Go TeamC/A
< -
Title: Crash Into Me
Author: Kelly22
Posted: 12/16/02
Rating: PG-13 +?
Category:
Content: C/other, C/A
Summary: Set in Season 3. A simpler time. Before Cordy got glowy. Before Miracle-Gro children. Before Wesley kept women in cages.
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution:
Notes: I know, I know, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted. I haven’t taken Season Four very well. It makes it hard to write. But I figured we could all use some good old-fashioned fluff. I anticipate 10-12 chapters. And if this doesn’t cheer anyone up, I might have to sit down and write that “Bad Timing” sequel. I stole the title from that Dave Matthews Song. You know, Crash. The one that is STILL always on the radio. I need to get the CD player in my car fixed. ASAP.
Thanks/Dedication:This baby goes out to Kelley, who told me about a story she’s writing, which resulted in me spending most of Sunday on the couch watching “The Dead Zone”, which resulted in me not getting this chapter written until now. And also to Annie, who was not very pleased when I failed to meet her deadlines. Hope this makes up for it.
Feedback:Please. Pretty Please.
Part 1“No, Groo honey, that doesn’t…Oh. Okay, all right, go ahead,” Cordy conceded. If he wants to mix tuna and ice cream, more power to him. It couldn’t possibly be worse than the pickles and peanut butter combo he’d discovered yesterday. The hulking Pylean had the eating habits of a pregnant woman.
“My princess, would you like some?” Ahhh, that's my Groo, generous to a fault.
“That’s a negative ghostrider,” she told him. In return, she got a blank look. Geez, even Angel knows that one. “Top Gun? Tom Cruise as Maverick? Slightly homo-erotic beach volleyball?” Blanker look, this time accompanied by a furrowed brow that somehow made his teeth seem even more…toothy. God, what's with me? He's a hottie. There's nothing wrong with his teeth. And of course he's not exactly up on pop culture and why should he be - he's spent a grand total of four days in this dimension. It was unfair of her to expect that he’d understand. It was unfair to be annoyed when he didn’t. How come I never get this pissed when Angel doesn't get my comments? Maybe cause Angel's blank look and furrowed brow is so much cuter than Groo's? Wait a sec. Did I really just say that?
“What I meant was,” Cordy said, forcefully cheerful, “no thanks sweetie. I’m still pretty full from breakfast.” He nodded and resumed eating. For a moment, she just watched him. His new haircut looked great and the shirt she’d stolen from Angel’s closet looked…well, it looked good before he’d managed to splatter chocolate ice cream all over it. He was lucky he was so pretty, because his table manners left a lot to be desired. It was actually kind of gross. He sure likes to shovel it in, doesn't he? It had been four days, after all. By day three his resistance to the whole chew-swallow concept had grown a little annoying.
She had no idea why, either. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He lived to please her. Every few minutes he threw her another adoring glance. He’d composed a poem on the symmetrical-ness of her face, for Christ’s sake. And she was ready to tear her hair out. What's wrong with me?
Clearly spending Sunday alone at home together had been a bad idea. Too much togetherness, especially in a new relationship, was never a good idea. That’s why she had turned down the vacation Angel had offered. It was too new with Groo for them to go away together. Thank God she’d had the sense to stay here. They’d only spent the past five hours all together-y and she was getting a murderous itch to strangle him. Maybe I need a little break.
“Grooie baby, I was thinking I might go lay down,” she told him softly.
Immediately he put his spoon down and stood up, a huge grin on his face. It took Cordy a moment to realize she’d made a mistake. Yesterday, when she’d wanted to try a little snuggle time at work, she’d yanked him up the stairs of the Hyperion, shouting to Fred that they were going to lay down. And now he thought she meant…
“Oh, NO, not that,” Cordelia told him loudly, putting both hands in front of her as if to ward him off. “I, ahh, I just want to rest. Fully clothed. Alone,” she stressed.
“Of course my princess,” Groo said, not looking entirely disappointed. Apparently the icky-ness that was his lunch was more appealing than the prospect of one-on-one time with her. Not that I entirely blame him. Considering how not well our one-on-one time has ended the past few days. She patted him on the head and went to her room.
She wasn’t even tired, not really. It's not like I didn't get plenty of sleep last night. She just needed some away-from-Groo time. Five minutes where she wasn’t having to explain something. Or biting her tongue to keep from making fun of him. Or pretending she couldn’t hear the others making fun of him.
Cordy heard her cell phone ringing and reached for her purse that lay on the dresser. She rummaged through the bag, mumbling about how she needed to change the ringer soon. Canon in D just doesn't work blaring out of a Nokia. Finally she just dumped the entire contents of the purse on the bed. Aha! There it is.
“Hello?” she said, doing a tiny, silent victory dance. She had gone head to head with the purse and won. This round, at least.
“Cordy?”
“Fred. Hey. What’s up?” Cordy asked, holding the phone in the crook of her neck while she started putting things back in her purse.
“You sound a little out of breath. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Fred asked in a teasing voice.
“Nope,” Cordy said. She looked down at the object she’d been about to put back in her purse. A tiny, delicate, un-opened blue bottle. “Nothing at all.” She placed the bottle on the night stand next to the bed. Then she sat on the bed and stared at it. “What’s up?” she distractedly asked Fred again.
