| Chocolate Works In Mysterious Ways by Michelle |
| It was a slow day in Los Angeles, at least for those that fought the various evils of the world, both human and paranormal. At Angel Investigations, things weren't just slow � they were moving at a speed that was a sixteenth of a second faster than a dead stop. And when things got slow, everyone got irritable. �Give that back!� Cordelia Chase cried as she charged at Charles Gunn, who was holding a chocolate bar above her reach. They were standing in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel � aka Angel Investigations � in front of what used to be the reception desk. Cordelia made various cries as she tried to retrieve her candy, some of which were not suitable for young audiences. �You shouldn't eat this,� he said, moving back and forth to avoid her swipes. �It'll ruin your girlish figure.� Cordelia stopped jumping and crossed her arms. �I'll have you know that chocolate is good for you.� Gunn snorted. �Says who?� �Scientist-research guys in Scotland. Chocolate helps you have a healthy heart or something. So give it back, now!� �Actually,� said Wesley Wyndam-Pryce as he entered the lobby from his office, �only chocolate from cocoa is healthy. Hershey's chocolate bars, on the other hand, are not.� Cordelia made a sound that could have been a close cousin to growling. �Who asked you?� She turned back to Gunn. �Don't make me tell you again.� �Gunn, if that is hers you really should give it back,� Wesley said. �Who asked you?� Gunn asked Wesley before looking down at Cordelia again and tightening his grip on the bar. �What�cha goin� to do if I make you tell me again?� With a cry of frustration, the seer launched herself at Gunn, knocking them both down. Wesley, who had retreated behind the reception desk for safety, watched as they wrestled on the floor. Each of them had a hand around the chocolate bar, trying to claim it. They rolled across the room, tussling, until they collided with a pair of maroon clad legs. �Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?� the owner of the legs asked. Both Cordelia and Gunn looked up to see the Host looking down at them over the package he held in his hands. Somehow the slightly oversized maroon suit he wore looked good on him, proving the fashion gods really did work in mysterious ways. �Get off,� the actress ordered, moving her hand from the chocolate bar to push at Gunn�s chest. Unfortunately for him, the bar had melted in their hands during the struggle. It caused Cordelia to leave a dainty chocolate handprint in the middle of his white Fubu shirt. �Ah, man,� Gunn said, looking first at his hand and then at his shirt. He rolled to the side, allowing Cordelia to get up. �You messed up my shirt.� �That's what you get,� she retorted, happily licking the chocolate off of her hand. The Host shook his head as he walked over to Wesley. �Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know what that was about?� �Because you're psychic?� Wesley offered. �I knew there had to be reason.� Gunn, in the meantime, had stood up and pealed the candy wrapper out of his hand. �I'm goin� to head home, see if any action's goin� down. Cordy�s �I am woman, hear me roar� thing ain�t fun anymore.� Slapping said roaring woman on the back, Gunn left the building. At which point, Wesley found it very difficult to hold in his laughter. �And just what do you find so funny?� she asked, turning to face him. The move allowed the Host to see the big chocolate handprint on the back of her canary yellow tank top. �Nothing,� Wesley replied, chuckling. �I know I'm never going to look at a chocolate bar the same way again,� the Host said. When she whirled towards him, the demon held up his hands in surrender. �Hey now, don't kill the innocent bystander. Well, maybe not innocent, but still a bystander.� Cordelia stared at him for a few seconds, then pointed to the box he had set on the counter. �What's that?� �It's Angel's mail; how should I know? Speaking of, where is the big guy?� �Upstairs, sleeping,� Cordelia replied, picking up the box and shaking it. Wesley glanced at his wristwatch. �He should be up soon. Don't do that!� he added with a shout, grabbing the package out of her hands. �I just wanted to figure out what was inside,� she said. �For all we know, it could be a Dukarian death rattle.� The Host nodded. �He's right. One shake of one of those things and you'll redecorate the room � if you like the brain and blood spattered look.� �Thank you so much for that image,� Cordelia snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. �I'm going to go lay down now and try not to throw up.� On her way up the stairs she passed Angel, who stopped to watch her ascend to the next floor. �What did you do to her?� he asked when she was out of sight. Turning to look at the other males, he added, �And why does she have a handprint on her back?� �It's a long story,� the Host responded, waving his hands in dismissal. Angel nodded and moved to pass them, then stopped and did a visible double take. �What are you doing here?� he asked the green demon. �Is there trouble?� �Oh, so I'm the poster child for trouble now?� The vampire just looked at him, before restarting his travels into the kitchen. �He's always a little grumpy until he's had his morning blood,� Wesley told the Host, who grimaced. �Give me a gin and tonic any day.� The following minutes passed with silence, with the Host wandering around the lobby humming while Wesley made annotations in a notebook. Of course, the Englishman could have been playing tic-tac-toe with himself, but the demon didn't really want to ask. When Angel reappeared, he looked slightly more awake. �Okay, so there's no trouble. You're here because . . .� �Because I haven't seen you at the club in ages,� the Host explained. �What, I need a reason?� Angel looked at Wesley, who shrugged, then shook his head. �Sometimes I just don't understand you,� the vampire said. �Good. It keeps you guessing. I like to keep an audience on their toes.