Go TeamC/A
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Part 3 Angel had no idea where the dream came from. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a sex dream. Aw, hell - if he was being completely honest with himself it wasn’t even the first time he’d had a sex dream involving Cordelia. He wasn’t a eunuch for cryin’ out loud and Cordelia was a very attractive woman, but in this particular dream...
In this particular dream, things were different. For starters, it was a lot more vivid than what he was used to, complete with 100% surround-sound, 3D special effects and scratch-and-sniff spanking.
Ohhhh yes. Angel remembered the spanking.
Angel blinked away the mental images as he sat upright in bed and regarded Cordelia, cautiously. In turn, she regarded him back with a wide-eyed gawk that registered somewhere between mortification and slight fear. In her hands, Cordelia nervously twisted a Beanie Baby in a vice-like stranglehold, and Angel found himself wondering if she had been watching him sleep this whole time?It was apparent that she’d been standing in his room long enough to tidy up the whole mess of crap that he and Connor had left in the wake of their whirlwind playtime session earlier on in the day, and judging by her facial expression, Angel could safely assume she was more than aware of what sort of thing he had been dreaming about.
Angel cast a glance down at his sweat pants, and saw that the evidence of his filthy, filthy subconscious was not only obvious, but damn well pointing accusingly at Cordelia. If Angel listened carefully, he could almost hear what it was trying to say.
‘You!’, it said, ‘This is all your fault, Cordy! Why don’t you try dressing in a moomoo every once in a while?!”
Cordelia’s gaze followed his, and after catching sight of his blatant erection she balked, and bounced the Beanie Bear off Angel’s head with a resounding ‘thwap’.
“You moron!” She howled, “If I didn’t know for a fact that you have no reflection, I’d have sworn that you practice being stupid in front of a mirror or something! Oh my God! You’re supposed to be a eunuch!”
Angel watched her react, painfully still. Every muscle in his body coiled tightly together, aching to pounce off the bed and just grab Cordelia to shut her up. When the hell did she get so hot? Was there an office memo he missed, or something? Angel’s eyes became inexplicably drawn to the white blouse that was pulled tightly over her full breasts, and distracted, he let his eyes glaze over.
Cordelia stamped her foot, “Pay attention!!”
Angel didn’t but Connor did. Safely tucked up in his crib in a room merely feet away from an explosive Cordelia, Connor voiced his objection at being untimely woken up. Angel shook himself out of his miniature land of mental porn, and headed straight towards a cold shower.
“You woke up Connor.” He said, simply, “You can sing him back to sleep.”
Behind him, Cordelia seethed.***
Gavin wasn’t impressed.
He’d been sitting on the floor in Files and Records for hours now, rooting through file after file, and the only thing he had managed to accomplish was losing all feeling in his legs. He stood up, stretched out for a bit, and grimaced at the tingly pins and needles sensation he got in return.
He hadn’t slept in over 32 hours. And there was a fair chance that he wasn’t going to sleep for at least another 32 hours.
Lilah’s plan to drive Angel to distraction was good, Gavin openly admitted that. Word on the grapevine was that the Senior Partners were damn near creaming themselves in excitement, and couldn’t wait to see Angel’s more demonic side work in their evil little favour. Lilah was earmarked for a big promotion, a nice beach house and a couple of complimentary company cars, and Gavin, quite frankly, didn’t like that. If Angelus was going to run amuck in Los Angeles, it wasn’t going to be credited to Lilah Morgan.
Wolfram and Hart had invested every available resource in Lilah’s new project, so it was pretty obvious that the Senior Partners had faith in Lilah’s scheme. As far as Gavin could see, there was only one way to undercut Lilah, and that was finding someway to anchor Angel’s soul before he got a chance to, well ... lose it.
The trouble, Gavin mused, was that better men than him and already tried that tactic with Angel, and failed quite spectacularly.
Gavin stretched his arms, and jumped up and down a couple of times, trying to get his circulation going. As a classically trained lawyer, he knew that everything had loopholes. Everything. Even the universe. It stood to reason that Angel’s curse had loopholes too. Gavin reasoned that it was only a matter of time before he found someway around it, and showed Lilah up for what she really was.
A pretentious, self-righteous bitch.
Sighing, Gavin sat back down on the floor and reached for the nearest unread file relating to Angel. He peered curiously at the file name, and did a double take.
“Friends and Relations#89a, Sunnydale: Rosenberg, Willow.”
What the hell kind of name was Willow Rosenberg?