“Nothing much. Uh, listen, I was wondering, do you want to meet for coffee?”
Cordelia nearly sighed in relief. Yes. An excuse to leave. “Now?” she asked excitedly.
“Actually,” Fred said, “I was thinking tomorrow morning. Before work?”
Dammit! “Sure you don’t want me to just bring some Starbucks to the hotel?” Cordy asked.
“No. Not at the hotel. Let’s meet there,” Fred said, sounding a little panicky.
Her tone was enough to finally break Cordy out of the staring contest she’d been having with the bottle. “Is something wrong Fred?” Oddly, Cordy really hoped there was a problem. At least then there would be something for her to do. A non-paranormal prophylactic related activity.
“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Fred assured her. “I just wanted to talk. Girl talk.”
Ahh, now we're getting somewhere. When girls get together alone, it's only to talk about one thing. The opposite sex. "Oh my god," Cordy squeeled. "You two kissed!" Go Wes. Wow. Hell. Go me. I'm the one who told him to strike while the iron was hot.
“Well,” Fred sounded flustered. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Four days ago. And a couple of times since then.”
Cordy couldn’t help but smile. Wait. Four days ago... “The night of the ballet?” Wes did work fast. Oh no. What if... “Fred, I have to ask, uh, you weren’t, um, under any sort of, uh, possession at the time, were you?”
“No,” Fred said firmly. Before Cordelia could ask how she knew, Fred continued. “Believe me. If we’d been possessed, there’s no way it could have felt like that.”
“Like what?”
Fred was silent for a moment. “Like, like every nerve in my body came alive when he looked at me,” she said in a low voice. “Like kissing was something we couldn’t NOT do. And when we did kiss, it was like crashing into each other. Only our lips were touching but it felt like he was touching me EVERYWHERE.” Fred paused, as if she was waiting for Cordelia to speak. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I do?” Cordy asked before she could stop herself.
“Sure,” Fred told her. “You’ve got Groo.”
Cordy fell back to earth. “Right,” she said flatly. “Groo. Yup. He’s mine.”
“So tomorrow?”
Cordy wondered why she felt so out of sorts. “Sure,” she told Fred. “I’ll see you around nine.” She hung up the phone. And then the bottle caught her eye again.
"Every nerve in my body came alive when he looked at me."
Cordy flashed back to that night at the ballet. How Angel had pulled her into his arms and how his eyes had gone golden, so hot she felt like he was burning her. He’d looked at her like that and everything inside of her seemed to melt. “You want me to undress you,” he’d said and her thighs had clenched and grown damp.
"Like kissing was something we couldn't not do. And when we did kiss, it was like crashing into each other."
When they’d gone back into the dressing room a second time, it had been slightly different. Cordy’s hunger and need had seemingly multiplied by a million. She remembered how hard she had pressed up against him. How she’d relished running her hands over his body. Touching. Claiming as much as she could. And how it hadn’t been enough. She couldn’t get close enough.
Cordy reached up with her right hand and rubbed her temples. She was surprised at how moist her forehead felt. Oh my god. I'm sweating. A few choice words from Fred and a trip down memory lane and all of the sudden I'm all "9 ½ Weeks." What's worse, I'm hotter right now than I've ever been with Groo so far. I am so screwed up.
Cordy knew she needed to do something. Lying in her room, hiding from her boy-toy and her blue-bottle related issues wasn’t working.
“Why can’t I just open you up and drink you and screw his brains out like I’m supposed to do?” she asked the bottle. The bottle just lay there. Stupid bottle.
Cordelia wasn’t exactly sure why she hadn’t been able to make with the com-shuck already. Groo was more than eager (once she’d explained the logistics to him). And he was a very quick learner. It would more than likely be the ride of her life. So why can't I just...do it?
Because it just didn’t feel right. No matter what she’d tried.
She’d bathed Groo and made his whole grunge look go bye-bye and done pretty much everything in her power to facilitate the shucking of com. She’d sent her best friend to a brothel, for God’s sake.
She couldn’t help but groan in frustration. I have to get out of here. Work off some of this steam. She could go to the hotel. It was Sunday, which meant everyone was sort of doing their own thing. There was a punching bag in the basement with her name on it. That’s what she would do. She’d change, put on some cartoons to entertain Groo (God I'm such a bitch!) and go work herself out of whatever the hell was wrong.
Part 2Sundays at the Hyperion were usually pretty slow. Cordelia wasn’t entirely sure why this was. It’s not like evil was busy going to church or having brunch or reading the paper. For whatever reason, Cordelia was not surprised at how silent and empty the hotel seemed when she walked in. Then she realized the lobby wasn’t empty.
Wes sat behind the counter, surrounded by books. He didn’t look up; he didn’t appear to notice she was standing there. Cordy registered how tired he looked. Older. Tense. Okay, something is off here. Wes doesn't look like a guy who's just gotten the girl.
She walked over to the counter. “Hey,” Cordy said softly. “What’s going on?” He jumped a little at the sound of her voice.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” he told her. “Just, uh, just getting caught up. On research.” He glanced down at the notes he’d been furiously scribbling, than back at her.
Cordelia leaned on the counter. “Find anything interesting?”
“Uh…” Wes seemed to hesitate. “No,” he said, in a voice that sounded unfamiliar. Hard. Cold. He seems cold. He sighed. “Can I help you Cordelia?”
