this game of close proximity charades is not his forte. he’s regarded as a tactical genius, the ideal outcome of special forces soldiers – he operates with a sufficiency that earns him plenty, can make tight quarter calls with an unparalleled quickness . . . but this is new territory, this is his fatal flaw. if the signals got any louder, they’d be punching him directly in the face, and yet all he can do is linger in the sound of shared breathing space and subtle shift in weight over floor that dictates bodies teetering closer and closer and closer. and it’s nothing personal, he just doesn’t do the affection thing like he should, and the concept - this concept - is new in a sense. tensed jaw, he can feel himself gravitate forward slightly, hands moving to rest over the sides of his counterpart’s neck in an awkwardly decided gesture masked in something careful.
how bad could it be – how bad could it really be. the universe has those flashing arrows going off, right ? the entire concept presents itself at his feet, and he trudges forward still, until the simple audio of breath becomes something more physical along the broad expanse of his face – and phone begins to buzz quiet angrily in its place along his belt, hands dropping almost instantly. ❛ god damnit, hold that thought. ❜
She’s not one to play games. They’ve been working not exactly together, but adjacently for a while now and there’s no denying they’re very compatible in the field. The sort of chemistry that translates well to other areas too. Angel doesn’t bother hiding that she’s both attracted and interested in him. It’s his strategic mind - incredibly competent and diligent, which makes him an incredible leader in battle and at the same time an endearingly awkward guy when it comes to these sort of plays - that keeps her from openly broaching the subject. She doesn’t want to corner him into anything, so she just lets her stance be known and goes along at his pace.
They come across each other in the farthest break room, which is both quiet and well stocked because of it. Some vague comments on what they’re working on as he gets his coffee and she brews her tea, the inches between them growing smaller as they keep finding things to talk about until there’s no distance or subjects left. She’s used to standing next to him, fighting alongside him, even trading blows in sparring sessions. But the careful touch of his fingers as they cradle the sides of her neck is markedly different. It’s incredibly easy to follow his lead and she angles her face to his, holding his gaze as her lips part ever so slightly in anticipation.
The buzzing of his phone is surprisingly loud as it drowns out the sound of her rapid pulse in her ears. There’s a twitch between her brows when she loses the warmth of his touch on her skin, but before he can answer the phone, her own hand finds his cheek and she guides her lips to his into a kiss that’s waited more than long enough to happen. She pulls away slowly, reluctantly, taken by the taste of him. It’s a struggle to keep from kissing him again, but his phone is still buzzing and she retrieves her hand so he can take the call.