Part 4PRESENT
Squirreled away amongst the training equipment in the basement, Cordelia was crouched out of sight and scrutinizing the cigarette that she held awkwardly in her hand.
She had already tried lighting and inhaling it, but of course that hadn't worked out so well. The smoke had clogged at the back of her throat and now, teary-eyed and still wincing a little, she had decided she was more comfortable with the cigarette if she was just holding it like this. It felt good in her hand- a little rebellious. She could probably get away with smoking if she tried not to inhale.
Ah, who was she kidding? Cordelia Chase was not a smoker, she valued her body too much. Her body was, after all, a temple. Hell, her body was the freakin' Vatican City, and she and everybody else had better tread carefully around it.
Besides which, she hated smoking.
Not only did it give you cancer, but it was also grossly unattractive and, to top it all off, incredibly stinky. Ironically, this was why Cordelia had bought the packet of cigarettes in the first place.
After all, she was no fool. She had devised this plan in the early hours of the morning as she lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. It had been a couple of days since her embarrassing confrontation with Angel in his bedroom, and as of yet she had still gotten no sleep - she just lay awake, tossing and turning and trying desperately not to rationalize every little detail of her and Angel's friendship from the moment they first met because dammit, she was Cordelia Chase, and she needed her beauty sleep.
Then, in one of those moments of obscure clarity that only ever seem to come after sleep deprivation, it occurred to her that it didn't really matter if she had any beauty sleep, did it? Because if, one morning, she happened to turn up on the doorstep of the Hyperion hotel with messed-up hair and seemingly hollowed-out eye sockets, there would be less chance of Angel thinking sexy, non-Angel like things about her right? Right? End of problem.
It seemed pivotal to Cordelia that she find someway to put a stop to this drastic vampire behavior, and soon. Whereas he might be entitled to find her attractive, (he was, after all, a man), it wasn't as if he actually loved her, (not loved loved her), and she wasn't willing to jeopardize what they already had for the sake of a few rampaging hormones. She valued their friendship far too much.
With renewed resolve, Cordelia tried inhaling again, slowly. It still tasted foul but then, wasn't that the point? She had decided, after all, that changing her physical appearance would be a last resort. No haircuts, no extensive tattoos or shaving her eyebrows off. She'd just have to learn to adjust her behavior so that she would still be the same ol' Cordy that Angel had grown to know and love but, at the same time, a different Cordy. A Cordy that smelled a little bit too much like cigarette smoke for his delicate vamp nose. A Cordy that he didn't want to sniff, and hopefully a Cordy that he didn't want to bone either. It was a subtle plan, cunning, and it wreaked of Cordelia Chase.
"Hel-lo?" Came a familiar singsong voice from the staircase, and Cordelia balked, looking around desperately for somewhere nonflammable to stub out her cigarette. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap...
Lorne appeared in her line of view, staring over her with stern disapproval.
"Oh, so that's where you've been hiding, is it? We were beginning to wonder where you'd got to." His eyes flicked back and forth between Cordelia's guilty face and the cigarette she was holding, still awkwardly, between her fingers. For a moment, Lorne looked baffled, like he was watching a particularly confusing game of tennis. Eventually, he said; "Oh, pookie. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you don't really suit the naughty Schoolgirl image?"
Cordelia grumped. "Great Lorne, because that's just what I need right now! Image advice from a green guy in a purple suit. Y'know, that's not unlike purchasing hair care products from Patrick Stewart."
Lorne sighed, and leaned against a vault horse. "Snippy are we? Must be Wednesday, then."
"Bite me."
"Duly noted. Do we really need to have the cancer-ridden, gross-smelling, make-your-skin-age-prematurely lecture of death right now, or should I just wait until Angel finds you cowering amongst his gym equipment and watch in a detached fashion?"
Cordelia winced, "Angel's looking for me?"
"As per usual, oui. He's been out of bed for a while now, and he's highly offended that you're not here yet. If you ask me, he's looking to fill his hourly 'staring-at-a-collegue's-chest' quotient, and Gunn just ain't doing it for him." Lorne chuckled at his own joke, but Cordelia just winced and sank further into her hiding place.
"So, it's not just me then? Angel is beginning to act a little weird... -er? Than usual?"
Lorne cautiously lowered to his knees, guardedly checking the wooden floor for any potentially fabric-scuffing dust particles that could jeopardize his favorite suit, and leant into Cordelia, sitting with her shoulder-to-shoulder.
