he was just flinched away, but then Sandy gasped.

Then Sandy was gone in a cloud of green smoke, and Wesley stood, holding the stake point out. I have to say, I was pretty proud right about then.

The boys around me were stunned. The arm around my neck slackened for a moment, and that was all I needed. I flipped back, using the vamps holding my arms for leverage, and kicked the vamp behind me in the face. He fell back, and my legs swung out into airborne splits, catching the two on either side of me directly in the necks with simultaneous crunches. They dropped, down for the count.

The guard, on the other hand, had ignored me and dove straight for Wesley, who was tacked to the ground and I saw his stake go flying. I couldn't help him, though. The one who had me by the throat was coming back for seconds.

I gave him a crescent kick to the jaw that staggered him, and he went sprawling. I turned back to help Wes just in time to see the gangly ex-Watcher kick his vamp away. He was on all fours in a second, hunting for anything that could be used as a stake.

My vamp grabbed me from behind and I elbowed him. He kicked me in the head and I went down, with him on top of me.

"Don't worry, girlie. Johnny over there is gonna do your boyfriend, and then we'll do you. We ain't gonna kill you, though, girlie. We need another gal."

"Sorry," I snarled, "not really interested in being your gal." I punched him in the fangy mouth to show him I was serious. I glanced at Wesley, feeling the need to check up on him.

Wes's vamp had him by the legs, but my ex-Watcher was putting up a good fight, squirming and trying to reach a stick that was just beyond his fingers.

A fist caught me off-guard, and I realized that I was going to have to let Wes deal with things on his own, or the world was going to be out one Slayer.

"Excuse me," the vamp on top of me said, "but I thought we were fighting here, not giving your boyfriend the once-over."

"For the last time," I snarled, "Wesley—" I hit him, "—is not—" I hit him again, "—my boyfriend!" With that, I jammed the stake into his heart, and he was ready for the dust buster.

I got no break, though, because Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum were on me then, and I was fighting them both at once. And, from the position of being on my back, on the ground, things weren't looking good. I managed to get one of them in the eye with my thumb (a nasty experience, may I say, for both of us). I pulled back with a thumb covered in blood and eyeball and grimaced. "Maybe I'll stick to staking," I muttered, and did just that. He got blown away on the next gust of wind.

Unfortunately, his counterpart was there, too, and while I was dealing with the one, he had managed to pin my arms and pull my head to the side. There was nothing I could do. I was going to get killed, and by a vampire, of all the bad luck. I closed my eyes...

And found myself coughing as I inhaled vampire dust. I opened my eyes, and found myself staring at Wesley, who stood, hair mussed and glasses crooked, over me, looking terrified and exhilarated.

"I... I did it," he gasped.

I climbed to my feet. "That you did. Nice save, Wes."

He smiled at me, a big, goofy grin that I had never seen, but immediately liked. It made him look so much better than the lemon face he was usually giving me.

It was about then that his knees gave out, and he headed for the ground. I caught him. "Okay," I said, "looks like this night's been a little too much for you. I'll get you home."

"No," Wes insisted. "I'm fine." He tried to stand up, and promptly sagged again. "Then again, maybe home is a good idea."

"Good," I said and started walking.

There was a lull in the conversation as we headed out of the park. At last, I felt compelled to break the silence.

"Wes?" I ventured. He looked at me. "Where do you live?"

He smiled again and pointed.

Chapter 4: Sick and Wrong

After that night, Wes decided that he was ready to face the big, bad world. He got his things together, and even bought a second-hand leather jacket. Yes, I laughed at him for that, and, yes, he glared at me. Same old, same old.

Something in me was going to miss him, I realized. I didn't know when I had actually begun to like him, but Wes had grown on me the past few days. Sort of like a fungus.

After all, it had been a solid week of little besides me and Wesley. That'll get you attached to a person, whether you want it or not.

I was also aware that my friends, especially Willow, were beginning to seriously wonder where I went. I was keeping odd hours, and still hadn't told anyone about my little project. I knew that I really couldn't do these secret meetings anymore. However, I dared their curiosity one last time that day. I really did have to see my former watcher and current pupil before he headed off into the wild blue yonder.

So, Saturday morning found me outside his apartment, as he packed his few possessions onto a motorcycle. He was wearing his new jacket, as well as leather pants. I fought back giggles. Those pants were so not Wes, and his slightly awkward gait told me that his legs agreed with me, not to mention other parts of his anatomy.