� Chocolate brown eyes regarded the Host with a mixture of puzzlement and apathy before moving to gaze at the stairs longingly. With a deep sigh he dismissed the possibility of going back to sleep. �Oh, Angel, this came in the mail for you,� Wesley said, pointing to the package. �It's not a Dukarian death rattle, is it?� the vampire asked, eyeing the brown box with suspicion. Wesley blinked. �You're expecting one?� Instead of answering, Angel gently picked up the box and began to unwrap the shipping paper. Using elaborate and drawn-out care, he opened the flaps only to stare into the mysterious recess of the box. �Well, don't keep us in suspense,� the Host chided. �What's in it?� Slowly, Angel pulled out a bright pink feather boa. As he pulled it out, a piece of paper fell out of the box and onto the ground. He picked it up and read the message out loud. �Dear Poof,� he read. �Saw these and thought of you. Oz wanted to get you the black boa, but you need more color. Your holy terror, Spike. P.S. � I dare you to wear it on the next demon hunt. Oz will owe me 20 bucks if you do.� The message was on the back of a photo, which turned out to be Oz and Spike holding up the feather boa for the camera to see. The vampire blinked a few times, but the image didn't go away like he hoped it would. Almost afraid, he peaked into the box and found a CD in it. �Theme to �A Summer Place�� was scrawled across the top in Spike�s handwriting. �Does this happy little kit mean anything?� the Host asked, finding the image of Angel wearing a feather boa extremely amusing. And arousing, as long as Angel wasn't wearing anything else. �I'm sure it does, but I'm also sure I don't want to know.� He tossed the CD, picture, and pink feather boa into the box, which he stared at for several minutes, trying to figure out what to do with it. He was still staring at it when the Host got impatient with the activity, because inanimate objects didn't talk. Or rather, they didn't actively listen. �So what are you crazy kids up to today?� �Aside from reliving the Gunn and Cordelia wrestling match in our heads?� Wesley asked. �Absolutely nothing.� The puzzled expression on Angel's face didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. �Gunn and Cordelia were wrestling?� Wesley began to chuckle again. �Yes, and it was rather amusing.� �Good times were had by all,� the Host agreed. �But what are we going to do?� �We?� Angel repeated. The Host cocked his head and let Angel have his LA look, which basically said �you're an idiot� without words. �I didn't come all the way over here to stare at a box, sweetie. Let's go do something, hit the town.� Wesley, the current boss of Angel Investigations, widened his smile to its full extent. �Yes, Angel, I think it would do you some good. Going out may even drum up some new business.� Using his best �I'm going to kill you slow and painfully� look, Angel gritted his teeth. �Then why don't you go?� �Someone needs to stay here and man the fort, as it were. Besides, you'll fit in better at wherever the Host wants to go then I would.� �Come on, amigo, it'll be fun,� the Host said, putting his hand on Angel's shoulder and leading him out of the hotel. �Trust me.� Angel's slight groan of agony reached Wesley's ears before the doors shut. Then and only then did the Englishman release the wave of amusement pressing against his chest, laughing so hard that he had to sit down as tears streamed down his cheeks. A very long time later, the duo returned to the hotel. The causal observer could make three guesses about what they had done that night based on their appearance. One - they had gotten into either one massive fight or several little ones. Two - they had had wild, hormone-filled sex many times. Three - they had done both. Sometime during the night the Host had lost his jacket and persuaded Angel to let him wear the sacred duster. It didn't fit the demon exactly right and letting his precious coat out of his immediate vicinity had made Angel whine. In order to save his ears, the Host had taken Angel to a dance club, where the vampire was hit on by many beings of different sexes and species. The experience had seriously inflated Angel's ego. �I still can't believe you got an earring,� the Host said, taking off the duster and tossing it onto one of the couches. Angel instantly had it in his hands, stroking the leather to make sure it was okay. �So I was supposed to let you ruin my honor in front of all those women instead?� �Well, yeah. And I don't think the blue one was female.� Angel shrugged, causing light to glint off of the small gold hoop in his ear. �Doesn't make a difference. I had to defend myself.� �Hey, don't get me wrong, bro. I think it looks great. Just promise me I can be here when your gang sees it.� The vampire grew quiet. �You can. Stay with me tonight.� Obviously surprised, the Host rapidly blinked several times. �Excuse me?� Biting his lower lip, Angel crossed the room to stand in front of his companion. Instead of using words, he replied by gently placing his lips on the Host's. There were a few milliseconds of shock before the host responded with an overabundance of enthusiasm. �Are you sure you want to do this?� the Host asked as they parted. Angel glanced down at the Hershey's kiss wristwatch the Host had bought for him earlier. �It's 2:07 a.m. and we've been kicked out of all the clubs in LA.� The normally broody mouth turned up in a smirk. �What else are we supposed to do?� Growling playfully, the Host grabbed Angel's shirt and pulled the vampire close. �You're the one that got us kicked out,� he said. �And I've got a few ideas on what we could do.� Except for the occasional cry, moan, growl, or orgasmic yell, the old hotel was silent for the rest of the night. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The requirements: -Angel/Host pairing -discussion or comments on the nutritional value of chocolate -someone wearing chocolate either by design or accident -an earring -the time 2:07 am -a CD -a wristwatch -mention or use of a feather boa -someone declaring that they will never look at a chocolate bar the same way again back to the archive |