He shrugged, "So, he has a bit of a crush. It's not unheard of. He probably doesn't even recognize his feelings for what they are yet..."
"But he can't have a crush!" Angel and crushes did not have a good track record.
"Why not?"
"Because!!"
Lorne rolled his eyes, "Sorry, my little pomme de la terre, but if you're going to start disputing his advances if and when he starts advancing them you're going to have to think of a pretty good excuse. Angelpie isn't well known for taking 'no' for an answer. He can be very stubborn."
"I have thought of an excuse. 'Because'." Cordy reiterated. And then, because Lorne clearly didn't quite grasp what it was she was trying to say, she said it again, slower this time and enunciating every syllable. "'Be-cau-usse'."
Lorne scoffed, "Sure. Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night, poodle. The last thing I want is to be sucked into some kind of Dawson's Creekish romance saga. Melodrama looks good on the TV but," he shifted uncomfortably, "it really chafes my aura. You think you can Angel can work through this together, or am I going to have to intervene?"
"Again, with the 'bite me'. Cordelia Chase knows how to handle men."
"That, I can believe." Lorne snatched the cigarette out of Cordelia's hand and began smoking it properly. She grimaced at the dexterity with which he could handle a simple white stick, like it wasn't even an object but an extension of his hand.
Cordelia had never pictured Lorne as a smoker before, but seeing him relaxing next to her as he blew perfect , smoky 'O's into the air, she realized it all made sense. Lorne was a diva in every sense of the word. She could just picture him now, dressed in a silk bathrobe, with his hair wrapped in a towel, inquiring as to why the hell his $300 champagne was going down like toilet cleaner?
It was a pretty funny idea actually. Cordelia bit down on her lip and tried to blink away the rising chuckles inside her body. Catching her facial expression, Lorne asked with some amusement, what the heck she found so damn funny?
"Nothing," she said unconvincingly, before adding in a semi-hysterical voice, "Although I think I now understand why I've never seen you and Bette Davis in the same room together."
Lorne smiled sweetly, before raising his middle finger at her, and exhaling more smoke. That did it. It was like lighting the end of the blue taper and waiting for hysterical cackling to come flying back at you. Gasping for air, Cordelia rolled onto her side and howled with laughter, no longer caring if Angel or anyone else in the hotel knew where she was hiding.
"Oh god! And you think I don't suit the bad girl image!" She managed, before relapsing back into indecipherable giggles. Lorne just sat next to her, smoking innocently and looking rather amused himself. It was strange moment, but oddly pleasant. Every time Cordelia started to sober up, Lorne caught himself humming another bar of "I put a spell on you", and the cycle started all over again. So caught up in there own private moment, neither one of them noticed the shadowy figure lurking on the stairs...EARLIER THAT MORNING.
Angel was otherwise engaged.
He handed Connor off to Uncle Wes, and told him to take him out for a walk. The sunshine would do his little boy some good, he figured. Babies had their own language after all. They needed to go out and explore the world, to discover new things like cats, and trees and other babies being pushed in identical prams. Whereas it would be some time before Connor would learn the respective words for all this other objects, Angel was confident that he still had his own names for them. Not names that can be conveyed into any kind of language of course, but more a secret name, devised from the mere touch and the sight of the thing. Ah, the innocence of youth.
Besides which, it had been brought to Angel's attention that he, himself, had been acting like a "grouchy bastard" all morning.
So, Cordelia was still a little jumpy after their last encounter in his bedroom. Angel was still doing his best to shrug it off. He always knew that Cordy was the curious type, but why in God's name would she want to go snooping around a vampire's bedroom anyway, what the hell was she expecting to find? His stamp collection? Angel shook his head. Finding your best friend subconsciously masturbating in his sleep is a pretty good way to put a dent in your relationship.
Ordinarily, Angel wouldn't be quite so bothered. Two hundred plus years of existing, if not living, puts to rest any qualms a person might have about nudity or sex, so why did he feel so raw? Was it because he had been dreaming about Cordelia at the time? He'd dreamt about Cordelia before, but nothing quite so vivid. It made looking her in the eye very difficult. Partly because looking her in the eye sent Angel back to that naughty-dream place where Cordy was perpetually bent over his knee and being spanked red raw with a wooden paddle, but mostly because Cordelia kept blushing and dashing out of his line of vision. It was as if she could read his train of thought.
But then, she had always been good at that.