This is really too weird. If he's having all these amazing kisses, why's he so fucking crabby? “Where’s Fred?” she asked.
Wesley’s jaw clenched and suddenly his eyes were everywhere but on her. “She and Gunn just left to go catch an afternoon movie.”
“Sounds like fun,” Cordelia said mildly. “Why didn’t you go?”
Wes looked directly in her eyes. He said in a quiet voice, “I didn’t want to intrude.”
Huh? “Why would you be—”
“Look Cordelia,” Wesley interrupted. “If you don’t mind, I’m rather busy here.”
Cordelia’s forehead wrinkled. “Sure. I’ll just head downstairs. I thought I might train for awhile.” She started to round the corner toward the door to the basement, then stopped and looked back at Wes. He was back hunched over his notes. He looked so lonely and small, sitting behind the counter in the big empty lobby. He must have felt her eyes on him. He looked up.
“What?” he said in a tired voice.
“Uh, nothing,” Cordy told him. He offered her a small half smile and turned back to the books. “So where’s my sweetie?” she asked.
“Basement,” Wesley mumbled, not looking up this time.
Cordy’s mouth dropped open. What was her baby doing in the chilly dank basement? “Connor’s in the basement?” she repeated loudly.
That got his attention. “Hmmm, what? Connor? No. No. Connor’s upstairs with Lorne. Just went down I believe.”
“So why’d you say he was…” Cordy started to ask. Then she saw how pained Wes looked. She was starting to get very creeped out. And not the good Angel kind of creeped. “Nevermind,” she told him. “Don’t work too hard.”***
Cordelia was so lost in thought, trying to understand Wesley’s confusing behavior, that she was halfway down the stairs before she saw. And what she saw stopped her in her tracks. Oh my.
Apparently Angel hadn’t known the punching bag had Cordelia’s name on it. She watched as he launched a full-scale attack on the bag. Maybe the bag said something about his hair.
Normally Cordy would have laughed at that thought. But there was nothing funny about this. He looked so intense. He gave small grunts of exertion every time his fist made contact. They each tugged at something deep inside of her.
He must have been at this for a while. Angel had taken off his shirt and the tattoo on his back glistened as he moved. A bead of sweat rolled off his pec and down over his abdominals and Cordy forgot how to breathe. Sweat is not sexy. Sweat is not sexy. Why is this so sexy?
Cordelia was overcome with pure feminine awareness. She had never been so completely aware of Angel before. Even back in the day, when she harbored an obvious attraction to him, it was just that. Attraction. A crush. It wasn’t…carnal. Not like this. And then we came to L.A. Where it was about scraping by and setting up a business and a life and just surviving; she had forbidden herself to think of him that way from the beginning. It was a distraction neither of them needed. And I didn't. He was just Angel. Non-threatening, non-lust-inducing, asexual Angel. And then, at the ballet…
He really is gorgeous. Cordelia liked to joke about the pale skin, but on him, it worked. He was like…a big white cat. Cooly beautiful but dangerous. She remembered how that skin had felt. She remembered it perfectly. It's like I can still feel him. Cordy bit her lip.
She’d touched him before that night, of course. Countless times she’d patched him up. Wrapped bandages around his chest. Cleaned out stab wounds. Put Neosporin on deep scratches. But that night at the ballet, touching Angel, it hadn’t been like all those times before. There was nothing clinical about it. Only him and his cool pale skin and his undefinable scent. I couldn't place it. It wasn't Polo. Or Old Spice. It was just Man.
Cordy had been struck by the power, the centuries-old power under her fingertips. The tie had come off and his collar unbuttoned (okay, not exactly, I ripped it) and there was all that cool, tightly coiled strength, just beneath his skin. And yet, it wasn’t scary or threatening or even weird. She wasn’t scared of his strength. She wasn’t scared when he held her. It had been nice and safe and, well, sexy as hell.
God why do I remember so much from that night? I was possessed! Possessions are supposed to make everything really hazy. Right? But no, not for me. I get possessed and I've got memories that are better than late-night Cinemax. And why is the whole Cordelia McLusty act kicking in right now? Where was it last night? With Groo?
Cordy’s heart was practically pounding out of her chest. That must have been what announced her presence, because she hadn’t made a sound. She hadn’t been able to. Angel froze mid-punch.
“Cordy. Hi,” he said quickly. He looked more unsure than surprised. He offered her a small, nervous half-smile. Than the momentum of the punching bag knocked him down.
Angel sat, flat on his ass, staring straight ahead and looking half shocked and half mortified. Than he turned his head to her. Be nice. Don't laugh. Give him that much. He saw your boobs on Thursday and didn't say one word to Gunn. Don't laugh. Cordelia cracked up laughing.
Thank God Angel put an end to my whole heavy-breathing stalker-ness just by being Angel. Sexy hard-body man was gone. Leaving only her best friend, still sprawled on the floor.
She walked quickly down the rest of the stairs, crossing to where he sat. He looked up at her and, she couldn’t help it, one quick chuckle slipped out. He rolled his eyes. That's new. Cordy smiled and shook her head from side to side, as if to say “Tsk Tsk.” Angel gave a rueful grin and she ignored the odd tightness it created in her chest. Just indigestion. I mean, what else could it be? She offered him her hand.
