Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistyjox@hotmail.com
Teaser: When Angel Investigations investigate a murder at a local strip joint, one of the crew gets a little more undercover than they bargained for.
--
Chapter Three
He was already waiting when she descended the steps, her smile bright and her eyes shining despite the early hour of the day.
Carefully, Angel stretched, avoiding her eyes almost deliberately as she walked over to the CD player, placing the disc inside and closing it.
"Cordelia?"
"I watched the routine. You realize it's complete and utter crap, right?"
Angel just shrugged, crossing his arms, as she turned, and again his eyes wandered down her frame, the spandex clinging to her body, adhering to every curve in a way that seemed almost sinful.
He closed his eyes, and then opened them again when her smell betrayed her only a few steps away, looking back at the radio and then nodding when the assigned song began to float through the speakers.
"Okay, Angel, let's work on just a simple beat for now."
He blinked, slightly confused as she tapped her foot in time with the music.
"Shouldn't we… the routine-"
"Forget the routine for now, right now you need to find your rhythm," she said, taking his palms in hers and leading him to the middle of the workspace, hazel eyes on his own as she gathered his large hands in her smaller ones. Upon further study of his face, her half smile turned into a frown. "You look nervous as hell, Angel."
"I just…"
"Angel, you can move, okay? You have it in you." She gave him a grin. "Just… call up the inner slut. Think of something blonde."
His eyes narrowed, and she only smirked, leaving him standing in the middle of the floor and turning up the sound.
Again the sensual beat floated over the room, and she smiled at it, closing her eyes and letting her own body sway with it, before opening her eyes and winking.
"Lose the shirt, bucko."
He blinked, and looked down self consciously at his sweater. "Why?"
"Because you need to get used to women… you know… groping you… and you're not going to be wearing almost anything by the time you get into… this… so… might as well start now."
Her disaffected tone was almost damning, the soft purr of her voice bringing him almost to anger as he realized that Cordelia Chase, with her methodical and no nonsense words, was not affected by the blatant sexuality of this… at all.
Sure, her heartbeat was racing slightly faster than normal, but that was adrenaline, it happened every time they were in this room, and her heightened sense of awareness had even served to make him wonder at times to what she was thinking about it-
But still… her little comments… her jokes and quips…
Did Cordelia really see him as something … not sexual?
She had called him a man, didn't she? And handsome… and heroic…
But Cordelia wasn't… she wasn't allowed-
It didn't matter. She was his best friend, and his fantasy and it just didn't matter.
Nothing would ever happen between them.
Because it couldn't.
Shaking his head, he finally just let the angst slide over him, enjoying what little he had, as he reached for his dark sweater and pulled it off, the smirk on his features making her steps falter as he gave her a genuine vampire grin.
"Damn Angel," she said after a minute, grabbing a scrunchy and pulling her hair back into a makeshift ponytail, turning away from him. "You're damn hot with that smirk."
"Thanks."
There was a long bout of silence, before she turned, and came forward, hazel eyes locked on his as she clasped his hands once more.
"I want you to do something for me," she began. Transfixed, he only offered a shaky nod. "Close your eyes."
Her breath fell on his skin in moist tufts, and it made him shudder, a movement running throughout his body he was almost sure she could feel, but she only instructed him with those low tones of hers.
"Listen, okay? Do you feel the beat?"
He wasn't sure, shaking his head uncertainly, hands tightening around hers as she opened one palm and suddenly it was outstretched directly against her chest, half on her breast.
He almost yanked it away, but she held it firm. "Listen," she said. "Feel my breathing pattern."
He swallowed, biting his lip in grim frustration, but obeyed, counting her heartbeats, senses suddenly overwhelmed as her chest rose and fell under his fingertips.
"I know you can hear my heartbeat, and I know you can feel it, now, feel the beat, it's in sync, almost perfectly with the beat. Listen to the music, Angel, and you can feel the beat with my beating, with my breathing."
"My heart doesn't beat, Cordelia," he said, eyes opening to find her staring at him curiously.