Angel growled distractedly. Why did she have to keep avoiding him? It wasn't like he was dangerous or something. He was still the same old Angel, her best friend and her hero. The only guy she knew that would willing throw himself under a moving train if he thought it would make her smile, and similarly, pretty much the only guy she knew who could probably stand up afterwards and dust himself off. Angel wandered into the bathroom and headed towards the shower. Instinctively, he knew exactly how to turn the taps to get the right temperature he wanted. He let the water run for a while, until a thick steam began to cloud the bathroom mirrors that he really wasn't planning to use anytime soon anyway, and only then did he begin to strip off his clothes. First the shoes. Then the sweater. Then the other things.
Absently, he stepped into the shower, letting the heavy spray hit him full force, trying to drum some sense into himself.
ThisisCordeliawe'retalkingabouthere.
He reached for the nearest bottle of shampoo and was annoyed to find it was hers. Again, she had invaded his life, so personally. A bathroom was quite a personal place, wasn't it? Somewhere where a person strips naked, and goes to bathe? This shower, a restricted cubicle,. was Angel's place where he had to be naked and cleanse, and despite the fact that Cordelia had a thousand other bathrooms in the hotel that she could choose from, this is the one she chose to be naked and bathe in too. No wonder his head was so full of her. She left him little room for escape.
Cordeliaissupposedtobeyourbestfriend.
He knew what the shampoo would smell like before he even opened the bottle. It was the ridiculously expensive stuff - the stuff that Gunn said cost more than his car insurance. It smelt expensive too - sweet and feminine, yet oddly enticing. Almost as if little tendrils of shampoo particles were traveling up his nose as he breathed them in, clinging to the back of his head and pulling him closer, closer to the scent. It smelt like Cordy hair.
Okaystopitnowthisisgettingridiculous.
He knew he should put the bottle cap back on the shampoo and leave it at that, but he couldn't. Not now. She was the one that invaded his shower space, she was the one that conveniently left her shampoo bottle on his shelf, in his bathroom, where he could find it. Although he couldn't bear the thought of washing himself with her soap, her shampoo, having to carry her scent with him all day, where ever he went, no escaping... he hardened anyway. She was driving him fucking crazy.
Nowondershe'savoidingyou.
Slowly, and carefully, he replaced the bottle cap and resolved to wash himself. No soap, hell no. Cordelia had been teetering on the forefront of his mind every minute of everyday for a while now, and as a result, suddenly his nerve endings seemed too sensitive to touch. Soap, strangely, felt too sensual to rub over his skin, so he decided to forgo it, and merely let his calloused hands roll water over hardened muscle, carefully avoiding his painful erection that silently screamed for attention.
IwillnottouchmyselfIcannotdothatnottoCordyshedeservesmorethanthat.
His eyes closed, he felt his back pressing against the shower wall, and his hands inching lower despite himself. Wasn't she the one that invaded his personal space? Christ, he loved Cordy but he was only a man. He'd touch himself and think of her, but just this once. His fingers trailed uncertainly across his shaft and he hissed and the slight sensation. God, he was raw. He needed this. He'd get it out of his system. He'd feel better once he'd got it all out of his system.
Shedoesn'thavetoknowjustthisonceshedoesn'thavetoknow.
Boldly, he wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke. He could see her now, in his mind's eye. She'd be bent over the headboard-... no! Against the wall. Long, soft legs would trap his hips to hers and he'd start to move inside her slowly, drawing out low moans as he palmed her breasts and gnawed gently on her neck.
Angel like that idea. Cordelia would probably draw her long nails across his back, urging him on, finding that small area just above his ass that makes him growl and speed up a little faster in their love making. She'd dig her nails in his ass cheeks, and suddenly, the wall wouldn't be enough for him. He'd pin her to the bed at that angle, yes - that angle, the one that barely brushes her clit but somehow, manages to hit the sweet spot deep inside her, and of course, she'd lose all sense of coherency. She'd thrash, and mewl and beg and he'd slam into her harder until she couldn't come anymore, and only then would he satisfy himself.
Angel came with a pained growl, and, eyes still closed he sank to a seated position in the shower, letting the water drum his weakened limbs. He didn't dare open his eyes until he was certain the evidence of what he'd just done had washed entirely down the plug hole.
Howcanyougooutsideandfacehernow?PRESENT.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Angel didn't bother raising his voice. The training area of the hotel's basement was fairly small, and a threatening voice could really carry when it wanted to. Sure enough, the laughter paused mid-wheeze and the little smoky 'O's that seemed to be localized somewhere behind the vaulting horse stopped entirely. In half a second, Angel was over the other side of the room, leaning over the vault horse and glaring down at two guilty faces, their mouths hanging open in perfect shock.