He reached up and took it. And suddenly Cordelia was back in racing-heartbeat mode.
Angel’s hands. Why did I never notice Angel's hands before? Big. Cool. Slightly calloused. Not rough, but not soft either. Masculine, in a way that had made her feel even more feminine, because of the contrast. Helplessly, she flashed back to the ballet. How his hands, the hands she was holding right now, had gripped her hips as he kissed his way down her stomach. Stop. Don't go there. Don't think about that.
Cordelia was still holding his hand. Neither of them had moved. Angel was still on the floor, looking up at her. He's totally worried that I'm losing it. First I make him go to a brothel for me and now I act like I'm a hand collector. He probably thinks I'm a big giant freak. Which is incorrect. I'm a gigantic COLASSAL freak. She dropped his hand immediately. Or more accurately, she flung it away from her like he had leprosy. He coughed and sprang up all by himself.
“So, uh,” Angel said, scanning the room, “what are you doing here?” He started walking around the basement, not pacing, just…wandering. Cordy’s eyes narrowed when he started peeking behind boxes and equipment. What's he doing? “I guess we both had the same idea about—” Cordy started
“Found it!” Angel yelled, and reached for a white t-shirt that lay balled up on the bottom stair.
Cordelia wasn’t sure if she was happy or disappointed that he was putting his shirt back on. While she contemplated this, Angel put his shirt back on. And then they both stood there. Talk about awkward silence. Angel sighed. Cordy made a clicking noise with her tongue. Then more silence.
“Where’s Groo?” Angel finally said.
“How’s Connor?” she asked at the exact same time. Then they both smiled. Why is this so weird? I'm not…I can't be…why am I nervous? It's Angel.
“Home,” she told him.
“Connor’s fine,” he told her. They both nodded. Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous.
“Well, you were here first,” Cordy pointed out. “I guess I’ll just have to work off last night’s cheesecake some other time. But know this. When people are pointing at me and saying ‘there goes the girl with the fattest ass in L.A.’ I’m gonna blame it all on you.”
Angel nervously licked his lips and swallowed. “You have a…uh, your ass is fine.”
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “It’s big,” she said succinctly.
Angel looked uncomfortable. “No!” Up went Cordy’s eyebrow again. “I mean, it’s not small. It’s round and, well, nice and, uh, um…”
“Don’t hurt yourself Angel,” she said. “So I guess I’ll just see you later,” she told him. Please tell me to stay. No wait, don't. The longer I'm around you the crazier I get. I should leave. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home and have sex with my boyfriend.
Angel just stood there. “Okay,” he told her.
Cordy sighed and she wasn’t sure if it was out of relief or disappointment. She took a step towards the stairs.
“Or” Angel blurted out.
Her head quickly turned back around to him. “Or?”
He rubbed at his temples. “Or…or you could stay. We could do it together.” Cordy’s eyes went wide. Angel got paler, if that was possible. “TRAIN. We could train together,” he clarified.
“Okay,” Cordelia responded, WAY too quickly. Nice Chase. Real subtle.
She walked over to the bench in the corner and put her bag down. Good. This is a good thing. Getting back to normal. We haven't trained since Connor was born. Friendly, platonic training. Just what the doctor ordered.
While Cordy got a bottle of water and a towel out of the bag, Angel went and took two swords down off the wall. She took a sip of water, twisted the cap back on, put it down, and then pulled off the hooded sweatshirt she’d been wearing.
CLANG!
Cordelia jumped a mile in the air. Her head whipped around to see what had happened. Briefly she worried it was Holtz, or more vampy weirdos after Connor.
But it was only Angel. He just stood there, staring at her. One sword gripped tightly in his hand. The other lying on the floor next to his foot. He dropped the sword? When did he go all clumsy? She waited for him to offer some sort of explanation. But all he did was stare.
“Angel?”
“Hmmm?”
Geez, is he even going to blink? Oh, maybe I have something in my teeth. But he wasn’t looking at her teeth. He wasn’t looking at her face at all. He was…Cordy glanced down at herself. No disfiguring scars (well, no new ones). No gaping wounds. Just some Christy Turlington yoga pants and a sports bra…Oh. OHHHHH. Oh my God, Angel's checking me out.
And then there was one moment of pure pleasure. Relief that she was still turning heads and satisfaction that this weird new fascination with Angel’s body wasn’t entirely one-sided. And then, she freaked out. Angel's checking me out? But I'm not blond! Or bony! He can't check me out. He's not allowed to. Cordy was horrified and confused and scared. Angel checking her out, that, that just wasn’t what they did. Oh no? So what was I doing playing Peeping Tom over there on the stairs five minutes ago?
Deciding now was not the time to psycho-analyze, Cordy turned away and bent over, reaching for her sweatshirt. There was a rush of air and suddenly, she knew, he was there, right behind her. Then there was the light touch of his finger on her lower back.
“What happened?” Angel growled.
Cordy whirled around so that they were practically nose to nose. She automatically moved to take a step back, but the backs of her legs were already up against the bench.
“What happened where?” she asked.
