Pairing: Jacob/Angela (Mike/Angela, Ben/Angela, allusions to Angela/Bella and Angela/Alice)
Word Count: 1,209
Summary: Angela Weber has kissed six people in her short, eighteen year lifetime. Five of them, she will never kiss again. One of them, she never wants to stop kissing.
A/N: maerhys prompted me last night, "Jacob/Angela, kissing." That exploded into this. Don't ask me how. Now, also betaed by the fantastic maerhys, who I love and adore.
She receives her first kiss on the playground.
She is seven years old, wearing her favorite sundress - pink, ruffled bottom, and covered in white flowers - and elbow-deep in sand. They build sand castles all day, and he lets her borrow his shovel when the handle of her’s breaks halfway through the afternoon. The sun is shining, and they are both smiling(she always gets along better with boys, even when she is young, girls are catty, vindictive, and they gossip too much). The day starts with laughter and ends with tears, their mothers dragging them apart, muttering something about children starting too early, not knowing any better, so sorry, no, not your fault, really, before grabbing their respective hands and dragging them away.
His name is Jonathan Baker, and despite what he may tell you, he kissed her.
Angela has a crush on Mike, has for three years, since she was twelve, the sort of crush where his fingers brushing against hers as he hands her a pencil, or his dimpled smile from across the room makes her blush a thousand shades of red. The whole world would know, if the whole world, also known as Jessica Stanley (because the world revolves around her, didn’t you know, sorry, that is rather bitter, and her father always tells her if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all) wasn't consumed with a Mike Newton-sized crush of her own.
Then, one day, Mike kisses her behind his parent's store. It's sloppy and wet, and neither of them are sure where to put their hands; she doesn't enjoy it. When she pulls away, she straightens her shirt, runs a hand through her hair. Mike grins, but her heart doesn't flutter, and he returns to the front of the store from his break unfazed.
She smiles at his back, knowing nothing will come of this.
No one will ever have to know.
Just don't tell Jessica.
3 and 4.
Angela never speaks of her third and fourth kisses, if only because she is too embarrassed, even if they really were all Alice Cullen's fault.
She will say she learns three things from the experience:
One: Never drink anything offered by Alice at any of her slumber parties, as they will undoubtedly contain a ridiculous amount of alcohol (really, did she taste the punch, pure vodka, what was she thinking and where were her parents, Alice is the only sixteen-year-old she knows who could get away with having a co-ed sleepover... well, at all, never mind without parental supervision.)
Two: Spin the Bottle is not fun, no matter how many glasses of Alice's punch you consume.
Three: Bella Swan's lips are as soft as they look. Alice's lips are shockingly cold.
There are many kisses with Ben Cheney, hundreds, thousands, shared between classes in the hallways, simple presses of lips against cheeks, or in his car on winter's nights, sprawled out on his backseat with the heat turned all the way up. She is supposed to be studying for finals at the library, but his hand sliding up her leg seems much more inviting, makes her forget all about osmosis and quadratic equations.
Just before rehearsal for graduation, Ben tugs her behind the bleachers in the gym, pressing her gently against the wall. He grins, eyes full of lust and promises, before pressing his lips to her throat. She sighs, running her hands along his sides, bites her lip in frustration. This used to be fun but somewhere between college acceptances and planning for a future (their future, a joint future, and what happened to the independent woman she used to be before there was BenandAngela?) this became a routine, something they simply do together because they are boyfriend and girlfriend and not because it holds deeper meaning.
Footsteps echo across the floor, and Angela presses a hand to Ben's chest. "People are coming."
Ben laughs. "They won't catch us, Angie.” She cringes – she hates that nickname. “One more minute," he murmurs, pressing his lips back to hers.
She gives him one more minute, because she knows they're running out of time.
Three months after Bella's wedding, three months after the Cullens up and disappear and this... thing starts between she and Jacob Black, the word soul mate imprints itself on Angela's mind, and she almost chokes on the irony of her choice of words. Jacob sits at one end of his couch, she on the other, and she blinks, unsure how he expects her to react to this sort of revelation. Not every day someone shows you they're a werewolf and tells you vampires are real, and you're their soul mate.
Angela settles for breathing deeply and saying nothing.
Jacob shifts towards her, and she leans forward automatically, like a magnet drawn towards polar north, like gravity, and she shivers as his hand cups her chin.
When Jacob kisses her, she feels fire running through her veins, and his hand isn't even touching her anymore. His mouth barely presses against hers, a light touch of lips, there a moment, then gone, and when she opens her eyes, Jacob is still there, a hairsbreadth away. She can feel his breath against her face.
"Angela," he whispers, and she grasps his shirt, crushing her lips to his. In this moment, there are no werewolves or vampires, no imprints or soulmates, there is just Angela and Jacob, his mouth against hers, him and her, this, this, this.
Jacob's skin is hot against hers, burning as he slides a hand up her arm to tangle in her hair. The other slips under her shirt to grasp around her waist and pull her closer. She hooks a leg around his thigh and pulls him down on top of her on the couch, his weight heavy but not at all unwelcome against her. For a moment, she wonders how they fit on his tiny couch without falling - she imagines them toppling over onto the floor in a tangled heap and giggles a bit at the image, but then Jake's mouth is trailing down her throat, and the giggles turn into a breathy sort of gasp. She closes her eyes, breathes deeply, her breath trembling on the exhale, and runs a hand through his hair. The other is literally stuck between them, and seems to have gotten caught underneath his ridden-up t-shirt. He doesn't seem to mind much, and she runs her nails lightly over his stomach, just to see his reaction. His breath hitches against her neck, and she grins.
"You're distracting me," he mutters, nipping lightly at collarbone.
"That's the point," she says, turning to press a slow kiss to the shell of his ear, flexing her fingers again as she does so.
Jake groans, dragging his lips back to hers, and at that moment, with his mouth and his body pressed firmly against hers, she is certain she will never tire of kissing Jacob Black.
Angela presses her forehead against his, catching her breath. He kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, before gently kissing her lips.
Then, Jacob tucks her against his shoulder and she simply breathes.