A long second, and she nodded. "I know. That's why I'm letting you use mine."
There was more inferred in that sentence, more he wanted to take from it, than what he was sure she was offering. The closed throat that had come involuntarily made it slightly difficult to breathe, but he did it, as her next order commanded it.
"Breathe in sync with me, okay?" she asked breathlessly, and that in itself made him smile.
Obediently, he filled his dead lungs with air, closing his eyes, and doing nothing but feeling the music flow through him, through her lungs, through her heart.
Quietly, he began to feel the pounding, the pulsing, rhythm that he had once discovered in the poetry of fighting, the beauty of the kill he had known as Angelus.
Dance, it seemed, was not all that different.
Movements were slow as her hands slowly took his, and suddenly her back was pressed against him, the soft swell of her buttocks pressed against his groin, and his eyes opened as she manipulated his fingers, pressing them gently against her hips, pinning her against him.
"I want you to feel my hips, okay?" she said, her voice a tad husky. "You have to move with your hips, that's where everything else comes from. Keep your back straight, and move from here."
And she began to move, her body seeping warmth into his fingers as she swayed gently against him.
There was pure beauty in the movement, and he stood, the willing pupil, completely preoccupied as Cordelia moved, swayed, ground against him, a soft smile of wonder sliding over his features, a growl of possession escaping when she turned in his arms, warm hands sliding up his bare chest to palm the side of his neck.
Her face was flushed, her body was warmer than usual, and her tone was feverish, as she continued to move.
"Follow my lead, Angel. Move those hips."
His hands slid around her waist, pinning her to him, and with that same smile that came so easily with her, he did.
--
Gunn felt the shiver go through him, and he decided he had seen enough, moving back quietly up the stairs, and closing the door, knowing somehow that neither Angel or Cordelia were actually in a position to really care whether he had been there or not.
He leaned against the door, pulling at his collar, when Wesley came into the lobby, sipping his cup of tea.
"Gunn."
"What up, Wes."
"What are you doing?"
"Recovering from Dirty Dancing: the sequel," he remarked, throwing a thumb back toward the door as he walked forward. "It's about to get X-rated in there."
Wesley cast the closed door a concerned look, the coffee cup poised at his lips as he finally shook his head. "Cordelia knows better than to let things go too far," he said.
"Uh… Wesley she's grinding against Angel in there." Gunn leaned forward, palms pressed against the counter. "Shouldn't we be worried? I mean… come to think of it… haven't those two been a little… close?"
Wesley sighed, putting down the cup and staring thoughtfully at his friend. "Yes. They have. I daresay Angel's in love with Cordelia."
Gunn stared at him blankly. "And… warning bells not ringing because??"
"Because like it or not, there isn't anything we can do about it, Charles," Wesley finally said, shrugging sadly. "If and when Cordelia decides to reciprocate Angel's feelings there will… well it won't be easy for either. Both know it can't happen. And yet…"
"Can't choose who you love, is that it?"
"In a nutshell."
Gunn pursed his lips, looking down at his hands, quiet for a moment. "So… Fred and I-"
"Ah… yes." Wesley picked up the file and handed it to his compatriot, giving him a grim smile. "Those are the rest of the files on the missing persons from the club. You and Fred can look into them together or separately."
Gunn took the file, thumbing through it thoughtfully, and took a breath. "Listen… English… I was kinda… I need to ask you for some advice."
The hesitant, insecure voice made Wesley turn, come forward immediately. "Of course, Gunn. What is it?"
"Uhmm… all right…" Charles shuffled slightly, and took a breath, finally pushing the words out. "I kinda … like Fred." There was no answer, and feeling the burn on his cheeks that signaled he was blushing, Gunn didn't look at Wesley, instead hurrying the rest of the sentence out. "And you being the boss and everything I just want to make sure it's okay if I maybe… you know… ask her out."
Again, the silence continued, and finally Charles looked up to find Wesley staring at him looking as if he had been slapped in the face.
Immediately his insides squelched, and Gunn looked down, "Uh… sorry, never mind-"
"No, Gunn… forgive me I just… I had no idea you felt that way."