His right arm reached around and touched the spot on her back, just to the left of the tattoo. “There,” he said, pushing in slightly. Owwwww. Cordy twisted her upper torso around so she could take a look. It was a bruise. A big ugly purple-y blackish bruise. Her face scrunched up as she tried to remember where she’d gotten that one. Duh! Last night. Groo moved around a lot in his sleep. She wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t used to sleeping with another person or if he wasn’t used to sleeping in a bed. Either way, last night he’d kicked his leg out and knocked her right out of bed. She’d landed on the free weights she’d never gotten around to using.
Cordy looked back at Angel. He looked angry. Why's he angry? It's MY back. Oh, he's concerned. That's so sweet. He probably thinks Groo's beating me or something. Cordelia hurried to reassure him.
“Oh that? It’s nothing,” she said, waving her hand in the air, symbolically brushing it off. “It happened in bed last night.”
Cordy had maybe half a second to ponder the storm that rose up in Angel’s eyes, before he turned away from her and reached for the sword on the ground. “Why don’t you stretch?” he ground out, with his back to her.
“Kay,” she said, determined to shrug off the weirdness. Closing her eyes, Cordy clasped both arms behind her and arched her back forward. “Ohhh, that’s good,” she moaned. Angel muttered something she didn’t catch and Cordy opened her eyes. He looked pained.
“Is something wrong?” she asked him.
“No,” he told her tonelessly. She waited. He looked like he wanted to say more. “I’m just surprised you still want to train.”
“Angel, I thought I explained. You can’t always be around to protect me.”
He snorted. “Yeah, but now you have Groo. Your champion,” he said, like it was some sort of accusation.
Cordy’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Angel bit out.
Oh no. You're not getting of it that easy. "Do you not like Groo?" she asked.
“What’s not to like?” he said, his tone clearly indicating that there was much about the Pylean he himself did not like. Cordelia opened her mouth to defend Groo but Angel cut her off. “Look, are you ready to train?” he asked, swooshing both swords through the air and making Cordy flinch. He had a gleam in his eye she was quite sure she’d never seen before. Cordelia tossed the sweatshirt over her shoulder and nodded.
Well this should be interesting.
Part 3Senior year, Cordelia had once overheard Willow and Buffy talking in the locker room. They were gossiping about Faith. Willow had said something about how much she liked those leather pants (which makes a lot more sense now with the benefit of hindsight). Then Buffy had mentioned Faith talking about how slaying made her hungry…and horny. Now at the time, I chalked it up to her being a crazy freak-loving psycho bitch, just like Buffy. But now…
From the very beginning, when Angel had first started training her, Cordy had noticed it. At first she’d ignored it. The quickening in her stomach was from skipping breakfast. She blamed the tightening in her nipples on the cold damp basement air. Told herself that her dry mouth was merely a result of not drinking enough water. At some point, she’d admitted it. Training made her…horny's not the right word…training makes me feel…ready. That's it. . Ready. Primed.
There was just something about it. The heaviness of steel in her hand. The whoosh the sword made when she slashed it through the air. It made Cordelia feel powerful. And power and sex, well, they could go hand in hand.
Sure she complained to Angel. Whined about being sore or how she preferred low-impact cardio aerobics. But deep down… Knowing that her body was being laid siege to, knowing that it was up to her to defend herself, use herself as a weapon…she liked it. God sometimes she could taste it. The anticipation.
Angel talked a lot about awareness of surroundings. Gave long boring lectures on how Cordelia must always know where her attacker was. Part of that awareness always made her focus on herself. Training, fighting—it made her supremely conscious of the intricacies of her own body. The feel of each long muscle as it flexed and released. The lingering smell of perfume and prespiration that blanketed her. The way her chest expanded, the burst of oxygen as it raced to her lungs. That little tickle, as a single drop of sweat ran down the small of her back.
And that’s what it was like BEFORE the ballet. Now? Woah baby.
Now, all that awareness was suddenly, strangely, focusing on Angel. It was like, before, Cordy had just been walking around in the dark and now someone had flicked on the switch, leading her shocked and blinking into the light. And for a while, it was blinding.
The leanness of his hips. The way his tongue darted left, peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he parried and thrust. The faint sprinkling of baby powder in his hair. His hair? How did he get it in his hair? Before Cordy could hazard a guess, she was distracted by other things. By the small male nipples she could just make out through his thin undershirt. By his forearms, the way the muscles corded as he swung his weapon. By the way the awful lighting in the basement made his cheekbones more pronounced. Cordy wanted trace the line, curl her tongue around it. No I don't! I don't want that. I can't want that.
When she’d first come downstairs, watching Angel workout had made her take notice. She’d appreciated. But now, training, almost dancing like this, with Angel…she was so hot. It's burning up. Is it always so hot down here? She felt too warm and too tight, and…Drunk? I feel like I'm drunk. Maybe Groo slipped some sort of Pylean roofie in my orange juice this morning. This isn't normal. Something is making me feel this way.
“Pay attention Cordelia,” Angel said through his teeth, as their swords clashed so hard she practically spun around. That was also different. The teasing casual edge that had marked all their previous training sessions was missing. Angel’s eyes had been dark and unreadable ever since they began sparring. It was unnerving. She could tell he was angry, but she wasn’t clear as to why. More unnerving, however, was how his anger was affecting her. I'm getting off on it. What the hell is wrong with me? Cordelia had never been one for kinky sex. No fantasies about whips or pain. So why was she finding herself oddly thrilled by the thin veneer of violence that penetrated all his movements? It’s not like she wanted him to hurt her. Instead she was getting off on the fact he could hurt her, he could want to hurt her, but he never would. Not on purpose. Not knowingly.