"Lorne," Angel asked patiently, "are you smoking?"
"What, this? No, this is Cord-" Cordelia kicked him, hard, ".. ow! Yes, it's mine. I'm a smoker, happy?"
Angel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was that why Lorne was always wearing so much aftershave? To hide his secret nicotine habit? Angel didn't like the sound of this.
"But you're a singer, Lorne. Those things can't be good for your throat, and besides... they're bad for the lungs. Everybody knows that."
"Lungs, schmungs. I have four of them. Big deal."
"But Cordelia doesn't," Angel hissed, "I can't believe you'd just sit there and let her breathe your secondhand smoke! Damnit, Lorne!"
Cordelia scoffed, "Woah, woah! Wait a minute there, buddy! Me and Lorne were having a conversation, okay? In my line of work, I'm statistically more likely to be mauled to death by rabid hell monkeys than catch The Big C, so back off, okay?"
Angel growled, "I was only thinking of you."
"Well, don't." She pulled her tongue out for emphasis, and Angel was shocked by the sudden and inexplicable urge to push her up against the nearest wall and show her what tongues were really meant for.
"Okay, that's it. I think it's time you and I got some fresh air, don't you?"
"No."
"Good. Let's go."
He went to grab her wrist but Cordelia flinched. It was only a slight movement, but it was not missed by Angel. All at once, he felt something inside himself wheeze, like his heart was suddenly too heavy to stay in his chest. It was a familiar feeling. So familiar... but he didn't immediately recognize it for what it was. It took him a couple of seconds before he it occurred to him...
Heartbreak, really?
Suddenly, fresh air seemed like a far too good idea.
"Y'know what?" Angel growled, "I'll leave. I think I've got some stuff upstairs to sort out anyway."
And in a flurry of black, he quickly and quietly melted into the shadows. Cordelia rose to her feet and looked around the dim basement, unable to see him. She figured it was safe to assume he disappeared back upstairs to practice yet more weird vampire behavior.
"Okay, " she looked down at Lorne, who was still smoking defiantly, "maybe it was just my imagination, but I could swear he was wearing my shampoo."
Part 5When Wesley Wyndham Pryce first began to work for Angel Investigations three years ago, one of the first disturbing things he wished he'd never discovered was Cordelia's penchant for spreading peanut butter on everything she ate. At the time, Angel had assured him that this was unusual behaviour for Cordelia, who's table manners were ordinarily nothing short of impeccable, but having just lost Doyle she was prone to eating nothing but comfort foods and had developed an unhealthy attachment to Skippy Brand Peanut Butter, ("Chunky," he said, "not creamy.") Sure enough, Wesley had been working there for less than a week when Cordelia decided to weigh herself and, (recoiling in horror), announced she was 'so totally over the whole peanut butter thing'. That was the last he heard of it.
It was only now, sitting in his office with all the lights off and an open tub of Skippy in his own hand, that Wesley was beginning to see the appeal. Cordelia was definitely onto something with this 'peanut butter' thing. Okay, granted, Wesley considered himself relatively blessed in the sense that none of his friends had jumped to a horrible death to defuse a bomb or anything, but with Fred and Gunn spending more and more time together, and Cordelia always disappearing into the basement to train with Angel, Wesley's own sad, pathetic lovelife was thrown into sharp focus. He was beginning to face the possibility that, (yet again), he wasn't going to win the girl. Draining the last of his tea, he placed the mug haphazardly on top of a pile of encyclopaedias, and inspected the rest of his Peanut Butter stash. Peanut Butter, he decided, will never reject you. Everyone else seemed to.
Sighing ruefully, he dipped another slice of toast into the open tub and forced the whole thing into his mouth. Just as he was contemplating making another pot of tea, his attention was drawn to the open door leading to the basement - and more accurately - the argument that seemed to be coming from there. Cordelia's shrill voice was immediately distinctive, and there was a low grumbling baritone that he could easily recognise as Angel's... so that's where they were? Big surprise there. Were they arguing again? Couldn't they just get it over with and have sex, so Wesley could just go right ahead and die alone in his flat, surrounded by cats?
Moments later Angel ascended from the basement like a whirlwind of black, and without saying goodnight, flew upstairs to his own room. Wesley grabbed another slice of toast, secretly relieved he wasn't the only one sleeping alone tonight.