"How do I look?" he asked as he finished loading up.

"Tall, dark and geeky."

He sagged. "Damn."

I was grinning and shaking my head. "It's just... leather pants? Why?"

"I thought they made me look, I don't know, tough."

"Stick with the suits, Wes."

He suddenly straightened, with a look of determination in those blue eyes. It was sort of cute, honestly. "No," he insisted. "I am a rogue demon hunter, and, as such, I do need to dress the part."

I laughed. You really can't blame me. He just looked so pompous, and that, combined with the leather and the words "rogue demon hunter," were just too much. I tried to punch him in the arm, but he blocked it. Good boy.

I looked up at him, and a small smile was playing at the corners of his mouth. After a second, he said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not letting me get killed," he responded, and I smiled, too.

"Yeah, well, you may be a pain in the ass, but the world's more interesting with you alive."

He nodded. "And you may be a self-absorbed, spoiled young woman, but you are a good slayer."

"Was that a compliment?" I teased. "It's hard to tell with you."

"Possibly," he evaded, smirking.

I grinned. "Take care, Wes. Try not to come back."

"Take care," he responded.

Call it a temporary lapse of sanity, call it impulse, call it hormones, or whatever you damn-well please, but I suddenly leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. It just felt necessary after a week of banter and training.

Unfortunately, things didn't happen quite as I had planned. Wes, confused, turned his head to ask what I was doing. Our lips sort of collided, and we both sort of froze, eyes wide.

Deciding that it was all the same, I pressed closer to finish the job and get him on his way, but Wesley immediately turned into a mass of long, awkward limbs. I pulled back and laughed at his aghast expression. "Cordelia didn't lie," I snickered, "your kissing's worse than your fighting was."

"Cordelia told you what?!" he demanded. "You just... caught me off guard." He looked sulky again as I laughed harder.

"Wes, have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"Cordelia can attest to that," he groused.

"Before Cordy?"

"I'll have you know that... " he started pompously, then, seeming to decide against that course of action, concluded lamely, "No, not really, no."

It was then that the evil thought buzzed into my brain, and I smiled. "Do I have to teach you everything?"

He drew himself up. "You do not have to teach me—"

"Oh, yeah? Say you rescue some damsel in distress, and you go in for that classic movie kiss. Unfortunately, you can't kiss for crap, and so you just come off as a big doofus. Where does that leave you?"

Wes glared. He really liked doing that.

"One last lesson," I offered.

"And you don't object to the subject material?" he asked suspiciously.

"Wes, I'm hoping I never see you again, it won't matter in the long run. Besides, it's not like you're the first guy I've smooched. It won't mean anything to either of us, except as a piece of educational goodness."

"And you're not bothered by the age difference?"

"Remember what they say about gift-horses. Now shut up before you make me realize how icky this really is."

"Thank you ever so."

"Not a problem."

Diving into the proverbial breach, I pulled his glasses off his face, and set them down on the seat of his motorcycle. "Okay," I said, trying to make it seem like this was just another bit of training, "now, nix the flailing. Just get the arms around me and get me close. Sort of like tackling, only without the tackle."

"Quite romantic."

"I didn't promise romance. Just a practical lesson to take into that big old world."

There was a pause, and I was beginning to wonder if I would just have to go for it myself when Wes finally made a move. Looking hesitant, he complied with my instructions, pulling me into a loose embrace.

"Hey," I reprimanded. "Nothing half-assed, here."

He glared crossly, and then pulled me flush up against him. "Better?"

Ignoring the fluttering in my stomach and the little voice in my head that was screaming, This is Wesley! You're teaching Wesley how to kiss! Do you have any clue how sick and wrong this is?!, I said, "Yeah. Much better."

He hesitantly leaned down, face going blank. I closed my eyes and felt the first brush of lips.

Patience, however, is not one of my virtues. I like getting things done, and I like getting them done immediately. I pulled him close and kissed him for all I was worth. It didn't work. Really, honestly, didn't work. I pulled away and he looked absolutely mortified.

"Wes," I instructed, "how about you let me lead, and you just do what I do, huh?"

He nodded slightly, still looking very embarrassed. I pulled him down to me and tried again, taking things a little slower and a little more deliberately. That pace lasted for about five seconds. Then, I decided to pick things up. Our kiss went from platonic to steamy in less than a second, and we both just went with it.