He gave an insecure grin, his heart flip flopping slightly. "She's… cute. In that smart kinda way… just… I don't know…"
"She's a remarkable woman."
Gunn was too busy blushing to detect the faint longing in the voice. "Yeah. So… that's cool then?"
Wesley was quiet, and finally just gave a grim smile. "You don't need my permission to ask out Fred, Gunn. That is… your choice."
"I know… but you said once that the reason you and Cordy never hooked it up was because of interoffice-"
"The reason Cordelia and I never 'hooked up' was because of him," Wesley said, motioning to the closed basement door. "And you know that."
Gunn gave him a teasing grin. "Yeah, boy, I knew it. Why do you think I never tried to hook it up with Ms. Thing in there? Girl said she was trying to save my life but it was always 'Angel's not alone', and 'Angel needs to get laid'. Never a word to the wise about my need for some quality time."
Wesley smiled, chuckling.
"What's so funny?" Fred looked bleary-eyed as she made her way to the counter, accepting Wesley's outstretched cup of coffee with a nod of thanks.
"Nothing in particular. Talkin' about the Swayze wannabe's in there," Gunn said, nodding to the door.
Fred looked puzzled, following their line of vision. "That's… an interesting song."
"You should see the routine."
"Trust me, I plan to," she answered, blushing slightly when Wesley choked on his tea and Gunn cocked a surprised eyebrow. "So… are we looking for the missing people?" she began hastily, taking the files and using them to cover her rapidly reddening face.
"Yeah, and I think we better go now," Gunn said, grabbing her hand and leading her to the door. "Come on, we'll get some breakfast burritos on the way."
"Why don't they have breakfast tacos?" she asked, her voice puzzled.
"Dunno. We'll ask them."
Wesley watched them go, a curious ache in his chest, the pain rapidly splintering as he leaned against the counter, moist tears flooding in his eyes.
--
One bare palm slid over the glistening chest, as his hand cradled the small of her back, watching as he tangled their fingers, holding it, watching as her muscles tightened, leaning back, slowly moving into the dip, before his shifted, and pulled her up, her face, her eyes, her mouth, inches from his own.
And his body continued to move, hips cradled against hers, gyrating, moving as he saw the beads of perspiration on her upper lip, her forehead, thoughts of tasting the salty drops moving through his mind as she let her pink tongue slide out to moisten her lips.
His body jolted in reaction and she felt it, stiffening immediately, almost alongside of him.
Immediately they both let go, breath gasping on both sides as Angel turned his back, not wanting to see her reaction to his very male reaction.
"Well… I … think we got… the point of this lesson… down," she stammered, reaching for the towel and water bottle.
He turned to find her gulping it greedily, moving to turn off the stereo, shaking ever so slightly.
"Yeah… I think so…" he agreed, massaging at his neck, reaching for his sweater to pull it on hastily.
"So… then I'll leave you to… practice and I'll… run up the stairs-" She broke into that run almost immediately, and he felt himself wince.
"Cordelia."
She froze, looking back at him, body tensed and coiled like a spring.
"I'm sorry."
The plaintive tone did something, because she smiled, shrugging every so slightly. "We'll pick it up- okay bad choice of words," and he blushed. "Uhmm… we'll… keep working on your routine later today. I have to meet Nabbit anyway."
Angel frowned, moving to the stairs and looking up at her. "You've been seeing a lot of him lately."
She grinned. "Part of my cover, silly."
"What do you mean?"
"My cover. I'm David Nabbit's mistress."
And with that, she ran up the stairs, leaving him to watch open mouthed.
--
Fred sighed, sinking down into the bench, holding the Styrofoam cups as Gunn settled to the side of her, holding the plate of eight foil wrapped tacos from the street vendor.
"I don't understand it," she muttered, handing him his drink, careful to make sure he had a free hand to allow it to happen.
"I know what you mean," the black man muttered, shaking his head, balancing the plate on his lap and opening the foil to squeeze the wedges of lemon over it.