“Yikes,” she muttered as she desperately leaned to the right, avoiding his swing. Angel was right. She did need to pay more attention. She needed to not be thinking about him, or his body, or what she wanted to do with his body. She needed to concentrate on something she was not in the least bit excited about.
“So, why do you hate Groo so much?” she asked, panting slightly.
“Who says,” Angel moved the line, forcing the fight in a different direction, “that I hate Groo?” he finished. Other than a miniscule tic over his left eyebrow, there was no reaction
Angel had a tendency to announce the direction of his attack, a small movement of his hip that gave his intentions away. Cordelia smiled slightly as she blocked his thrust. “Are you jealous?” she wondered.
That got his attention. He gnawed unobtrusively on his lower lip. He almost looks nervous.
“Why, ah, why would I be jealous?” Angel asked, attempting to inject a casual tone in his words, and succeeding well enough so as to not set off Cordelia’s radar. His movements were slower now, though, less focused.
“Um, maybe because he can go do champion-y stuff under the bright L.A. sun, when certain ensouled vampires are out of commission,” Cordy huffed, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Her eyes flickered over him, confused, when she heard his sigh of relief.
Angel spun left, putting her on the defensive. Ohhhh, look who got his groove back.
“I am not jealous because Groo gets to play outside when I’m not allowed to,” Angel said, going all smart-assy and making Cordelia frown when she found herself liking it.
Cordelia should have noticed that Angel never actually came out and said he wasn’t jealous. But she did, after all, have a lot of things on her mind. She was holding a deadly weapon. There was a half-naked hottie with a weapon of his own. It was understandable when the subtext flew over her head.
They were really picking up speed now. Usually Angel would interrupt the sparring, to impart wisdom or tell her what she was doing wrong or even to let her get a sip of water. It's like we really are fighting. And I'm not sure WHY? Cordelia was sure, however, that it was a fight neither wanted to lose. She wasn’t as certain how they would go about determining a winner. Either way, the dance isn't stopping anytime soon.
“Why don’t you like him?” Cordy persisted.
“Why is it so important that I like him?” Angel countered.
Good question. Well you're my best friend. I care what you think. I want you to lend him those leather pants for when we go out Thursday. Those reasons were all quite valid. Unfortunately, none of them were true.
Even though Angel had helped her in the quest for her little blue bottle, Cordelia wasn’t unaware of his animosity for Groo. It was probably due to that little spat the two of them had back in Pylea. Or maybe attractive guys resented other attractive guys? For whatever reason, it bothered Cordy. It bothered her more than it should. She wanted him to approve of Groo. She needed Angel to like Groo. Maybe if he does, it will be easier for me to like Groo. And maybe then I can finally get laid. Soon, before I become some sort of famous poster-child for sexual frustration.
Angel must have noticed that Cordy hadn’t answered the question. Instead of pressing her, he asked another. “So why do YOU like him so much?”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Have you SEEN him?”
“How could I NOT have seen those teeth?” Angel shot back. Cordelia pressed her lips tightly together to avoid laughing.
“Angel, he is gorgeous.”
“I guess I just never pictured you being all about looks,” Angel said.
“I don’t like Groo because of his body,” Cordy informed Angel. He made a face and even she cringed at the ridiculousness of that statement. She tried again. “I don’t like Groo JUST because of his body. I like him for lots of reasons.” Angel just raised an eyebrow.
They were both moving at half-speed now, giving her time to think.
“He’s genuinely a good person Angel. I’ve never met someone like that. He’s, like, innocent.” Although, sometimes, and I know this is crazy, I think Angel is an innocent too. He fights so hard, for total strangers, and he does it because he believes they are worth saving. He forgives so easily. Gives people second and third chances.
Cordelia went on. “Uh, Groo, Groo is very loyal.” Course, you look up "loyal" in the dictionary and you get a picture of Mister Broody Himself. It's such a shame he doesn't photograph well.
“Let’s see, what else do I like about Groo? Hmm, well, duh, he’s a hero. He can protect me. He cares so much about me. He thinks I’m worth crossing dimensions for.” Okay, but you already have a hero who protects you and cares about you and jumps blindly through portals after you. And your hero has better hair. And nicer pecs.
Cordelia was so caught up in the conversation she was having with herself that she totally forgot about what she was supposed to be doing. Angel took advantage of this. There was a clattering of noise as the steel flew out of her hand and into the wall. Cordy just looked down at her now-empty hand.
“He’s not all human,” Angel said, and the sound of a voice not coming from inside her head caught her by surprise. She looked up at him, blinking. Then her brain clicked back on.
“Hello. Not really in the position to care about someone being half-demon now am I?” Cordy embellished her words, waving at herself dramatically. Angel nodded. “Besides,” she softly told Angel, who still gripped his sword tightly, “who you are, it’s not about WHAT you are. It’s about what you DO.”
There was a message there, in her words. She hadn’t intended it to come out, but it was there, nonetheless, and Angel had gotten it. And for the first time since he’d handed her the stupid sword, the ice melted from Angel’s stare. The warm chocolate of his eyes reminded her of spending winters in Aspen. I'd come inside and stand by the fire and start shaking. I never noticed how cold I was until I came inside where it was warm.