Part of me wants to skip the details at this point and just say that it was nice. The other part of me is more than a little twisted and would like to say that I did a damn good job of instruction. It was nice to know that, unlike any kiss with Angel, it was me who was in complete control. It was me who ran my tongue across his lower lip and me who ran said tongue against the roof of his mouth when he gasped. And when he finally responded in kind, it was me who set the pace of things, and me who pushed him up against the side of the nearest building. I suddenly just needed to get as close as I could, and my arms were around his neck, and I was standing on my toes.

And, as I did something, he would mimic me, just like I had told him to. I ran my fingers lightly across the base of his neck and he responded with an equally light caress on the skin of my lower back. When I pressed into him, he pressed right back. And, when I let out a soft moan, there was one answering me.

It was that noise, I think, that made my brain finally catch up to my libido. All at once, I suddenly remembered who exactly I was kissing, and, more importantly, how I was kissing him.

We pulled away almost at the same time, staring at each other with dawning recognition and shock.

"That was... nice," I uttered, shocked and horrified. Things were not supposed to have gone this way. It wasn't supposed to be nice!

"It was nice," Wesley conceded, staring at his feet and catching his breath. "And yet, it seemed... "

"Sick and wrong?"

He looked up in relief. "Yes, quite."

"Glad that you agree with me on that."

"You're a very nice young lady... well, alright, you're an antagonistic, irritating young lady, but this—" he gestured between us, "—really can't happen."

"Don't worry; I'm right there with you."

"You are?"


"Well, good."

I smiled. "It was sort of hot, though."

"Lord, yes," he breathed, running a hand through his mussed hair. Wesley at least had the courtesy to look as creeped out about that as I was.

I found myself laughing at the absurdity and impossibility of what had just happened.

He chuckled, too. And the next thing I knew we were both shaking with laughter. "The... the look on your face!" I gasped.

"My face?" he said between barks of laughter. "What about yours, Miss Summers? You looked as if you were about to drop dead on the spot!"

"Oh, it was touch and go for a second, but I survived. No thanks to you, Rogue Demon Hunter Man."

"Not in the job description," he countered, and we stood there for several seconds, laughing.

Finally, I managed to calm myself down. "Wes?" I asked.


"I don't think I could stand any more weirdness of this variety. Just avoid Sunnydale, okay? For both our sakes."

He grinned. "Like the plague. A few too many surprises here for me, I think."

"Don't I know it," I muttered.

He hopped onto that bike of his. "Well, I think this is my cue to ride off into the sunset."

"It's ten in the morning, Wesley."

He harrumphed. "It was a euphemism, Miss Summers."

"Of course, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce," I mocked.

"Take care, Buffy," he said gently.

"Nope, not repeating that again. That way lies hugging ... lips... "

"Can't have that."

"Oh, no."

"Goodbye," he tried again.

"Adios," I replied, smiling.

He reached out, took my hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. "It's been... odd." And, with that, Wesley drove off, leaving me shaking my head.

"That was different," I muttered.

"You're telling me!"

I whirled around, and gawked at Willow, who was standing a ways off and grinning. My redheaded friend stepped forward. "Can I just say that when I followed you this morning, I expected something a little less funky? Evil demons, nest of vamps, drug addiction, that I was ready for. But I really wasn't thinking you were getting Wesley-smoochies."

I shook my head. "No, I wasn't! Well, okay, yes I was, but just this once. There were never any other smoochies with Wesley. I mean, ew."

She tried to look innocent. "I don't know. Didn't seem so ew from where I was standing."

"Okay, so the kiss itself was sort of... "

"Extremely hot?"

"For example."

"Face it, you liked him."

"Hell, no. Wesley? So very much not!"

Willow looked thoughtful. "I could see how it could happen. I mean... the jacket was pretty studly."

"I am not listening to you sing the praises of Wesley."

"And those pants—"

"Really not listening!"

"And without the glasses he sort of—"

"Lalalalalala! Not hearing this!"

By that time, Willow was practically collapsing with mirth. "Hey, I wasn't the one getting cozy with him. Not that I would mind... "

I shrieked. She laughed all the harder.

"That's it!" I said. "I'm going home and taking a shower. A very long shower."

"And perhaps a cold one?"

"You are a thing of evil!"

She smiled. "That's what the best friend's for, Buff. I stand around getting giggly at your expense. Then we go for ice cream."

"At last, a good idea."

We headed down the street, and then, when we reached the corner of the block, Willow added, "And I know just the flavor: English toffee!"