Fred leaned over, taking the little packets of salt and absently distributing the contents over their meal.
"There's no connection between any of them. No logic. I can't make heads or tails out of it."
"And if you can't, Baby Doll there ain't no way I can."
She found herself smiling at the tone, her eyes rising up to meet Charles' face and finding her gaze locked with his for a second.
A small flush gathered over her body and she looked away again, taking the cilantro and carefully arranging the leafy substance over the tacos.
"You don't give yourself enough credit, Charles."
"You said it yourself, I'm the muscle. Not exactly a thinker." But he took the green salsa, and poured it on his half, and she had to smile at the familiarity, knowing that he wouldn't put it on hers, knowing he would take the onions and only make sure there were a few in each of her tacos, because that was how she liked them.
"You're more than the muscle. Hell, Ah'm still tryin' to figure out what I am."
He gave her a grin, looking comical with the way his knees were held together, the makeshift table a little wobbly as she gathered one corn tortilla between her fingertips. "You're Fred. That's all, girl. And that's damn special."
"I'm glad you think so."
"Oh, I do. Special enough to beat me at that race car game."
She felt the giggle emerged. "Well, that was just a simple calculation, Gunn-"
"Yeah, just wait until you try Tomb Raider. I kick ass as Lara Croft."
"I would like to do that," she mused, her glasses glinting as she looked a little farther away. "Go around in tombs, fightin' evil and… reading stuff-"
"Don't you do that now? I mean, not the tombs, but hey! Sewers!"
She grinned, nodding her acceptance of his statement. They were quiet, eating in silence, and when he shifted closer, she didn't mind it, instead leaning into his shoulder, happily munching on her taco.
"Hey Fred?"
"Mmmhmm?"
"You think maybe if I ask you out, we could you know… go on a date?"
The taco suddenly seemed to grow in her mouth, and she gasped for breath.
"Fred?"
Coughing, she choked, heart suddenly hammering, lurching forward when Gunn pounded on her back with a none too gentle hand.
"Fred!"
The piece came up, and, finally went down the right tube, and she was finally able to breathe again, taking in gasping breaths, pushing her glasses up and wringing her hands together in distraction.
"I'm okay," she said, moving back. Gunn looked worried, deep dark eyes boring into hers, and she found herself staring at him with a small smile on her face. "Did you umm… say date?"
The uncertainty made him smile, and Fred realized, it was a very nice smile.
"Yeah. That okay with you?"
"I umm…"
"I mean… I'm no Angel-"
"Charles."
Her hand rested on his, fingers closed around and squeezed, and he looked down, unable to move because of the tacos in his lap.
His eyes met hers, and she smiled, shrugging slightly. "You don't have to be."
When he smiled, her own grin widened, and Fred realized they must have looked like idiots sitting there smiling at each other, but strangely, she didn't seem to care.
--
"Has Angel left?"
Wesley looked up, feeling oddly like the bellhop when he answered Cordelia. "Yes, he said his shift started at seven."
"Oh, okay."
Wesley gave her a nod, and returned to reading his book.
Cordelia paused, looking around the hotel. "And Fred and Gunn?"
"On their date, I imagine."
"Did you just say date?"
His voice was unresponsive as he answered, "I believe I did, yes."
Cordelia hesitated, looking toward Wesley, then to the door, and then back at him. "I'm confused."
"What about?"
"Ummm… weren't you jonesing for Fred?"
Wesley froze, ever so slightly, and then in a move that seemed almost forced, he turned the page. "That's hardly common knowledge, is it?"
"So… Gunn didn't know."
"I gave him my blessing."
"But he didn't know."
Wesley let out an annoyed breath. "No, Cordelia. He didn't know."
The smallest softening came into Cordelia's eyes as her shoulders slumped, bag dropping on the stool as she came forward. "Wesley-"
"No, Cordelia."
"It's not like you to shut me out."
"I'm fine."
"Then why are you trembling?"
His fingers clenched around the paper, wrinkling it, but Cordelia didn't give, coming forward, swallowing hard.