It was minutes before Cordelia and Lorne followed Angel out of the basement, moving slowly and seemingly trying to keep as much distance between Angel and themselves as possible. Maybe he was imagining it, or maybe it was a trick of the unflattering light in the lobby, but Cordelia looked much paler than usual and even Lorne appeared to be a completely different shade of green altogether. Lost in conversation, they'd made it halfway across the lobby in deep, secretive whispers before even noticing Wes, hiding the shadows of his darkened office, staring at them behind an empty mug and a stack of books.
"Wes? What's going on?" Cordelia marched straight into his office. Wesley was about to make some excuse about the lightbulb being blown, or the fuse being gone, but Cordelia wasn't concerned about the lights. She just flicked the switch without asking, and the whole room was illuminated. Wes clung to his peanut butter, possessively.
"I'm taking the rest of the night off, if you don't mind. I need some time to myself."
"Is that peanut butter?" She perched on the edge of his desk, "It is! Can I have some?!"
"Cordelia, I asked for some time to m-" but it was too late. Lorne has managed to acquire two extras spoons from behind the front desk, where they kept the coffee mugs, and the two of them hovered around Wesley's desk, staring at the jar in his hands, completely ignoring the man himself.
"Fine." he placed the jar on the desk and leant back in his chair, trying to put as much distance between himself and the feeding frenzy that was about to ensue as possible. Cordelia descended upon the peanut butter like a woman possessed, scooping out large lumps of it and shovelling it all into her mouth.
"Sho.. mots mong wit oo?" she said, between mouthfuls.
"I beg your pardon?"
Lorne scooped out half a spoonful and nibbled on it, delicately. "She said, 'What's wrong with you?' And I think she's referring to the sudden peanut butter fetish. You've definitely got 'mope' stamped on your forehead."
"Mm-hm" Cordelia agreed.
"Me? I'm fine, thank you." Wes shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "I just want to be alone right now." Lorne shot him a sympathetic look, and Cordelia leant over and planted a greasy, salted kiss on his cheek. Neither one of them took his not so subtle hint to leave, but then Wesley didn't really expect them to. He suspected they already knew about the Fred thing anyway. Regarding his two friends cautiously, a thought suddenly occurring to him.
"What just happened in the basement? Why was Angel so upset?"
Cordelia was suspiciously quiet. She tried to bury her face in the jar of peanut butter, but that only served to draw more attention to her. Her ballsyness was conspicuous in it's absence. Turning to Lorne, he watched him wave off his concerns with a disturbingly well-manicured green hand.
"Oh, it's nothing. You know how Angelpie gets when he hasn't slept enough..."
Wes leant forward and sniffed Lorne.
"Do I smell... cigarettes...?"
"MES!" Cordelia confessed, her tongue still gluey and useless with peanut butter. Christ, did she just eat the entire jar? "I wash schmoking, okay? And Lorne got blamsed for it! There, I admit it! I'm a terrible pershon!"
She pulled out the cigarettes and crushed them into a ball, before tossing them over to the other side of the room, missing the bin completely. The empty jar of peanut butter went the same way, landing in the waste paper basket with an almighty 'SMASH!'. Lorne shrugged nonchalantly.
"She had this ridiculous idea that if she smelled like smoke, the Angellicious one would stop trying to get into her panties."
"Hey! Leave my panties out of this!"
"He asked, dumpling."
Wes raised an eyebrow, "Angel... made a move on you, then?"
"Not as such." she squirmed. Wesley sat up straight, "but he... well, he... there was... a thing. Hey, is there any more peanut butter?"
Lorne rolled his eyes, "Oh for croonin' out loud, he masturbated in front of her."
Cough. Splutter. The sudden desire to tear off his ears. Wesley blinked. "... I beg your pardon?"
Cordelia leapt to her feet and paced nervously, "He didn't mean to! He was doing it in his sleep, and I sort of... walked in on it. And you've got to admit he hasn't exactly been Mr Joe Normal recently... although, granted he's never been Mr Joe Normal, but usually he can resist the urge to lather himself in my shampoo and cry out my name mid-frottage. I mean, he-LO? Ew! Spank the monkey, much?"
He blinked again. "Are you sure this isn't some big misunderstanding? Might I suggest, on your part?"
"Yes, I'm sure!" She squawked. Lorne chuckled. "It's easy for you to laugh - but if he loses his soul, the great, leather-pantsed one comes out to play. Then we all die a horrible and slow, meat-hooky death. God knows, I love Angel - well, not love-love - and that's why I can't let that happen." She ran fingers through her hair. "How do I divert him?"