Cordelia felt it, a deep pull in the pit of her stomach, she felt it when his eyes changed. When warmth gathered into heat. Suddenly there were things in Angel’s eyes and they looked a lot like things that could get them into a whole heap of trouble. Things like passion. Need. Want. Cordelia’s eyes went wide. She looked even closer and swore she could see flames dancing in his eyes.
Flames scared her. Flames seduced, they urged people to forget the risk, encouraged them to jump into the fire. Cordelia was not sure she could handle being burned. Not by this man. Not when I have a safe, flame-retardant guy waiting for me at home.
If before, with the weapons, they had been dancing, then now was more like a game of Chicken. Who would pull over first? Because if neither of them got out of the way, they were going to hit each other head on. And that will probably make the apocalypse look like a pizza party. They would both go down in flames. Cordelia was positive of this.
He took a small, uncertain step forward and she was the one who blinked. Cordelia wasn’t ready to play with fire. Not until she figured out why she wanted to so badly. So when Angel moved closer, survival instinct kicked in. She twisted slightly to the left and then kicked her right leg out, making contact at just the right place on Angel’s wrist. His sword flew back into the corner behind him. My God. If I wasn't sure before, I'm sure as hell sure now. I fucking rock.
“Look’s like I’m not the only one who needs to pay attention,” Cordy told him smugly.
For a brief moment, dissapointment flickered over Angel’s face. Then he broke into one of his trademark half-smile. Despite her interrupting whatever it was she had just interrupted, Cordy could tell he was proud of her.
Then, suddenly, the half of his mouth that had managed to smile faded back into frown.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked, but it sounded like some kind of accusation. "Did Groo teach you that?” Angel put a strange emphasis on Groo’s name, which Cordelia found very irritating. Angel repeated the question. “Did HE teach you that?”
“No. That, my friend, was all courtesy of Mister Billy Blanks. And you were the one who told me those Tae-Bo tapes were a huge waste of time! Who’s laughing now?” Cordy giggled for emphasis. “Oh, wait, that’s me. Not only did they help me lose two inches from my waist, but they apparently taught me how to kick your ass.” Angel squinted at her, but she saw his lip twitch. That jackass. I can tell he wants to smile. “I was like some sort of Terminator. Or like that chick that helped the Terminator. That chick with the guns?” Angel’s lips pressed together in a wobbly line. “Oh come on. I know you’ve seen it? The immortal classic Terminator Two? I know you know. That Linda Hamilton chick seems like the sorta girl you’d definitely have a hard-on for.” Ahh, there we go. I knew he was no match for my feminine wiles. Of course, as usual, Angel’s smile, when it was real and relaxed, had only one effect. It made her grin like a big dopey jack-o-lantern.
They just stood there, dueling goofy smiles, for God knows how long. All Cordy knew was that at some point during the exchange, her heart started to pound. Her palms started to sweat. She started exhibiting all the classic signs of…Oh no you don't Cordelia. You stop that right now! I'm serious Chase, get it together. Wipe those hands on your pants. There you go. That's better. Oh shit. No it's not. Your heartbeat! He's a freakin' creature of the night Cordy. He can hear your heartbeat. Make it normal. Stop it. That's right. Just stop breathing. That should bring your heartbeat down. Okay, bad idea, bad idea. That's gonna make your heartbeat stop. We don't want that. Breath. There's a girl. Now, make a hasty exit. Hello? I said HASTY!
Cordelia whirled around, away from Angel and his dorky smile and his flamey eyes and everything else she was all-of-the-sudden noticing about him. Ooops
She was facing the wall. A proper hasty exit would have entailed actually going AROUND Angel and up the stairs. By turning around, the only way to get out was the door that led deep into the sewer system. And I've done enough time trudging through that crap, thank you very much. Cordelia was still thinking of escape alternatives when all of the sudden she was grabbed from behind and yanked back against Angel’s hard length. And that’s about the point that all rational thought stopped.
It was like leaning up against a cool white column. He wasn’t holding her hard, or very tightly, but Cordy felt totally surrounded. There was only his undershirt separating him from the damp skin on her lower back and she could make out the hard ridges of his stomach pressed against her. He invaded all her senses, causing them to overload. Cordelia knew she was shaking, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“That Tae-Bo guy should have also taught you to never turn your back on your opponent,” Angel said in a low voice. His words whispered across the back of her neck in a cool shivering kiss that made her toes curl. Her mind raced. She saw them, against the wall, his hands on her bare ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Pictured taking him into her mouth, feeling him buck and shudder and grunt her name. His hand on her thigh, the contrast of the cool whiteness on warm brown skin. She blinked repeatedly, to try and clear the images from her mind.
Why is this happening? Why now? Why him? Angel felt it too. That much was obvious. He was running his hands up and down her bare arms. She felt him exhale a shaky breath. Cordelia unconsciously leaned back and there he was, “rising up” to meet her.
Cordy had never been so affected just by being near a guy. Except for that time at the ballet.
That's it! Oh my God, that's totally it. I know why! I know why I've been drooling over Angel. I know why he's three seconds away from humping my ass! It all makes sense now!