"Gunn needs someone like Fred," he answered, voice tired, and passive.
"And what about you?"
"Cordelia, I'm in much too much of an emotional abyss to be of any use to Fred," he said, his eyes fixed on his book. "You and I both know that. Perhaps you were right. Maybe we are meant to be alone."
Moistness in Cordelia's eyes hindered her vision slightly, as she found she could say nothing to Wesley about his turmoil. Who was she kidding?
Since when had she been able to help with anyone's issues?
She could barely handle her own, thanks to her frazzled mind, besieged by visions and headaches.
She let out a breath, closing her eyes, mind flashing to the incident in the basement, and felt herself shiver slightly.
"Fine," she agreed to the unspoken compromise. "But I'm getting this out of you Wesley."
"I'll look forward to it."
She shook her head, turning, moving away, and suddenly he latched on to her.
Her arms went around him, and she held her friend, felt his trembling body collapsing against hers, and her heart actually HURT for him.
Their stoic leader.
Broken and bitter and it was her fault.
Her damn fault.
"I'm sorry, Wesley," she whispered into his hair, closing her eyes, and feeling the tears sting her eyes. "I'm so sorry."
--
Donald wore tight t-shirts that didn't quite fit over his slightly flabby chest, and Angel wondered if he was the least self conscious about it, the boss who seemed there only to leer at the men and take care of the finances, studying Angel's paperwork.
The paperwork he had discovered on his desk had seemed suspicious enough,
but Cordelia had examined it, taken it to Nabbitt, and it had come out
clean.
Thanks to an unknown source, Angel had an identity.
"Okay. Looks like we're good. You'll get your check on Thursday. How's the routine going?"
Angel shuffled uncomfortably, but nodded. "Good. Good."
Donald leaned back into his leather chair, studying Angel with a frown on his face. "I hear you knocked J.T. halfway across the dressing room yesterday."
"The bastard laughed at me."
The smirk on Donald's face made Angel smile back, and the older man chuckled. "Good to know you're a quick learner. Don't play the bitch, Angel. You'll be headlining with Rolando soon with that attitude."
"Oh, I hope so." Angel stood, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, as he rose from his chair.
"One more thing."
Angel paused, and sat back down.
Donald scribbled on his notebook, eyes narrowing at something, and then looked up. "Rebecca told you about the Red Roses, right?"
Angel nodded. The precarious elite, women who bled money, wore roses just above their cleavage, on their right shoulders.
"Give them anything they want."
"Within reason." Donald grinned. "They pay well, Angel. We host a party for them every Saturday at my place. Just a gathering. Some of most able bodied men are invited to keep them company. I would like you to be there."
Angel narrowed his eyes. "What kind of party?"
"You're expected to get lucky."
As the words sunk in, Donald gauged his reaction, watching him carefully.
Angel let out a breath, and suddenly smiled. "Is that a promise?"
Donald was quiet, and then smiled back. "Guaranteed. Demanded."
"I'm on it." Angel leaned forward, clasped hands with the older man.
"Donald don't hit on my new favorite Floor Boy." Rebecca looked distracted as she entered the office, opening the file cabinet and thumbing through some files. "He likes girls."
"So do I. Sometimes."
Rebecca rolled her eyes, turning and smiling at Angel. "How's the routine coming along?"
"It's coming."
"Boys treating you nice?"
"I almost beat up J.T."
"Good. He deserves it. Just don't leave bruises. He has a hell of a body. Rachel's asking for you."
Donald whistled under his breath. "A Red Rose already?"
Rebecca shot him a distracted smile. "He works fast."
Angel frowned, crossing his arms. "How do they get those roses anyway?"
Rebecca paused, quiet, eyes narrowing. "Doesn't matter to you, Angel. Just go."
She reached forward, and pushed him gently toward the door.
Angel was quiet, not saying a word as he closed the door behind him, but mind already memorized what he had seen hidden on the inside of Rebecca's arm.
A mystical pagan symbol in the form of a tattoo.
--