"Divert him?"
"Y'know... divert his sexy vamp lust?"
Lorne outright guffawed at this one, invoking the wrath of Cordelia, who promptly kicked him in the shin. Wesley raised an eyebrow and melted back into the safety of his leather chair, clearly not wanting to be dragged in to this. Or anywhere near this, in fact. He resisted the urge to point out that Cordelia didn't have any problems with Angel's 'sexy vamp lust' whenever it came to him wearing leather pants.
"Angel," he assured her, "is an adult and reasonably mature male. If he's trying to pursue a romantic relationship with you - and that's 'if', Cordelia - than maybe you should talk to him about this and explain you don't feel the same way." Even though, he added mentally, there's seldomn a day when I don't catch you staring at his arse.
Cordelia regarded Wes with a facial expression Gunn had once playfully categorised as her "wtf?" face. With an eyebrow cocked and her lips pulled into a half-sneer, she looked for all the world like she was expecting some kind of punchline. Eventually, when she realised he was being serious, she shook his suggestion off and continued pacing.
"Pfft. What do you know." she mumbled.***
From the top of the stairs Angel watched Cordelia and Wesley's exchange, the familiar feeling of heartbreak setting up shop in his ribcage department and refusing to be budged. This was what Shakespeare was talking about when he wrote all those sonnets. This is what Manilow probably felt like most of the time. As Angel felt the beginnings of exhaustion creep over him, he became acutely aware of how bulky his torso was. Crawling into an empty bed seemed like an unattractive prospect, but he doubted he'd be able to lug around his own weight for much longer.
He must have been crazy. It may have sounded cruel or cliched but the truth of the matter was that Angel had a type, and Cordelia wasn't it.
Everyone has a type. His happened to be blonde and curvy - be it the dangerous peroxide look so popular with the A list starlets of the 1950s, or the au natural, virginal summer blondes that were just so damn sugary cute. Any blondes really, Angel wasn't fussy. Which was why the whole situation with Cordelia was so fucking embarrassing, because it made absolutely no sense that she got him so painfully hard and made even less sense that she could annoy the hell out of him while she did it.
Miserable, Angel leant his head against an oakwood pillar and watched Cordelia pace. With his vamp hearing, he could hear every word said. Every intake of breath. Every goddamn footstep. So, Cordelia knew how he felt? Well, obviously. She'd been going out of her way to avoid him for the past few days and had apparently noticed that when she didn't, Angel had the embarrassing tendency to glue himself to her side, despite being fully aware he was acting like a lovesick prick. Cliches like 'moth to a flame' came to mind. Even now, completely heartbroken and with a stupid amount of distance between the two of them - (across the lobby, up the stairs and tucked into the shadows, well out of reach) - he found himself staring at the deliciously long curve of her neck, so muscled and warm under his touch that he'd found himself fantasising about being able to feel its flushed heat under his cheek, post-coital, after after sex so good that they damn near passed out.
Damn. He knew Cordelia didn't love him, but he thought at least she might have had the decency to be flattered, or something. Maybe even be a little attracted to him, or flirty, or sympathetic. Anything but this! In fact, Angel didn't even know what he expected, except he knew he didn't expect her to love him back and he certainly didn't expect her to be quite so grossed out about it.
But maybe he should have. Expected it, that is. Maybe, if he had had half a braincell, he'd have behaved like the Mr Joe Almost-Normal that Cordelia so obviously wanted or at very least, done a better job of hiding his feelings. And then, at least, they'd still be friends.
He had to fix this, somehow. He couldn't lose Cordy - his Cordy. He had to swallow his heartbreak and do what he swore to himself he'd never have to do again. Lie like a bastard, and smile when he did it. Tomorrow, he had to be smile-guy.
Tonight though, he could be as broken-hearted and lonely as he fucking well liked. Squaring his jaw, he steadied himself against the banister and walked back to his room. Absently, he wondered if Wes and kept anymore peanut butter on the premises.***
"Okay, ideas?" Cordelia asked, emptying her make up bag onto Wesley's desk. Wesley, running a tired hand over his face and shocked to discover there actually was stubble there, groaned. "Excuse me! Ideas, people! How do we do this?"
"Don't you think you're over-reacting a little?" he said.
"That's enough out of you, British-Quotient. Lorne?"
Lorne appeared deep in thought. "You could... try dating other people?"
Cordelia shook her head as she rifled her way through her extensive collection of eyeshadow.