At the ballet, they’d been possessed by powerful magic. Infused with the spirits of two people who had shared a grand love affair. Clearly they were both still partially under the spell. That's all it is. Leftover mojo!
Cordelia wanted to tell Angel that she’d figured it out. But he was so near. He was too close. Her chest felt tight. She could barely breath, let alone talk. So she did what any rational person would have done, under the circumstances. She hit him.
Or, more accurately, she jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. Cordy cringed as a grunt of pain and surprise breezed over her right shoulder. It had the desired effect though. Angel’s arms fell away, freeing Cordelia to hook her leg around the back of Angel’s leg. It should have immediately sent him toppling to the ground.
Except this wasn’t something she’d learned from a Tae-bo tape. This was a move that Angel had taught her. He reached for Cordy’s shoulders even as she pulled on his leg and when he went down, he took her with him. She landed hard. Face down. On top of him.
It took both of them a moment to get their bearings. Angel must have recovered first. Cordelia was occupied with wheezing for air and trying to shake off her blurred vision. Suddenly they were rolling and them boom, there she was, underneath him.
Angel. Is. On. Top. Of. Me. Oh. My. God. It was hard to believe. And yet there he was. His legs between hers. His hands, palm down, on either side of her head.
Neither of them moved and neither of them spoke. They just lay there.
Angel was not exactly a lightweight and Cordy still hadn’t totally recovered from the fall, so it took effort to breath. Both of them seemed to notice the deep rise and fall of her breasts at the same time, looking down where his chest met hers. Every time she inhaled, she pressed more intimately against him.
Okay, this is not a big deal. This is fine. Normal. There is nothing sexual about him just lying on top of me. Keep calm. Angel is gonna wait to see how I react. Where I lead, he will follow.
Except right then, for the first time in, well, ever, Angel took the lead. He grabbed both of her wrists and handcuffed them over her head. Okay, maybe there is something vaguely sexual about him lying on top of me.
Be cool. Be cool. Aiming for nonchalance, Cordelia casually blew at the long bang that was hanging over her eye. She wanted him to smile and roll off of her. And then they would both get up. She would explain about the lasting effects of the possession. And life would get back to normal. She flashed a smile.
Angel didn’t return the smile. He didn’t roll off of her either.
“Well,” she said, giving a short raspy laugh, “you gotta give me points for trying.”
“Yeah but look where it landed you,” Angel pointed out. “I should probably subtract points.” Cordelia was too unnerved to think of a witty retort. She tried again to blow the bangs out of her face.
Angel shifted to hold both of her wrists in his left hand, and with his right, he carefully tucked the strand of hair behind her ear.
I don't know how much longer I can take all of this. Cordelia needed to leave. She wiggled her hips experimentally. In retrospect, that was a mistake. She heard his soft groan, felt him harden. Thoughtlessly she shifted again and the friction, the firm ridge of him against her pubic bone had them both groaning.
Angel’s eyes dilated. With his free hand, he traced a finger over her lower lip. Once. Twice. On the third time her lips parted, just enough for the tip of his finger to slide onto the warm wet part of her lip. His finger is practically in my mouth. Holy shit! Even worse, he was leaning down.
All Cordelia could see was Angel’s mouth. She could practically feel it on hers. She could picture the way his lips would fit over her fuller, softer ones. Saw the way his mouth would master hers, how he would use his firm lips and tongue and weave a spell, making her tremble and reach for him. He was so close now. Another inch and—
“Angel no,” she whispered. He froze in his descent. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink. He waited. She freed her hand from his loose grip and gently cupped his cheek. “This is wrong,” she said.
Half a second later, the weight, which Cordy had to admit she’d been getting used to, was gone. Strangely, it wasn’t any easier for her to breath.
“Right. Of course. It’s all wrong. I’m, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, reaching down, offering her help up. Cordy took his hand and popped up, brushing at imaginary dust on her pants and then adjusting her ponytail. Only then did she take a good look at Angel’s face. He looked…shaken. Oh God. I didn't tell him. He doesn't know why!
Angel was already headed for the stairs when Cordelia reached out and laid her hand on his chest, right over his unbeating heart.
“No, Angel, I, I felt it to,” she hurried to say. He looked at her intently before smiling softly. His hand came up, resting on top of hers.
“I’m guessing it’s just some leftover mojo from the ballet. It must take a couple of days to work out of our systems or whatever. I’m sure it will be gone soon.” Angel abruptly dropped his hand and took a step back, out of her reach.
“Yup, it’s just those wacky dead lovers, still trying to have a little fun in our bodies,” Cordy rambled. “I mean, think about it Angel. It’s the only rational explanation. For, for this…us,” she said, waving her hand between the two of them. He still didn’t say anything. Cordy forced a smile and nervously twirled a stray lock of hair.
Finally Angel nodded. “Sure Cordelia. Whatever you say,” he told her dully. “I’m just gonna, uh, go check on Connor.”
“Sure. Right. Of course,” she said quickly.
By then he was on the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you around later. Or, you know. Whenever,” he mumbled. Cordy nodded even though he wasn’t watching.
For a long while she just stood there, looking up at the door to the lobby. Wondering why she was suddenly overcome with the urge to cry.
TBC...
Leave a comment
(used for general site comments/queries also)