(no subject)
Standing in the wake of a newly (not to mention barely) won run-of-the-mill slayage battle, Cordelia crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s impressively composed for someone who just impaled an unholy creature of the night with a pink stiletto heel.
“Aren’t you supposed to kiss me or something?”
Xander wipes a little bit of fluorescent green demon slime from his forehead. “Does this look like happily ever after to you?”
She contemplates it for a second, then wrinkles her nose. “Good point.”
Which, in and of itself, is reason enough for a fiery embrace or two - it’s at least twelve percent driven by the motivation to gross her out. The other eighty-eight might just be genuine affection. Xander decides not to dwell on that. He’s had enough scary for one night.