"Nice idea, but no. Angel can get extremely competitive and this could result in death. Namely, mine. Anything else?"
Lorne thought long and hard, furrowing his smooth, green brow and scratching one of his horns for emphasis. Momentarily he was distracted by a wonderful shade of rouge lipgloss but then it was straight back to to thinking long and hard some more. Thinking, he decided, was boring. Instead, he picked up the little tube of lipgloss and began to play with it, turning it over in his palm.
Wesley, who was almost always thinking and found it very hard to stop, was brimming full of ideas - most of which were a variation on him hiding in places where Cordelia and her melodramatic problems couldn't find him. Taking a deep breath, he tried offering the first and last piece of sane advice Cordelia was likely to hear all evening.
"Maybe you should just get out more." Cordelia greeted this advice with a glare, forcing Wesley to clarify, "I mean, try something new. Maybe you and Angel have just been spending too much time together. Since Connor arrived, he's become quite dependent on you."
Lorne opened the lipgloss and experimentally dabbed some on the back of his hand. "You could try taking nightclasses for a while - that ought to take your mind off of - ooh, smudge-proof! Can I borrow this?"
Cordelia snatched it off him. "No. Although the nightclasses thing isn't a bad idea. Lord knows, I spend most of my day couped up here, with you losers." Affectionately, she ruffled Wesley's hair with one hand and expertly applied lipgloss with the other.
"Who knows?" she added, smacking her lips together, "They might even have some practical classes for our line of work. Like, Latin 101. Or computer skills, or... ooh! French! I used to love French! Je suis un pomme de la terre!" Unwilling to get glared at again, Wesley was hesitant to ask how learning French would fit into her everyday life at the office. Instead, he pretended to be fascinated with a landscape painting on the far wall.
"But alas, we're back to square one. None of this is going to help with Angel, is it? I ca-... well, we can't lose him." her eyes watered almost unperceptively, "What am I supposed to do?"
It was Lorne who took pity on her first, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer to his purple-clad form for comfort. It was too late, though. Whatever weakness Cordelia had shared was already repressed. Her posture snapped into a straight-backed, stubborn position that Wesley knew only too well. 'Oh, bloody hell.' he thought, 'She actually loves him, doesn't she?'
Lorne sighed, "I may not be much in the brain department, sweetheart, but I know a thing or two about people. If you don't get out there into the big bad world and sample a little some of that 'fun', or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays, all you're going to do is stay at home and repress emotions a lot. I'm not just talking about night classes, either. I'm talking about cocktails, and speed-dating, and having friends, and all those other highly carcinogenic activities that Cosmo recommends."
"That's your advice? You're telling me to get a life?"
"For both your and Angel's sakes, heck yeah. Now, pretty yourself up some - I feel the need for tequila slammers." Wesley's ears perked up. Tequila? Now that was an idea he could get behind. As Cordelia bounded out the office to get her coat, Wes rose to his feet, only to be stopped mid-air by a hand planting itself firmly on his chest. "Not you, Handsome." Lorne whispered.
"What?" Wes asked, and after being 'shushed' by Lorne, lowered his voice, "What's going on?"
"You can't come with." Lorne whispered.
"Why not?"
"We need you here." Wes had to admit, he felt a little hurt by this. It was one thing to feel socially inept as your friends all seemed to be having fun, but to actually have it thrown in your face? Bah! Lorne patted his arm reassuringly. "We'll take you with us tomorrow night, but now? You're needed behind enemy lines."
Wesley cocked an eyebrow. Cordelia wasn't the only one with a 'wtf?' face.
"Talk to Angel Delight. For the love of God, he's going to need someone to talk to and it would certainly help if we knew what he's thinking."
"What he's thinking?" Wes sank back down into the comfort of his leather chair. He certainly didn't like the sound of this. "Why?"
Lorne brought his fingers to his chin, stroking a fake beard that wasn't even there like he thought he was some kind of evil mastermind. "Firstly, it's not going to do Cordelia any harm to get out there and meet some new, less gypsy-cursed men. I don't care what she says, having a couple of dates will probably do her the world of good. And secondly, Cordy's perception of Angel being obsessed with her isn't entirely 'off the mark'. Something's iffy with the World's Champ, and it's upto us to sort it."
Wesley grumbled. "You mean, it's up to me to sort it? You're going for tequila, remember?"
"Got that right, Starsky." Lorne took this opportunity to pocket Cordelia's lipgloss while she wasn't looking, "Don't wait up."TBC...
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